rain, visceral rain – like leaves in the gutter

one thought

yesterday I spent some time sipping coffee and chatting with Picasso at Halifax’s Java Blend. we sat outside and watched the traffic and chatted quietly about random things – skateboarding, style, unemployment, bikes… in all we spent an hour or more there on the sidewalk cafe.

while I love the Internet and all of the amazing connections I’ve made with people around the globe, nothing can replace the visceral worth of a living, personal relationship.

****************************************************************************************************************
two

thunder rolls quietly outside my window as I sit here tonight. it’s been raining all day. I love weather, all of it. but the delay of the season’s much anticipated change is starting to weigh me down like guilt.

the surf has been practically non-existent. what’s been there I’ve chosen to forgo. not stricktly because it’s my preference but rather because it feels like the right thing to do. ever wonder about that -about intuition? or is it responsibility?

****************************************************************************************************************
three

expectations of a life lived blur like highway lines under eyes awash with spirits. am I a lucky one. one and two crashes and neither my fault – I escaped unscathed. but not all crashes are physical and instant. some blur like lines of expectation, responsibilities, duties perceived or otherwise interpreted.

alone I sit and the thunder has abated. I know because the dog is quiet -not whimpering or scampering for shelter.

I need a long run -long enough to wash the dread of self doubt outta me like the rain has washed the grime from every paved surface in our old city. Halifax was founded in 1749. it’s not particularly old by world standards. but it’s old enough to groan and creek under the threat of it’s own growth -the crusty old timers, hustlers, and poorly educated local politicians fight over Her like gold prospectors in a dead mine. nothing left to dig -everything to gain by looking anew.

is this above a metaphor hidden from me in my own words?

****************************************************************************************************************

four

Palabra y piedra suelta no tienen vuelta.

Venezuelan proverb meaning a loosed word, like a stone, cannot be retrieved- it will strike what it will and you’ve no choice.

and well since I will officially become a Canadian citizen on July 1st, I will leave you with some Canadian music from the amazing Southern Souls site.

TOKYO POLICE CLUB – Wait Up (Boots of Danger) from Mitch Fillion (southernsouls.ca) on Vimeo.

P.S.

I love you.

•