summer karma

snap shot from the phone

Summertime

I have been pondering about the future. Can I actually say “pondering” and still sound authentic? Anyway, I digress, which seems to be a large problem of mine, I mean digressing. Why is it so easy to obsess about the past? The known aspect coupled with that hindsight thing makes it simple to re-live, alter, view in microscopic intensity and rely on the past. But should it be such an obsession? I’ve tried to learn from my past lives, gain insight and become a better Human Being and try to move forward. Letting it go and moving on. Yet still the past is what I reflex upon, the touch stone of today’s questions. Looking backwards becomes the safe and easy way to judge the future and projecting the past onto the fog of the unknown tomorrows create a path of least resistance.

Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry

I’ve been pondering about the future, all embodied in the word summertime. Hoping that something would carry me away and get me living. Easy living, idyllic Maxfield Parish images with resounding glossy sparkling light lazily dappling thru leaves. Where life is slower, sweeter, uncomplicated. Quantum tranquility and seas adrift with laidback smiles. The music floats through the air past clean white linens soaking up the sun on backyard clothesline and the interconnectivity electrifies and glows in crimson sunsets.


Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry

Ice tea and lemon aid, warm breezes bustling chimes. No need to busy oneself. The future rolls in, a hot breath on one’s neck and limbs sweating as the dance plays. The night, naked and willing, lying on grassy fields waiting for the frolicking stars to awaken. And picnics and beaches with sand in your shorts and the back seat of cars are the adolescent dreams that form our days from the fragmented chances that skip in front of our eyes. Bath water warm ponds of infinite blues create mirages in the fabric of time. And the melodies of the birds make all soar with thrill and anticipation, like a chemise slowly being removed only to be tossed into the sky.


Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry
.

No demands, no worries, no problm mon. All is right and available. Vacations are endless and mountains of time free the soul to fly to the moon and return. None for the want and every moment is a day in paradise. Drudgery is transplanted with euphoria. And life is like a ripe and juicy peach hanging from the tree desiring to be picked.


Summertime
And the livin' is easy,
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich
An' yo' ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby,
Don't you cry


Lullabies, whisking one away into dream worlds where all is beauty. Promising futures shine as brightly as streetlights against the backdrop of country roads. All is happiness in the quite embrace of a lover’s arms and the still rustling of the warm breeze through the trees. Summer come and find me now. Then suddenly the clouds past infront of the glaring sun and in the shadow light of the day one sees with perfect recognition the dingy film of reality. The future becomes unidentifiable and mysterious. Yet thru the misgivings a voice sings out and reminds you of what use to be and gives you hope of things to come. The past arrives again.

TRIPE IN TOMATO SAUCE

Part 1

• l pound tripe

• l Large pot of boiling water

• 15 Whole cloves

• 4 - 5 Stalks of celery with tops

Clean the tripe by scraping off all the fatty deposits with a knife. Cut into 2 inch pieces. (Scissors work very well) Place all the ingredients into the boiling water with the cloves and the celery. It is important that the celery have the leaves on it. Cook for 1 to 1 1/2 hrs. Drain and pick out the tripe pieces. Discard cooking water.

Part 2

• l slice of salt pork

• l cup celery leaves (It has to be the leaves or it doesn't turn out right)

• 1/2 cup parsley leaves

• l clove garlic chopped

• l can tomato paste

• 3 cans of water (use tomato paste can)

• salt, pepper to taste

• grated Lucatela or Romano cheese.

Place tripe from part 1 and all the ingredients into a pot and cook very slowly until the tripe is tender. Season individual portions to taste with salt, pepper and as much grated cheese as desired.

light weekend

The sky stopped crying and with a whimper and a sigh gave way to a new day of sunshine and light. In the yellow dawning glow I hung my Tibetan Pray Flags and chanted the Gayatri Mantra…


OM

Bh-u-r bhuvah svah

Tat savitur vareny-a-m

Bhargo Devasya dh-i-m-a-hi

Dhiyo yo nah pracoday-a-t

OM

Prelude

Raining for two days, scrubbing the dirt away from the air. Fresh breaths of liquid resolve. Smudging the images thru my windshield and all flows towards the sea. Watersign how do you fair, on cold damp summer days, when the leaves drip nectar from the sky? Your hair sticks to your face as a drop creases you check. Gravity is the draw, for weeping paths run. All lead to rivers and streams who flow thru your consciousness. Tear drops from clouded skies, swelling the ponds to overflow their banks, beckon to me. Only to start the cycle again. Lady of the lake, what secrets do you hold in that mermaid evil embrace. Calling to me, to enter. And to "drown in cold water".

monolog

Yesterday I was cast as a villian. Sometimes that just happens, yet I try to avoid it as much as I can. It's truely not a part that I like to play. But remember, I'm a whore, and role play is just a part of the occupation.

