Sunday, July 27, 2008

Many a False Step is Made by Standing Still

Greetin's readers. No long winded jazz tonight. I'm a bit out of the babbling mood. Having done nothing productive or even reasonably close to 'active' in the last 4 days or so... (not counting a short bike ride and shorter walk), I'm brain dead. Odd, but nevertheless true.

Here's a piece that I want to play around with a lot more. I'll probably post a highly edited version in a few months. Why post it now, you ask? Because I want to damnit.



Sonido Del Alma


Rising above those angels
Flesh
In aluminum and faith.
July,
Like the hide of alligators,
Wears gaudy
And magnificent.
Those angels
Find rest beneath the wings of men
solace with god-awful breath
and an inflated ego…
softly seducing sleep
with sententious verse
they can’t recall the origin of:
This is the sound
The soul makes when
decamping
This is dread for doctors,
Parents,
Children.
This is the sound
The soul makes when
decamping.

Mother forgive me
I’ve cursed your name
And now taste salt in effect.

Friday, July 25, 2008

The Apple's Lost Its Shine

As per an agreement I made with myself during an early rebuild, I have to address any listless feelings within 48 hours of their arrival. That didn't work out very well, so somewhere a few versions later I decided a week was a fair amount of time to hammer out the dents. Well, I returned to New York feeling out of sorts and have found the source of my woes in only 5 days. Celebration.
Pardon me, readers. Happy Friday. How have you been since we last spoke? High spirits and such, I hope. I've spent the last 48 hours watching Scrubs. Not the entire 48 of course, but most of the waking hours. Seasons 7, 1 and half of 2, to be exact. My mother -the TV worshiping doll that she is- would be proud of me, I'm sure. More on that at a later time, mayhaps.
  Yes, so what is the source of my aforementioned woes, you ask so sympathetically? (What... you didn't ask? Too damn bad. Read on.) I had this whole fallout a while back regarding whether or not research is where I really want to be. Ultimately, I put the decision off... but I hid it behind a thin veil of 'yes, it is'. I think I've come to the final conclusion in the last couple of days that it isn't where I want to be at all. I'd just grow to hate it more and more until I become the mess that I see in 95% of the scientists I encounter annually. I've realized something about myself that I think I knew the whole time. I can't be one thing... not really. My mind wanders too much. As a kid, when shit got to rough in the drug-filled foodless existence I called home, I would crack open some random fantasy/sci-fi book and I was gone. My mother was no longer doing the fiend lean on the couch, I wasn't running to the park summer afternoons cause it was one of the few places to catch a legal free meal (meals were few and far between at that time) - I was a fucking warrior battling every manner of dragon, orc and alien. As I got older, I spread my zone of escape to the wonders of film. Private I's, explorers, super heroes and any other character I could assume the role of for a couple days was welcome. The negative aspects of this all being that I would confuse my mental adventures with my actual ones. This was socially detrimental for a while, as I was generally considered a bullshit artist. I got over the confusion, or I got better at bullshitting, which is the truth I'm still not sure.
  Either way, I still walk into a room and within the first few minutes woo the cutest girl, kill the nearest threat and escape amazingly through a window or hidden doorway. This isn't always the standard storyline, but my point is I haven't gotten over my wonderful mental adventures. I grow wings at least once a day... again, digression. I think it's this whole dig that made me become a writer. I began chronicling and creating more of these bits. It's why I love writing. I'm free when I write. I'm my own brand of crazy and it is beneficial. That is also why the science gig might not work. My brand isn't meant for the confines of a lab coat and the same four walls. I should probably be in show business, but I haven't enough manic spouts to counter the self doubting periods. Teaching will continue to suffice, I suppose. I think my love for teaching comes from the performance aspect of it. I'm not #### to those people, hell I'm not even the River Man... I'm whomever has the reins to this beast of a body at that time.
  I've babbled on about all of this to get to the point that I no longer want to do research. Not seriously, at least. I may dabble in it for a bit and I will probably get my doctorate, but research is no longer my end all. I'm going to keep on with this writing jammie, 'cause I have a feeling my previously mentioned bag of crazy just might be hiding something that will get me noticed. And everyone knows how I loved to be noticed.
 As a side note, a few people who read this probably know me well enough to know that, even if I've never done something before, I'll assume I know everything about it and can do it first time out the gate. Chances are I might even claim to have seen something on it, or read something, or (forgive me) that I've done it before. Some have been astounded by my ability to actually appear as if my BS is valid, others see right through it. Either way, in these instances, I'm not fully lying. Chances are I've done it so many times in my head, I'm a friggin' pro by the time I have to do it for real. Or... feel like a pro. And confidence is half the battle.
Enough of this deep look into the mind of the River Man. Onto some damned verse. Enjoy.



