One

I feel alone. It's my own fault.

I am a rock star

Let the noise die down

Odds

Out of 6,457,031,567, I want to find one.

And she knows what I like at Dunkin' Donuts.

Voyeurs

UWS

This is pretty close to the view. Maybe 3 blocks west would do it justice.

Shhhhh

I am speaking in secret semaphores from now on.

Haze

Wouldn't be July without this little chestnut from the past. 16 years ago, to be vaguely exact. I think I wrote it at the Pit, an old renegade beach in Long Branch that's a beehive of condos now. A lot of partying went on there. It's about sponging, smoking a joint with friends, sunburn, hooking up and night swimming. The memories are getting as hazy as that summer.

I was so Coldplay before there ever was a Coldplay. Having stated that, I'm still ahead of the game.

 

July’s Hazy Motives

So, on one white hot day,

shelled by enduring haze,

We elicit one last coherent breath.

A sweet peace breeze duels our lungs

as we fall deep into simmering apathy.

On the simmering sunset of a white hot day

cool tension flies with the wind.

Hazy convincing glances offer clues of a place to seek.

Quietly, we leap through another day.

 

 

My new tattoo

Like it?

Coolness

My place is so cool right now. It is Cambodia outside, but Canada inside. Both ACs blasting. I think I need a sweater and wool socks to compliment the red chili pepper boxers I am wearing right now.

Bite-splash

Mrs. L knows where to pick the fruit, knows how to bite into it, discern its taste, and expertly expresses the snap explosion from skin to tasty juice that lasts on her ultra-sensitive taste buds for mere seconds.

 

This is my sling-shot, shot-in-the-dark metaphor for her interpretation of all newness that enters her life. I, of course, could be wrong.

 

But  I thank her for including my journal in her picks of the week.

Sox Rule

17-1. Take that, Yankees.

Seeeeeevuuuuuuuunteeen.

4 incarnations of blog since 12/03

I'm not sure, but I think I lost my blog cherry to the esteemed editor,  Mrs. L., tonight.

Awash in sticky molecules of schweat

Humid P.M.

83 degrees. 97% humidity. Nuthin to eat but chicken wings and salsa. This is not New Jersey. This is Cambodia.

Weekend Assignment #68 – Favorite Things French (Bastille Day)

I like the fact that Jean Paul Sartre is cool again. And this relates to my take on Bastille Day. Follow me here.

 

I’ve read ‘em all. Jung. Camus. Wittgenstein. Springsteen. Derrida. Kierkegaard. Yogi Berra…

 

Sure, they all have their relevance in our collective effort to fashion order from chaos. But Sartre, the Frenchman born late of Bastille, had this one little chestnut that applies to everything from the Middle East to the grocery store checkout line:

 

Hell is other people.

 

Charles Schulz, he the renowned artist of Charlie Brown comics, weighed in once with a more drawn out take:

 

I love mankind—it’s people I can’t stand.

 

Their basic premise, as I see it, is that other people spend far too much time trying to shape everyone else into a reflection of themselves. When taken to extremes, other people will imprison those who do not march to their orders, think their sanctioned thought or voice their prescribed words.

 

The Bastille was a French prison for those who did not agree with the declarations of the king. The French stormed the Bastille to liberate thought.

 

Eventually this would lead to the archetypical smokey Left Bank Cafe' and existentialism. (Not, as is often claimed, the hideout of totalitarian apologists, but more the ever ephemeral ground of freedom having nothing to deny. But I digress.)

 

Without Sartre I never would have found Szasz, who deconstructs the dangerously accepted notion of locking people up because their thoughts are deemed to be too different than those of a placid society.

 

The irony of all this is that I was swept into the shadows of society once for making this very argument to those with the power to imprison. And I would not be entering these words into this vehicle of communication to others had it not been for that.

 

There is no such thing as objectivity, only intimidation. Happy Bastille Day, Mr. Sartre.

 

http://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/article_details.php?id=6962

 

Exact

The N in Now is the parse of the thresh

hold.

If you believe it elongates any better, tell me Now.

Wire

I have energy. Do you have distance?

How does one know when one is burnt?

No lie: Me trying to go out the in door at Foodtown. That's not bad enough? I point my car lock remote at it. Toast. Carbon. Liquefied brain puree' on pulse.

I had sadness for breakfast today

Watch this show on MTV.

That is all I have to say for now.

Do you have a friend in Iraq?

Imagine them thinking, "What's in it for me?"