You ever notice that the villian alway seems to monolog their intentions and evil plans?

So villian I play. Here We Go........

The two of them had been drinking pretty heavily. They were cheap American beers and tequila shots zombies.“Dude, get me a beer, and make sure it’s cold, check the label, it turns blue, man”, said zombie one.  Where straight Black Rum is my particular poison. Slowly sipped it really gives me the edge, you can almost taste it’s involvement in the slave triangle.  This was going to be too easy, I thought as we meandered thru the wooded lot, ax at my side. “Ax for the monsters, that’s just too funny dude!” spouted zombie 2.  “But I know what you are saying “, retorted zombie one. “My position is full of monsters and that Mother Fucking Bitch is the worst one I ain’t  her freeekn lapdog where does she get off making demands on me like that”, he slur. We stopped at the first clearing . The two of them wavering a little in the drunken stupor of self-confidence. The moon was just about full, largely glowing in the eastern sky. What a barren mistress I though, but it is good to have her company and always a slight exhibitionist thrill to have her watch. The two of them were having some inane conversation, laboring under some false pretense. My attention coming back into their conversation  “that funcn idot managgerier, ain’t it righ dud?” He didn’t even realize the swing, a single hand round house from my side. Until the ax’s hickory handle, just below the head, caught him on the ankle, shattering it. Taking a step back, I pulled the ax toward me. The ax’s head grabbing his Achilles tendon, tearing it and ripping off his heal as his foot was pulled out from beneath him. He went down hard onto his back with a loud thud that even the moon heard. But before he could react or even voice the pain, a right handed over head swing brought the ax bit across his throat, slicing it right down to the backbone. The blood gushing out in a river amongst the clearing as his body shook in the grip of death.  Swing around to the right the ax caught the second one across his stomach. Slicing open his guts and spilling his bowels on the ground. He just stood there with this stupid look of disbelief and fear on his face. It’s the fear in their eyes I like the best. This one was going to be sweet, as I took my time.  A double handle swing took his left leg off at the knee, dropping him down on his right. I slowly raised the ax over my head coming down hard where his neck met his shoulder, burying the ax head deep in his upper torso. I had to work and pry it out of the bone to allow his body to drop forward.  Stepping back the blood was everywhere, gurgling and spurting out of the quivering bodies. The sound of the running blood slowly decreasing as the bodies pumped the last life force from them and a deep red silence took over the clearing. Hey, I’m just saying, you know. “Dude, that was harsh, man,” said zombie one. “that really hurt”. “I think I’m going to puke” replied zombie two. Well it’s just the way I see it, I could be wrong. But if you want a suggestion from me, you guys should watch your backs. “Yea I know what you are saying” wined zombie one. “I do need this job and you are right, thanks”. “I think I’m going to puke” replied zombie two. I left them both in the clearing of break room looking over the balanced score card and reviewing their goals. “That is not what I wanted you to do”, said Mother.  Sorry, I said, you know that happily I will sell my body for you, but I won’t be your assassin. “But you would be so good at it” suggestively responded Mother. I know, but that is just for me, you can’t have it, replied I. “Fine” snapped Mother. “But you’re not my favorite anymore”. I knew that was coming. “And have you meet Fred from Human Resources” Mother coyly said. Hi Fred, is that a double bit Hudson Bay ax? I always thought they were more flashy then actually useful. “I’m pretty good with it”, responded Fred. “We need to meet”. Yes, I figured that Fred, send me an appointment. 

Breaking the Rules of Engagement

There is not a single time, that when I sit down to type something here, that I don’t think about deleting this whole damn blog. I hadn’t planned on this being so much about me. Yet, it certainly seems to be turning out that way. This definitely seems to be going in the wrong direction. Should I actually be sending these things out to the cloud. But then again, there is not a lot of you out there that even reads these self indulgent soliloquies and they are fairly obvious. I’m not relating any secrets.

