well it’s a rainy October evening and I find myself on a self-imposed curfew of sorts. down south people are reconstructing after Sandy came through with big wind and bigger tidal surges. I looked for waves a yesterday. one spot I checked has a deep and quickly slopping cobblestone bank leading down to shore. on the other side of the bank is a lake. at high tide the bigger sets pushed over the cobblestone bank and turned the lake to salt marsh.
that’s how it goes don’t it. things happen and we live on -or in some cases we don’t. our fears, preconceptions, self narrated personal histories, so called freedoms, are just trifles -mere specks amongst the endless tendrils of time infinite.
it’s not even a nihilist view. that would be easier to swallow.
it just is. like tides. like surges. like warming climes. like pandas. like cockroaches. like Old Bull Lee. like Bruce Lee. too old. too young. to live. to die. we cling to our histories for fear of falling off the web onto the sidewalk where we might get stepped on, or pissed on my some mutt whose only natural inclination anymore is to pee on trees, or sidewalks.
and those cracks on the sidewalks? they ain’t there to look pretty. nope. they’s there to keep things in order. keep things inna way that we can identify. a sidewalk with no cracks is like an unpainted canvas. devoid of the ever elusive muse. the painter searches his soul on the highways of inhibriation and naturally derived intoxication. and yet…
the tides rise and fall like the moon waxes and wains. it’s no secret. no nothin. nothin. no