To what ends, pray tell...

This morning began quite early, with the dark still heavy and the moon massive like a silver dollar on the floor of an indigo fountain. I couldn't sleep at 4. Nor at 4:30. And by then it was too late.

The car was caked in ice and I headed for a steam bath at the gym, where I was the youngest of the three swimmers present.

Now I electronically cast the yarrow and come upon another pensive hexagram: Tung Jen (13) - Union of People.

The upper trigram is heaven (ch'ien) while the lower is fire (li). Both are rising and harmonize with each other. The yielding nature of one among the strength of others...

The other day a skeptic at the coffeeshop noticed my IChing and shared his skepticism in any electronic involvement, i.e., the software casting of the yarrow was bullshit. Myself, I'm not so sure. What does the IChing do except catalyze self-reflection? What does it matter where the initial prompt comes from?

That said, I've noticed generally positive results from my castings, whereas when my friend Mo cast, very deliberate and somewhat unsettling premonitions arose. Mo, I should mention, currently occupies harrowing personal space, lost as to what to do with his life next and continually moving without true objective.

I've been there. And I'd like to think I've got more of a positive thing going at the moment. Then again, I didn't sleep very well.

Heaven (Ch'ien) over Fire (Li)

The clock said 7:37, with the little dot illuminated...

That meant 7:37 pm and I was in bed with my cat. The cat was confused. Apparently he'd slept enough already today and didn't feel too inclined to take to his pillow next to my head just yet. I just lay there and thought about how shitty things are.

So there's a pot of tea on. I think a mix of a light green with a peppermint to clear the mind and body. Someday I'll make it to the soul part...

Little arroyos...

My head is heavy...

A tough morning to get up
a tough morning to leave and
a dry head with little arroyos
pour rivulets
they're not tears though I feel them
this alone fatigue

the cat hid at the door
but came running when I opened
and the cool pillow to my side
now hums through claws and tongues

recycle me this morning
and head to a horizon
body stiff and frozen
warming as would grass
at the bottom of the valley floor

I've left cities before
this time a friend takes his
leave still looking
beyond the week
and the weak
and the sleepy
in Plato's cave
chained to a flat screen
451 minutes ago

agone
then go
into the vanishing point
again and again
the point
again and again

_________________________

It's 6:30 am. OPB is just too cheery for me at the moment...
Cappuccino you're the one.

Walking slowly with a paper grocery bag in hand...

The store front was quiet, empty, dark. A few hidden red lights glazed the old wood surfaces and I remembered just how old the building was. Still I walked in,having to open m friends' humble coffeehouse or them while they took a much needed break from their heartfelt project. And somehow I'd become a shopkeeper. So many jobs over time...

Mover, waiter, bartender, innkeeper, antique salesperson, industrial part dealer, copy writer, painter, and now shop-keeper. What is it that I do anyway?

Piano Forte... Fortepiano

The invention of the pianoforte - an instrument with dynamic capabilities - changed the world of music forever. Finally to be able to emit soft tones into a build up and crescendo of force must have had a sublime effect on all those who listened at the time. Pianoforte...
I'm obsessed with binaries in that I've spent a great portion of my life viewing the world as the interplay between light and dark. The waxing and the waning of the moon as a symbol for each moment.
At the coffee shop. Sebastian the Longer coaxes out sweet sonorous Chopin melodies before chiming into the chattering clips and spurts of the Polish composer's more staccato-laden pieces.
The I-Ching virtual yarrow stalks threw the hexagram 'chin' my way. Progress.

An orange cat named Samson...

...lives in the apartment above mine. Samson's fur splays outward like spilt marmalade and now, as i watch him saunter across the tree-laden street, he seems in his odd, cartoonish element. He dives headlong into a Juniper bush flushing out a black streak of a cat who darts towards a yard further down the street.
Samson ambles back to the apartment buildings, slow and at ease.

My god, the feeling of death...

I vomited out my brains last night. I vomited them out this morning as well. A thick green, stringy fluid billowed about in the pool as every pore on my body constricted and then sweat. My head pulsed and I felt that I could die.


My time with the zombies...

my time with the zombies
flew by with stiff arms and the rich
intoxicating aroma of putrefication
my body eroded to soft tissue of uncaring
and the streets were vacant everywhere I went
never was I to see the sun
nor was there a sun to be seen
in the coarse asphalt bed I lay
wondering how the trees hadn't given up yet
I ate little things,
little things without eyes
at least that's how I remember them
there was no air there
and without air
no time
and that's how I remember
my time with the zombies