Ok, so we might as well recap. If you were paying attention, we have established a few constants.

I am a corporate whore. Prostituting myself for whatever monies and benies I can still get from my corporate mother.

I am not too happy with the way society is going.

I am an idiot

I have reality issues

I’m somewhat dark

I don’t like people that won’t use their turn signals while driving.

I rant and rave fairly often.

I like Dr Seuss.

I’m a self proclaimed artist.

I’m an ex-son,ex-husband, and a forgotten father

I don’t like zombies.

I am somewhat whinny……did I establish that yet? Well, yea….. whinny.

Nothing new there, no great personal revelation or insights. So that’s about that. You get it now, there I stand. So what has this done for me?

Nothing.

Which brings me to you. Obviously the next question that comes to mind is why would anybody be reading this shit? Half the time I can’t take even typing it. Do you people have that much time on your hands, or are you just waiting for more recipes on cooking tripe?

nobody

dreams hopes all gone
did what was right and where did that leave me

late night screaming phones and irate texts

all telling me how terrible I am

dedicated years and a life, given away to create happiness

just to become video memories

I use to be awesome

and now I’m x

I won’t even get a card.

nobody

non-existance 2

I am but the space of a hyphen. I wish I could have dreams, or the hope of an exclamation mark.

it be so.....

non-

I’ve experienced adventures thru dark forested woods, rain soaked streets, tall cities, small towns, and big seascapes. Spent lifetimes amongst friends, groups, and crowds. Surround by thousands and by one. I’ve stood on stage and addressed hundreds, been given awards and accolades. And in quite repose held tight and whispered into the ear of love. At different times, spent every essence of my being attempting to be the quintessential good son, husband, father. Yet it is here that I always return, seated in a chair, in a blank quiet room, alone. And all that I have done, all that I have been, all that I have struggled to achieve, is gone. There is no tears shed for me, no one to whisper my name to the future, no prays for my everlasting eternality. I am already forgotten and shall never find the solitude of completeness. The photos will be deleted, the art will be trashed, and what I was shall fade into what I all ready am now, nothing.


So be it.


-existent.

Harsh My Mellow

So, the second comment that I get on something I wrote here is pure shit and criticism. What, you really think that this is obscene? OBSCENE…Really?? You think I am causing the down fall of society? You say that I am illiterate because I resort to using ”swear words”? And your profile says that you don’t even have a blog. Well….. I have an idea, ….Fuck you Jason whoever! And Fuck the self-righteous presumptuous horse you rode to town on. A matter of fact, while I’m at it…..

Fuck religious zealots

Fuck the conservative agenda

Fuck mid-management corporate stooges

Fuck money grubbing greedy bastards

Fuck people who can’t use their turn signals

Fuck Racist Assholes

Fuck idiot politicians

Fuck reality TV

Fuck mean people

Fuck sensationalist news reporting

Fuck OMG! and LOL

Fuck gas prices

Fuck the dweeb who on Tuesday morning (it was probably you, Jason) couldn’t decide what size coffee and what type of donut to buy. And Fuck you too DD, run on this!

Fuck Chauvinistic dick heads

Fuck Marketing, your EVIL

Fuck people in denial of Global Warming and Climate Change

Fuck zombies

Fuck dancing/ice skating/singing/eating….anything…“With the Stars”

Fuck This

Fuck That

Fuck Me

And as for being illiterate, I suggest that YOU read the Fuck’n title, it’s just Fuck’n tripe.



I think I liked it better when I thought that nobody read this shit.



Peace, Love, Happiness, and Understanding to all

MENUDO (Tripe Soup)

• 2 pounds honeycomb tripe
• l 1/2 pound veal knuckle
• 6 cups water
• 3 medium onions, chopped (1 1/2 cups)
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 1/2 teaspoon coriander seed
• 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano, crushed
• 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 15 oz can hominy
• piquin chilies or crushed red pepper
• lime wedges

Cut tripe into 1 inch pieces. Place in a Dutch oven with veal knuckle, water, onions, garlic, salt, coriander, oregano , the 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper and black pepper. Cover and simmer for 3 hours until tripe has a clear, jellylike appearance and veal is very tender. Remove veal knuckle from pot. When cool enough to handle, discard bones. Chop all meat and return to soup. Add undrained hominy. Cover and simmer 20 minutes longer. Serve with piquin chilies or crushed red pepper to taste. Garnish with lime wedges.