Arizona


And he wonders why he falls
So easily
Like the ink to this page
The mosquito to light bulb
Love finds him and prowls
The areas of himself
That he can never seem to find

The song is sung
A thousand times

Will enters

  Bus
   Train
    Airport

Eye contact
His heart tap dances
Against his ribcage
His mind writes
A detailed story of their love
The intimate moments
Sleeping in on a Sunday morning
Nightlong conversations
And that awkward first utterance
Of the word he’s never said aloud before
But has worn lame in thought

Seconds crawl by
And with a blink
Inevitably, she looks away
Inevitably, He sits
Silently lamenting his inhibition
And his broken heart

Thursday, July 24, 2008

The Pleasure Of What We Enjoy Is Lost By Wanting More

Greetin's readers. Happy Thursday and all that. So I am back in The Bronx. I'll tell ya, I've never loved this city more. That may be a lie -- honestly I'm not sure. I did miss it though. Los Angeles is an alright place, just not my cup of tea. Then again, I was only there for a total of maybe (and this is being generous) 72 hours. San Fransisco is awesome, aside from the weather being shit. It's July, San Fran, warm the hell up. Overall though, my favorite city from the trip is definitely Seattle. I could see myself moving there for a short stint. Though, I was informed by a lovely drunken gent at some pub that the men outnumber the women about 5:1, so I may have to find and bring the mrs. first. Not his exact words, but then again I use gent purely out of respect and not because it fit his delivery of this information. All in all, a good trip.
I wish I had the urge to divulge all the details of the trip, but in truth I don't. In short, LA (shitty bar), Drive, San Fran (Cold, great people, nice park, nice skyline, Alcatraz!, Coit Tower, crooked street), Berkeley (nice school, nice tree, awesome library, good food, disrespectful peon hot dog vendor), drive, red woods (simultaneously amazing and monotonous), drive, Seattle (first Starbucks, Space Needle, great beer, great people, great vibe, awesome dog, good music, beautiful cityscape), all night drive (lots of coffee, more coffee, even more coffee, lots of bathroom breaks due to coffee), San Fran (great people again, good night), LA (good food, great people, nice bar, The Dark Knight), flight home (red eye... couldn't sleep).
Hope you enjoyed. Now, I wrote a few pieces while I was away. Not as many as I'd hoped for, but honestly more than I expected. I just finished the first edit of this. I'll scan a couple others for the next few days. Enjoy and good night.



Another Monday Night


It’s midnight half a world away
He assures
Himself slipping the blue Tuesday tie
Around his neck,
Monday night
Sometime in July.
He’d lost count of days
Since the seventeenth of December.
His firefly
Making snow angels
In the freshly layered
Yard
When she should have owned the skies
A week before.
He’d counted his blessings
In marshmallows floating just below
The cloud
Of steam rising from the mug
He’d carried to her,
Hot chocolate – her favorite winter drink.
Her mother
Used to have it waiting
When she would come home from school.
It was fitting,
This parting.
They’d met
Over hot chocolate and snow angels
In her parents yard
So many years before.
He’d been too much of a man to lie
Down beside her then,
So he admired her from above.
This day though, he sat
the mug just below
The arc of her left wing
Lowered himself
Just far enough that their hands occasionally brushed together.
She took hold of his,
Thumb gently working
Into his palm. Slowing. Stopping.
So she could admire him from above,
At least that’s what he imagined -
Still. Sipping his Irish breakfast tea
Mulling over
The revolver in his lap
The bullet in his hand
Another Monday night.
Load. Spin. Cock. Place. Smile. Squeeze.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

It's going to hurt...

