rainy echoes

of fresh springtime mornings with overtones of almost ready for death, pungent earthy and all too real. Summer fades in and out daily, teasing the serotonin and fucking with the olfactory definitions. It feels like autumn, smells like spring and should be the full blown glory of late summer harvest.

achoo!

ahhhh. there it is. Some randomly escaped pollen or grain dust that has wended its way through the catapulting drops just to let me know it really is still summer.

The children all go back to school tomorrow and the world will ring with the stank of fear and occasional incontinence on buses locked away from life over summer while mothers do their joyous "the house is mine" dances and the neighbours' dogs  wander lazy through their yards without no worry of debris pelting them from over the fence.  At least until 3 oclock.

persimmons

spicy smooth sharp sweet tart. like love in the afternoon. all those things that make your belly groove and your feet dance without moving. even after a day of chasing the answers that continually evade you as the energy runs high. wanting...

I'm told by astrological experts, the I Ching, tarot (pick a flavour), & chakra readings plus my own unavoidable pulse, that "I desire" is the phrase that best describes me yet...  it's no longer about what I desire but more about what I choose not to be.

experience grants perspective and occasionally knowledge, though the interbeing does not always work itself out in terms which you may or may not understand.

do you?

amalgamation

We define/analyze/interpret every experience through the amalgamation of knowledge & action applied to sensory input. Rarely can one separate out a single sense, thought, or movement and say "There, it was that.", because we are all like baked onions. Semi-transparent layers on layers soaked through with demerra sugar and real butter, all jumbled together and impossible to pick apart. The onions sugar and butter inter-are*.

Like a memory that surfaces "a la deja vu"  bringing the past into the present, enriching/polluting the now with the then. Sense memories creating the range of predilection you inherit through your experience. Nothing really ever stands alone.

My head and heart & soul have always been filled with the cacophony of aroma that is my primary memory sense.

The blog is an expression of how I inter-am.

* Thich Nat Han

Publish Post

like molasses in january