11:15 In Stockton

The moon has turned butter.
Wonder how it looks on the pacific?
Not from shore looking out
Or out looking in
But from nowhere
Smack dab so
Where nothing exists
Outside of itself
The free white
Dancing and shimmering
Over the swish of steady passage
Is that peace?
Or death?
Are they the same?
Which one
Claims the other?
Lawfully?
Is the moon witness?
Or suspect?
Or do we riddle our peace away
In worthless wonderings?
I wonder

This alone

Just can't shake this alone
Or the need to hold it
Maybe it's the night
Maybe the wind
Her, the music
My reflection in glass
Yesterday
But i just can't shake
This alone

My ideas flutter
And sail
Never taking root
Never finding home

The stars, so many
Seeing so much
Seen of so many
Yet cold beyond cold
And oh so alone

I, always a part
Of the whole
But transient
By design and offense
A game within
Itself
The whole
Never saying my name
Just can't shake
This alone

A fable
Within a riddle
A rose on sandy beach
Peculiar
Over pretty

A book written backwards
When sideways
Is the norm

A night translucent
To sterile diners
With good manners

Maybe her, yes
The music, for sure
The wind full of haunt
Yesterday
And my reflection
In glass

Have you a sweater, martha?
But martha isn't there
Only my reflection
Full of cold stars

Just can't shake
This alone

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A Place

Henk De Velde happens to be a hero of mine.
Who is he? A wanderer. one of the great ones.
A sailor. An artist. A philosopher. A kindred soul
anyway, the other day he sent one of his wonderful thoughts from somewhere on some ocean with a pocket full of nothing. Treasure it is.


{Real loneliness is not the absence of people or sounds. It is a abyss located in the heart of the soul. And that abyss of inner loneliness is caused by a hunger that can never be satisfied by another. The person who has found that loneliness penetrates beyond horizons. You stand on the edge. If the universe is finite there must be an edge somewhere. This is the edge. There is no further direction in which you can go. You arrived in a place whose center is everywhere and whose circumference nowhere to be found. While it is true that this loneliness is everywhere, yet there is a way to find it. It has something to do with actual space and a geographical location. There must be at least one spot where nobody can find you, or bother to watch. You should be able to make your inner world and free yourself from all the fine wires and strands that binds to the presence of other people. Once you have found such a place, please be happy.
Please cherish it and do not change it too soon for another.

You will not find this country by continuing passing through, but to stand still}

Henk spends his time sailing, as he's always done. He writes a journal under "never ending voyage" and has written many wonderful books and painted many fine works.

He can be found of those who choose to look.

Snuffy's Money

Spent last night in little rock on my way to Laredo.

Was on my way to the truck after a short walk when I saw him. I gauged the distance to the truck and measured it against the ability of his gait. I had him, piece of cake. But he hung in there and just as I locked the door, there was his pathetic mug looking back up at me through the window. Thought of using my "no comprenday" but I'm just too fukken white.

So here's the story- seems the old codger and his wife are on their way to nashville and their radiator tanked. All they have to their name is 72 bucks and God bless they sure love the Lord and could i help just a little?

Shit he sure looked the part of the lost tourist from omaha, right down to the belt. Walked like festus from gunsmoke but without the zip and I'm sure he never owned a horse.

His sad words had to be gummed out and he wore a Jesus hat.

Shit.

I dug around for a couple bucks, maybe a five, but the smallest i could find was a twenty. I shrugged sorry. No problem, he had change.

Lovely.

So I give him 20, he hands me back a five and five ones. Bar money. I knew it immediately. Soggy-the smell. And now I had it,and paid 10 bucks to get it.

An old guy shuffles in to Snuffy's tavern, drinks bought and the money changes hands and pockets all day long when its not in the till.

It falls on the bathroom floor and it soaks up the stale beer from the bar and the alcohol bleeding out through shaking hands.
Hell, a dollar bill might spend an entire week in Snuffy's bar before escaping and now they were mine and i was theirs and there never was a wife, never a leaky radiator.
As the old codger made his way around the parking lot, the cb radio came alive.
"hell, that old man was here two weeks ago with that same leaky radiator," some guy offers up with a laugh. "but that time he was on his way to Dallas." Everyone chuckles.
And so it goes.

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See- here's the problem, there's always back always a shoulder to look over back there? Those them it a map duty the familiar the praise of fools A+ we could go forward the tracks say so but we wont evolution of man except we grow weaker not stronger extinction looms the joke on us til only a silent rusty rail can laugh

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Tuesday In Tullahoma TN same ol train tracks same ol walk same ol choices same ol thoughts i miss the river and the comfort of the rain