Note: When eaten with plenty of extra hot pepper, it is reputed to cure hangovers.



Serves 8-10

F I R E

Last night I started a fire. I have one of those outdoor fire bowls set up in the yard and decided to enjoy the evening’s warmth. There are certain aspects of my life, certain talents that I do very well. Fire starting and tending is one of them. No, I am not a pyromaniac, well not really. And a lot of it depends on your wood. But I can take two pieces and rub them together to make the sparks fly. A little bit of fanning and orange tongs of cellophane leap from the tinder. Lovingly caressing the branches until they burst into flames. There was a time when things like that mattered. When beings Human was important. But then people went and screwed it up. So to hell with it all, and to hell with this. What the fuck am I doing here? I really need to get a life.

The sun appeared over the horizon and it was like,… dawn. Another day, another 25 cents, bad economy you know. Morning coffee went down harshly, biting and constriction my throat with it’s sugary greasy feel, just the way I like it. Then it was off for the half hour ride to the mothership. The Mother takes really good care of me. She encourages and praises me for being such a good corporate whore. Like I mentioned, I have talents. They all lay exhausted and trembling from pleasure before I am through. Last night’s was particularly sweet. By the time she hit number 4, I had her screaming like a school girl who just won Justine Beiber tickets. The mother will thank me for that this morning. That Admin will be reinvigorated and devoted to the corp, besides glowing. The Mother always loves that, the devotion. The blinder the better.

On a daily basis I am appalled at what I see. The other day I was speaking to my neighbor, a nice enough guy. I am not that close with my neighbors, nor do I need or want to be. We talk, wave at each other when cutting the lawn. I don’t need to be best friends with them. Like I said, he’s a nice enough guy. A Vietnam War vet, very involved with the VFW in town and state. He’s part of the VFW Honor Guard. You know, dresses up in uniform and does the flag and gun salute bit at funerals. He tells me that they have been very busy lately, 2 to 3 funerals a week. So get this, he tells me that they are mostly young guys and gals, returning soldiers from Iraq who have committed suicide, PTS. WHAT!! I can not believe this, but this guy has no reason to lie. How did we come to this? How as Human Being can we allow this to happen? We can build smart bombs and automatic drones. We have this World Wide Web thing going on and five thousand cable TV channels. But we can not reach out and help someone in need, who’s in angst and pain. What have we become?

The Mothership opens to allow me in. It embraces me with it’s corporate arms. The mother winks at me and smiles. “Thanks for the work last night”, she says. “We love it when you work off the clock for us”. Your welcome Mother, anything for you, I tell her. “Yes”, she says, “I know. Now your first appointment this morning is to meet with Wendy VP of Corporate Compliance. She has a need to comply, so I want you to sweet talk your tech to her. Whisper code quietly in her ears and when you feel like she’s ready, strip down her firewall piece by piece. Gently touch upon her programs and ping her connectivity until it vibrates. Slowly walk her through step by step until she gets a leg up and takes stock in it. Do it on her Desktop and then backend her laptop. And when she’s finally at her ends, push her buttons until she has downloaded over and over everything she has”. Yes Mother, I am a good corporate whore. “Good” says the Mother, “I want her pleased beyond her wildest dreams”. They always are Mother, I am a good corporate whore.

Armatrons with no real feelings. Programmed hardware that can’t truly experience anything. Yet I am told that I should go on line and fill out the 20 questions of compatibility. Then I can find a real match and will be complete. A real life the TV proclaims. Burn it all and throw it in the fire. Completely engulfed by flames the fire burns bright. Roaring thru the night, lighting up the darkness, casting it’s glow thru the black growing abyss. In the solitude I dance around the fire, chanting my mantra and calling for wholeness. Primitive and naked, I scream to deaf ears and wish that the fire would reach out and touch one real thing. Last night I started a fire, that burned ever so brightly, but by morning it was gone. I guess it wasn’t very good wood. And I’m typing this shit. I got to get a life.

What is Insomnia for 10, Alexia?

