These rantings
constitute the glue
that keeps this wildly disparate phenomenon
tolerably together
under a name I've been addressed with
since the beginning of identity

I hear a couple of woodpeckers
treating the house percussively, as a sound box,
adding their raw engagement with matter
to my construction of Where & When

The washing machine downstairs
in the kitchen
sounds like someone throwing up;
a puking machinery coming in handy
in the handling of reality, as I see it

Taking notes
out of the stream of consciousness
is a way, a method
to stop, think, assess,
blurt truthful lies & false truths,
cross out details; freely add others

A helicopter approaches
in an ominous under-the-breath vibration
swelling in murmuring might
that soon grows into a heavenly growl,
elevating my overview
into a vertiginous equilibrium
from which the sight of forests, lakes and rivers
of this wild land
opens and spreads, from mountain to sea;
the horizons distancing themselves
at the velocity of cognition,
until the rotor blades
and the roar of the engine up above
change character and pitch
in an almost surprising demonstration
of the doppler effect,
soon to die down into a faint whisper
in the distance

I paint the town b & w,
recuperate at ”the stations of the breath”
that Dylan Thomas spoke of in between drinks,
realizing I don't deserve these good last years,
consulting Kuan-yin
who doesn't give me a straight absolution,
but convinces me
that ”there must be some way out of here”,
although some earlier versions
of this broadcasting being
are intolerable to me

I hear Gunwald cat calling out to me
from downstairs

He needs to socalize, lie on my lap, purr

He wants me to put my mouth to his forehead
and blow softly

He's not asking for food right now;
he wants closeness & cuddling,
like any sensible sentient being

This text started out in an intellectual manner,
observing life
from an undefined vantage point,
but soon entered wakefulness
and the full extent of the moment,
without ulterior motives;

a scary place