Mind's eye

When I heard you were still alive Bushfires raged wildly across my mind's landscape

When I saw that you remembered me it triggered a flood of reminiscences long ago tapped down by fire hydrant outlet cap or sucked into the cavernous everthirsting cracks or vaporized in voluminous emptyness of sub zero space

When you reached out to touch me I nearly disappeared

In that smile the world slipped away

In your eyes relentless time held no sway

In this rickety mind a cobbled together patchwork misshapen images words jumbled up clips like a freshman's notebook

What memories! I don't know where memories go

Off to Barbados with the set of keys mislaid

here's the day I met you he was off tending bar in Bangkok but he's come back again - those nights with Lao drinking Chang having run the tuk tuk through the young lads with adult foreigner suitors and that's all a wickedness in itself but I was there with you I'm sure of it or did I only read about it and then picture us there because I wanted to do everything with you - a tad exhausted

he's changed but how would I know maybe he's exactly the same as I remember

Did that really happen like that?

O and look who else has meandered slopingly in not to be undone I guess - just looks h e r part really

on the Lawn you so tenderly eyeing the scene all ague bit so lovely with your hair  dripping down and your half curled up smile on one side

Where was she? - Exploring the acidic wasteland on the bowels of the Gobi

Kind of unreal how a whole life can subsist tucked in there (in where?) snug and sound

Moons to moons and Suns to Suns
$ and cents
This that can't match the mining

I don't know anymore which of those were real but I do know that a while ago I stopped caring they are mine and I'll treasure them whether they #accuratelyreflect reality or not mine to mine or cultivate

What is reality anyway other than perception = so be it

Sure you shrug you scoffer "what if I inflict pain then is your reality only perception?" Yes the short answer is. Esse est percipi.

Until I lose my mind that's what I have + they are timeless everything synchronous

I close my eyes to see space boundless

Chimes the clock and I see again I tell myself I won't forget this feeling I won't forget this moment

I see it like it's right there right now but the only bits I can retrieve are me reminding myself not to forget that moment but I can't see what that moment was

And I wonder how will I mold this moment and what it will resemble when I try to reassemble it in a future time [will it only be what I emphasize?] - deterioration of remembrance minerals thru recurring excavation cycles - it might be a sales pitch for a retrieval system - in through the adit out through the exhaust shaft.com...

And what is the future? Isn't everything that happens already the past

Will I only remember that I didn't want to forget something significant? and who's asking anyway?

Where's the Wire s zig & zag in gnarled balls crammed together in an ephemeral borderless world I know when I open my eyes I'll still be in the room with the noisy air duct my wife never fails to remind me to fix and as I think it I start to hear it

Have you heard about this: The memory nebulae? bristling bustling subsiding dwindling alight birthing dying all synapses and neurons {-al} circuits connected, closed or opened flipping pages of experiences all as real as imaginary or imagined as reality   

A dark night on frog land a sky radiant dancing with color alive like us and I'm watching you glowing

Nostalgia is effortless
it is the time-constrained mining of an infinite space and realizing not everything can be recovered even if it's all there to cull because there's no time because time runs down and
out

Nostalgia is the is of a character it is an inward facing rebuke a hand slap and embrace a
realization there's no going back.
It's the song ending in a minor chord
It's the story ending with the hero fading into muted sunset
It's the fish getting the worm
It's her hand finding his/ or hers/ or his/ or his/ or mine

This mine is mine

It/s your touch reawakening the remorse in which I found regret

but we all have regret.

