Monday, August 31, 2015


I feel as though I am cruising at 35,000 feet. After returning from Tennessee to visit my family, there is always the radical shift from liquid to solid mass, from slow, languid molecular gamboling to tight-ass and relentless fast pace. I was able to let my mind loosen and relax down there, and I felt it begin to tighten again as we crunched down the sad driveway toward the main road back to MN. Things are fast again and busy. My mind flits and flutters with the million things I can and should (not) do. Too many choices. The feeling of too many things that need something from me. It is almost maddening to me sometimes. On the farm, there is sitting, thinking, working, television, and eating - a monastic cycle of passing time. Add in reading and writing, and you are stenciling heaven. Here there is the reality of speed.

I need to find and retain the balance and peace on the farm here, in the roil and choke of urban life.


Saturday, July 25, 2015

with love and squalor

Dear Bro,

Working at a grocery store is strange. After years of prospect research, writing and submitting grants, one finds himself sweeping floors again, shelving cans of soup with a smile. And one day you're at the register dragging a bag of potato chips over the scanner then another, and another, another. You look up to see the woman standing there staring right at you. She is frozen, and now so are you. Her face is asking you something, but you are an idiot. Sure, you can ask, but your years of respectable work in the nonprofit environment won't help.

"I just found out my son was killed in Afghanistan."

Two Fujis @ .39
One box Chocolate chip granola bars @ $2.39

You should break character. You really should. Now. The world simply stops, and it is just you, a stranger, and a reality that has ceased to be.

"I'm...sorry. I don't....I..."

"Can you help me with this?" she interrupts, extending a shaking hand to give me a credit card. The world is offline, and transactions like this are grayed out. I helped. I rang up her meaningless basket of food, bagged them, and gave her a receipt. Going through the motions. That's what we both needed. I played along.

"I send you peace." as all I could muster before she pushed her goods out the door and disappeared into the left side of the storefront window. As she did, a song played in my head, but I couldn't have told you the name.

When I turned back to my register, there was already another customer waiting, hands on hips, ready to get on with her day. I held back the thing pumping in my throat and behind my eyes, but the seconds don't stop ticking. Through a watery gaze, I knew all I could do was play along.

"Paper or plastic for you today, ma'am?"

Days later I heard this and realized it was the song I couldn't place. Enclosed is the CD. I hope you like it.

I send you peace, too.


Thursday, July 23, 2015

Followers and Numbers

Hello, all. I don't usually, but today I looked at the stats for this blog. I was surprised to see that there had been, by 4:37 p.m. CST, 137 views. I had no idea that many people were looking.

I'd love to hear from you, one of my few followers. Let me know how you found this erratic blog, and what you like to see.



Wednesday, July 22, 2015


Aging brings with it a very specific madness, or maybe the whole of it, and it has to be marshaled, submitted to, or killed by hand.

Thursday, July 9, 2015


One of my favorite places in the world. A no man's land between dimensions. The homeless bump against aging money waiting for the play to start. Still dirty and undecided. Just enough of the unhinged to remind me of where I came from. Shouts from cars. Music blaring from god knows where. Moon shouts from around the tables. Feral sounds that make sense to the bottom body only, leaving the rest of find another way.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

On Drinking...Epiphany 204

"And, indeed, I believe many folks drink not out of sadness, nor in celebration. And people think they get it - step away from it all, look at it like a timeline, the whole of your life like a parade, the end of the film, 8 1/2. 


I believe many drink to transport themselves right to the end. At that last station, looking back on it in proper perspective, with the beginning nothing more than a pinprick and the end huge and capable of finishing it, should they wish to to stop right then and there."

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Ah Dreams

Oh, hi. I'm just roasting coffee this morning, listening to electronic ambient music. Yes, again. I'm also remembering my dream from last night. Huh? Well, it involved me as a wealthy businessman who is contracting with an elderly Japanese couple to make exquisite pieces of pottery. I'm making all kinds of money off of them, while exhibiting what I believe to be genuine kindness. At some point of the story (It was very much a full-length feature film) they tell me the story of a very special piece of pottery that can be thrown. It is made rarely and shared even more so. It is a piece that is made to hold dreams, plans, and hopes. I remember likening it to the gift of a Montblanc fountain pen, but more spiritual (some say one should never purchase a Montblanc for him/herself but it should be given/received out of admiration or as a reward). The story they tell doesn't sound like much to me, and life goes on as usual. Later on, something poignant happens to me, and I am stopped in my tracks. Everything I know is destroyed, and I am laid bare before myself and before the world. I return to the couple, who now have much more money than I do. I ask them to create that special piece on commission, now fully understanding its importance and meaning. Reluctantly, they create it, and it is sublime. The piece is presented to me with full pomp and circumstance. I take what money I have left and pay them for the immaculate vessel. Holding it in my hands for a full 10 seconds to admire it, I then hand it back to them. "This is for you. Thank you." is all I say before turning to leave. It is at this point that I awoke, breathlessly sobbing.

All morning, I have been trying to recall what event caused me to change.

Some dream music for your own confusing slumber.