Nightly they come, tears drops of the past. They litter my REM like fireflies on August nights. Contorting my body into agonizing shapes, I wake to aching days and bruised joints. Dark thoughts from past lives, energy glowing and wracking my consciousness on their meanings. Look, look, I know you, we went to school together way back when. What are you doing here? “I came to watch the filming of the river scene”. Yes, me too, how strange. “Down there on the bank near that big rock, remember you first kissed me” . True, but that was years ago, and your dead now. “Aids from a heroine addicted guitar player, who would have thought”. Well most of us, but it was still sad. “Well I’m not sad, and they are doing a great job filming the scene”. I don’t know, I remember it with different lighting. “You know it took a long time to wither away”. Yes, I use to occasionally think about you in that rundown one bedroom NYC apartment. “It was heaven”.


I wander the dark streets and wonder what lies the house’s blank windows hide. Sirens in the dark, distant from this door, screaming in pain echo thru the neighborhoods. The moon even fears to be seen tonight. The wind infused with yellow pollen wraps itself around my nostrils and stabs my eyes with sharp pointed sticks. Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze, they will hear you and find you. They will think that you are creepy, wandering the streets alone in the early morning blackness. Let them, I don’t care what they think. This seems all too natural for me, alone in the dark. I breathe it in to fill my lungs and make it mine. Because of that, even my shadow refuses to join me. Or is that in spite of? I am constantly tired, yet sleep is no sanctuary only a prison. But the street knows my name, and the grass fears my touch. Mowerman it screams. What a life. A small part of me actually enjoys the knowledge that something fears me. Yet the rest recoils in revolt and disgust. Do I really invoke fear, fear to the grass? That is just not right on so many levels. Maybe that’s my problem, I don’t seek to conquer, I don’t strive to subjugate. Well, yea, maybe the lawn. I hate lawn, so then fear me grass! For I can play lord and master. Still, if I don't aggressively capture, vanquish and defeat, how will I ever win? Obviously I would not know, about winning I mean. There is some piece of that big picture I am missing. Obviously. Big old Boy Scout she would refer to me as, but secretly like to call me Bad Boy.

Even in the dark, one can feel the green of the leaves, the scent of the forest on the wind. I can feel the bushes rustle and the limbs moan. The blackness starts to turn to grey and I must make my way inside to start the morning. I hate Mondays.

Back from the edge

So I have returned, well kinda, at least I'm back. The Garden of OZ was very enticing, lollipops and hippies galore. I guess that I should give a little rundown on what this fest was about, though it was not my intention to devote much typing to it. As I mentioned, it was a hippie fest. Not one of those tribe/vibe type of fest that are an excuse for some promoter to get rich. This was a true hippie fest. A group of 1000+ people just getting together in the middle of nowhere. Total volunteer organization that builds bars, acoustic stage, electric stage, kitchen, coffee bar, drills wells, and builds showers. Everybody has a great time and it is a loving sharing happening. Music, dancing, costumes and nakedness. Enough said.

Lolliepop forest

Fairy Tales do happen and love comes in many forms and sometimes the strangest of times. At least from my experience. But “Happily Every After” still is so elusive to me. I seen the point, I’ve been to the edge. I have recognized the exact moment in time that true happiness has bloomed. I have said that “this is it” and have felt the glow and watched the aura engulf and surround all that there is. And the day and night smiles, vibrating with the energy and intensity of life felt. I expect a lot out of life, I can be very demanding. But why can I not grasp and hold onto “Happily Ever After”? Maybe it is just that, somethings are not meant to be held….yea…right. Now I am sounding like a corny proverbial Cliché. What’s that one on love? Like a bird if you let it go and it doesn’t return, then you never had it to begin with…or some silly thing like that? Human Beings are much more complicated than simple proverbs. Yes proverbs scratch the surface, that’s why they are so universal, and so pointed to by people. I use to own a bird. A blue,yellow and white Budgie. It was very pretty. I would let it fly around my house when ever it wanted. Only sleeping in it’s open golden cage when it didn’t want to play. I would put out dishes of water for it to bathe in and had branches fashionable placed on walls, cabinets and windows so that it could perch where it wanted. It has a really nice chirp and would happily sing constantly. It died, aneurysm. Pretty common for Budgies, or so the vet says. Now I have a black cat. But I digress…  so Happily Ever After. Am I obsessing with this? Oh..maybe I should have it tattooed on my back. That's actually a pretty cool idea. Yea, it sounds like I am obsessing, and I did find quite a bit of happiness down in the gardens of OZ. So if happiness can be found, why do I need it ever after? For isn’t right now plain good enough?  Anyway, my heart is still off in the garden of OZ, and not so much in this blogging thing. So I, for now, will bid fair thee well.