Thursday, August 4, 2011

Spinning the Waste

Well it's August, folks. Time for scootin' around, finishing up all your summer fun and headin' back to school. For my sister, school starts next week (kids are back on the 15th, I think...) So. What did you do for your summer vacation?

We're heading to Santa Cruz this weekend for a little summer R & R at the Boardwalk and beach. Should be fun. Will most likely get a chocolate dipped cone. Traditions...

Will also most likely ride the Big Dipper, one of the best roller coasters in existence. Again, should be fun.

I'm trolling for a writing idea here. Not sure what to write about. Would be a good time for the journal jar, but I'm not at home. I'm visiting my parents and using my mom's laptop.

The words just aren't coming. I'm stymied. Or something.

I didn't "shut up and blog" this week. Opted instead to sleep in. Kind of regret that decision. Oh well. Bygones.

I'm going to keep going here. Hope you can bear with me. Just feeling my way. Hoping that inspiration is just around the corner.
I could talk about things. Nouns. Tape. All things sticky. Or cassette tapes. Mix tapes. Music. Radio. But then again, I could go take a nap. I kinda already am napping. My mind is a bit asleep, without dreaming. I'm dull and have vacancy. Load 'em up! The surrounding sounds are light as the air. A ticking clock, the tapping keys, my breathing in and out, the moan of the laptop organs... I think I'm getting somewhere, but it only feels like it. I'm not sure what I'm doing.
Sometimes you've got to push out some of the bland, white bread filler stuff and let it ride. Ride the current downstream towards the treatment plant. Where it all gets filtered and decimated, titrated down to the finest trickle.
There's wisdom all around us. In the elements: air, water, earth, fire. We are of this soil; born of it. And we return. Life circles, round and round. Yin and Yang, ebb and flow. The tiniest seed can progress to cover the expansive meadow. The shining light of a star millions of light years away shares its past with us in our present. Air tastes tinny and cold. There are meanings.
I don't purport to understand it. I am but a vessel. The cell which travels through the blood to the organ of origin, sustaining life. Where is our consciousness located?
There has to be answers, I keep telling myself. Has to be. There's reason for a reason. Logical, dare I say? It pays to be evident.
I'm just feeling my way in the darkness of the unknown here. Trying to mute the fears and allot strength to the visions and understated knowings in my mind. Chlorination unnecessary. Publish and save now. Live now. Breathe now. All we have is now.
Now fleets with the gathering dawn. Therein we think and try to make sense. But only for a moment. We move on.
There's exhaust. Defining moments. Definitions of grandeur and even bigger clues. Are all the words merely cogs in the machinery? Latex.
I'm not enjoying this as much as I hope you are. There's still ore in the hillside. Got to pound about and get her out.
Once upon a time I was a writer of my own future. A million outcomes later and I still have yet to stamp a project "completed." Such is the beast. Such is the beast.

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