'Ello and all that jazz. How fare ye? Good, I do hope. Happy Thursday. And happy July at that. A friend of mine recently asked why I often open with 'Happy [day of the week]', citing his disbelief that there is such a thing as a 'happy Monday'. After making a Garfield joke in my head (I told ya, I'm a dork), I explained my view that we should be happy for every day that we get to take another breath. My saying 'Happy Tuesday' is not a celebration that it is Tuesday, but rather that we both made it to that particular Tuesday. Think of it this way- today is Thursday, July 10th 2008. No one has ever experienced a Thursday, July 10th 2008 before today and they will never hereafter (barring the unlikely invention of a time machine... in which case... fucking bastards. I would like to play with the time machine...). This is your once in a lifetime opportunity to make Thursday, July 10th 2008 the best damned Thursday, July 10th 2008 possible. Good luck with that, and Happy Thursday.

I'm currently finishing getting ready to head out again. I feel like I just got back from Mexico, now I'm headed to LA for a west coast road trip. LA to San Francisco, onward to Portland and up to Seattle before heading back down to LA. Atleast, I think that's the plan. When one has the memory of a mentally challenged goldfish, things get fuzzy. I often wonder if it isn't early onset Alzheimer's. Not a single member of my family has been spared. Maybe I'm unlucky enough to bear the load early. Heaven forbid. Off of this depressing digression, yes?

I've been sleeping so sporadically lately. Sleepless nights and midday naps. Mexico somehow threw off my entire sleep cycle, and I was only in an hour difference. Cali just might kill me. Neh... I have a feeling it's going to be a good getaway, if unwise financially. This recession is really a bitch... that and all this debt. I'm down to rob a bank -- any takers? C'mon... a man can't pull that off alone... not smoothly. Don't you people watch movies? I need atleast another 5. 4 of you might die though, and the remaining one will probably turn on me in some grandiose plan to secure the millions for his/herself... until thwarted by my cleverly planned counter-stab. But we could disregard this knowledge and let it all play out - what do ya say?
Yes. This is what the River Man babbles about at a quarter after 2 in the morning.

Onward with the poemtry. I'll be back on the 20... should have written a bit on the trip. See you then.



Truth(Hope)


He sits,
this man (we shall name
him later) worked to the bone,
atop a small hill
of the greenest grass
imaginable (no, greener)
- learning to fly.
Humming softly a tale
of dragonflies courting the wind (sweet
maiden's breath).
The night sky
black as love
lost and buried somewhere
the mind won't dare venture,
where dear memory
abjures (there are some merits
in forgetfulness).
William sits (as promised, a name)
and contemplates
wings to carry him away, his mother's
voice as sweet as honey
to his ear (she would often speak
in song): "One must either
learn to fly or prepare to fall,
this world won't care
which you choose
when it pulls away
from your feet."
He sits, does William,
on a trembling hill
- the greenest grass one could
never imagine, patiently learning
to fly.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Greetin's peoples of the blog reading variety. I be the River Man, happy. How be ye?
Just got back from Mexico yesterday. I headed down to Merida for this year's ASPB meeting. What is the ASPB, you ask?? Why, that is the American Society of Plant Biologists. Yes, I am that cool. It was a good get away though. The food was horrible. If you are from the Yucatan (which, looking at my stats, I know you're not. All my repeat visitors are New Yorkers. Do I know you all??), I apologize... but it is true. The cuisine of Merida fails to satiate my pallet. What more can I say? Headed to see some ruins while there --Dzi something or another. Very, very cool. I have a fascination with past civilizations. Could have been a History major if it didn't seem so damn boring overall.
Anyway, the River Man has indeed returned to NY. Not entirely happily. But really, what can you do?
I have much to say... but no time to say it. Tomorrow, perhaps. I'm off to organic chemistry. Sleep well, dear readers.



Cutlass


Have you not learned yet, boy?
Wastefully pitching pennies into fountains
and buckets
and every manner of water filled vessel.
Running yourself ragged
with thought
and sick of ink stains.
Descending through the delicate white
of a cloud covering close to her.
Hurrying,
before the sun can consider rising,
to that bench
beside a midtown apartment
to serenade the stars,
seducing them into sending her
a enamoring dream of you.
You really haven't learned yet, have you boy?