Impending failure

i sometimes get dreaded feelings. the normally calm periods of mellowness in my life are interrupted by catastrophic moments of dread....of impending failure and slight panicked pangs of fear. I close myself off to the world, site for 40 minutes, and emerge with a slight plan. the plan folds itself inside out and i keep flipping it over. something will work eventually. conceptually, it is a miraculous process.

fleeing from the returning past

it's been less than a year since my last outcrop investigation along the Palisades, under the GWB. it seems like at least a decade and an eighth score.

from the hinterland to the foreland

A large alluvial fan debouches a Montana range. You have a system that graphs out the change form hinterland to lower-relief foreland. Low-relief has the fanning out effect. Relief from stress, work, being uncertain? Large relief in knowing what exactly to do….following a straight path. Small relief in being perplexed, looking for a set course of travel. High-relief (single road, chasms, cliffs, no means of escape………..insular) Low-relief (make diversions, conduits, flat fields, meandering mind……….open to suggestion)

Dichotomy? Low-relief: ways to question your own confusion.

bloody orgy

there are the dreams you remember for the rest of your life, and then the ones that scare you and make you question whether you are a so-called "sane" person.

i come into a storefront, selling anything at all (the details are fuzzy) and i begin talking to this man inside. he tells me of a cult who take the paganist rituals of old Celtic and Gaelic tradition and re-interpret them in modern day america. we walk outside and the sky turns to a burnt orange glow. People are acting strange. i continue to hear the stories of this cult. the have their own secret alphabet. they worship certian gods, but it is mostly an indulgence in sex. they take sacrifices and perform grotesque acts. the scene cuts to a man dressed up in animal hide performing anal sex with blood and guts dripping everywhere. he is joined by others. cut back to the street. apparently this has spread everywhere, from after hours business men clubs to college fraternities (i attribute this to something akin to Eyes Wide Shut) they become crazed like demons. they drink a brew, a tea, brewed from the bark of a tree found in the northerwestern islands if europe, the British Isles. Gaelic, Celtic traditions which were shunned by later christian monks who came with the roman empire. the push of Catholicism by medieval monks was the one saving grace to end these diabolic acts. the knowledge of the tea vanished and so did the cult. (scene of monks in black hoods chanting and ending the threat of the pagan cult.

the man continues to explain that the irish embraced catholicism due to the forbidden participation in these cults. for hundreds of years, near millennia, the cult was suppressed by the church. but modern-day information has brought back the knowledge of the tree bark, of deranged orgies, bloody....a lot of blood and animals. (cut to a scene of more bloody orgies, but in caves and caverns light by torches......reminds me of Hellraiser scenes) the man then says he is an anthropologist who has learned about this through extensive research. he is trying to stop the spread of this cult. i am now part of his quest. cut to the future where we are infiltrating into the caverns. yet, are you to prevent this, or participate? (think back to Lovecraft's ficiton) i am dressed in animal skins. i have drank the tea. and the feeling is one indescribable. terror, dread, pure evil. i rush to a dagger and kill myself before becoming under the full influence of the sinister traditions........saving myself from inner primal rage.

does single malt scotch, brewed in these northern islands, have anything to do with this dream i've been afflicted with?

very, very hungry

I sit waiting for pierogis to fry. I smell the onions in the butter and oil and my stomach punchs itself in the face. I have had nothing to eat all day and it is 8:12 PM. The reason for the absense of food is one crazy schedule. of course, I've put things off, deadlines approach and my procrastination haunts my empty stomach. but there is something to be said about being hungry; hunger reminds me of our early human ancestors. I understand why people fast. there is some spiritual gain from fasting, yet there is also a biological one involving a re-adjustment of the digestive system. mentally, it reaffirms life's bottom line. FOOD. My hunger makes me appreciate food more, and in effect, it reminds me of what I have in life; I love the things I call my own. Through this, however, I do not deny I am very privileged compared to millions of other people. Self-induced hunger is one thing that makes me feel alive.


i sit while the flooding is slowly subsiding. Binghamton is once again hit with rain and the converging rivers of the area are rising. the state of emergency is about to end, though i feel listening to it being reported scares one without any threat of danger. granted, conditions are dangerous on roads with loose soil and mud and fast moving water. but listening to a disembodied voice over the radio seems to make people scared and panic. people drive more reckless and only make matters worse.

the truth is one individual's reality. so there are many truths. a terrible truth for one might be a lax truth for someone else. it is the convolution of reality based on individual experience. a message does not contain just one meaning. a state of emergency can even hold various connotations.

Time to finally break my fast.

NO sympathy for the impoverished!

“I was not expecting this welcome. It was not the kind of words I was anticipating. They were harsh and unrelenting. I had to laugh, a reaction to the harsh words’ unexpectedness. It was deemed poor to the first son in his golden hat, this crying boy delving into a man’s hat. The tears washed down the cheeks, at first sliding down soft white skin, but falling from creviced tanned hide. His home is no where from safety. Caked and sodden grounds meet weary feet and limbs.

“In a dream the son felt he had been wounded by a great force. The cries were not his, but of those sympathetic towards him. He imagined the day when others would cry as a result of his pain. His dream ends with a ginko tree falling on his home, a stucco variety. He would awaken with no breath, wondering if anyone has had his dream before.

“One day the tsunamis arrived earlier than usual. The son saw no one around to comfort him. The golden hat was gone, but was replaced by a tambourine. Rain fell around the home, the stucco sides bleeding into the earth. He walked to his front gate and held his arms, tambourine in hands, over his head. The tears bled down to mix with the stucco, a hitherto unknown mixture of sadness and compassion. No words were uttered. The music played down from the sky. The setting sun kept my eyes open, and I am gracious.”

ended dissonance, harken cacophony

Sun shined down. the rain stayed (sun showers conjur memories of dumpsters and chainlink fences, red hair, things not seen to fruition) lingered indefinitely.

elections. it seems like the cycle would never be met. of course it would be met. remember when carter was lambasted? then they had a movie star from california elected. now the rich son of capitalist gentry is finaly looked down upon and everyone thinks it is a political miracle. (miracle in the sense of this overriding theme of flight from a foreign land. it is still being played out with or without the instigators) it was humbling to see john hall and howard dean on the colbert report, though. and when hall and colbert sang the national anthem, it did bring an unexpected smile to my face, perhaps a subtle curtain call on the divine-comedy of american politics. mid-term reams with raucous changes, but i think back to the Mets. a brilliant catch reneges a homerun; then came the let down.