Angst

Crusade, let me tell you what I see: A man, a tall man bent on his knees weeping

a space

without delineation in solitude within a mob

the bell rings,

the chador whisps

voices whir

are you missing something?  don't you see what's going on?  they're talking to the space - the space they think is outside but is more likely inside because there's nothing outside except the seething anger and hatred exchanged for not accepting that which lingers on the inside as something that exists on the outside.

but mention this to religionists and you'll have a fight on your hands.

mention this to mystics and you'll have commotion to

deal with

try to convince him that ivory doesn't harbor any metaphysical properties or

the rabbit's foot is simply a severed paw

try to dissuade her of the belief that feeding her husband whale blubber will increase his virility

and imagine why there's a wailing wall - melancholy of remembering loss...

mention this incredulity to the witch doctor and a doll will be made in your honor that will ceremoniously be stuck with pins.

or the religious fanatic will bomb your clinic or your place of business
(or praise in idolatry worship the celebrity - a fine line, no?) 

have you got a headache, Fatwa?

Adventures in human interaction

I enter the well kept and organized office.  I walk directly up to where the secretary is sitting typing something on her keyboard. There is a raised counter above her desk and I rest my hands on it.  But I try act nonchalant.

I wait patiently while she works and I casually look around the office.  I see that there are a couple of chairs along the outer wall and an empty coffee table.  I am getting the feeling that they have few visitors in the office.  That changes my initial assumption that they are lawyers.  There's a long hallway off which there appear to be several offices from which I can distinguish several different voices speaking.  They sound like they're on the phone.

As she wraps up what she is doing, the secretary acknowledges me with a nod of her head but says nothing.

I have no idea what the people who work in this office do.  I have no idea why anyone would visit these people and I have no idea what I am going to say to this person when she actually begins to talk with me.

Instead I only hope that I don't come across as some crazed maniac who's wandered in off the street looking to cause trouble.

My mission as I've set it to myself is to wander aimlessly into offices and inquire what they do.  In my mind this seems harmless enough and also a bit exhilarating.  How will people respond to a complete stranger walking in off the street asking open ended questions with no intention of doing business there?

She has finished her typing and has set her gaze on me.  "Hello, what can I do for you?" she politely asks.

"Well," I stammer uncertainly, "I guess I'm not really sure.  You see, I'm just kind of wondering what you do here."  My guess is that she'd quickly find a way to get rid of me is what she'd do right now.  I'd soon find out how wrong I am.

She smiles with a questioning expression and I quickly follow up my last statement, "See I walk by here everyday on my way to work and I'm just curious."

Now she's raised herself up in her chair and I'm not sure if she is thinking of this as an innocuous interaction or a treacherous one.  After she says, "You walk by here everyday?" I wonder if it now seems like I'm a stalker or an admirer.

"Well just on my way to work."  I'm beginning to lose my nerve and am about to excuse myself when she begins to explain exactly what they do.

"We work with recently settled immigrants.  We help them find resources, get housing, register their kids in school.  Basically we're a non-profit service assisting people in the transition to living in America."

I'm mesmerized and nearly stupefied.  She's caught me completely unprepared.  Nowhere in my mind had I come up with a scenario in which I might get a sincere answer.  That makes me wonder if there is something wrong with my world view.  What did I really think would happen, they'd call the police and have me hauled off for vagrancy?  That seems outlandish.

I ask, "How long have you, your company, been doing this?"

"At least ten years now.  We're always looking for volunteers.  Maybe you'd be interested."  Before I can respond she's turned around and is calling down the hallway.  "Joan, we have someone who might be interested in volunteering in the lobby."

As I parse the ambiguous nature of that sentence, I realize that I may have taken one of those bites that be can't chewed.  I have a few options, I can quickly explain that I'm not interested in volunteering, I can feign illness and ask for an ambulance, I could just run away.  Instead, I just stand there waiting to see Joan.

The niceties of death

Amongst the weeds and thrushes the baby's basket bobbed as it floated in the waist-deep water.

And a miracle, that is to say, an event that cannot be explained by physical laws, and a moment, that is to say, an event that takes place in time, and a memory, that is an event embedded in the context of perception, gathered together as if to say, "I want to live; I don't want to die."

The innocuous plea of the mortal life resonates across time and across cultures.

Gone are the days.  Gone are the recollections in the waves of grief.