Chicken scrawl

Like many people, I carry a black notebook with me wherever I go. And because it's much, much easier to type than write, I find that I do not open it as much as I would like. When I have inspiration, I'm don't have time. When I have time, no inspiration.

Today I had both, but I take no credit at all.

Fog City

There are times when I get so homesick, I wonder if this was all just a mistake.

And then I look around and see sights like this...



... and then I remember why we did this.

Lapse

I must have been dreaming.

Surely so much could not have happened in so little time. One moment in a whirlwind of my apartment, frantic about my possessions and my time line, the next moment it's dark and we are racing along a road with few lights, chased by angry thunderheads reminiscent of the apocalypse of Pennsylvania.

And one moment, with a silent transition, we were in the most picturesque rolling farmlands dotted with the most fairytale-perfect quirky stone villages, a smattering of ponies and flowers, tree-lined avenues, and...

... Castles?



As the sunlight shifted between beautiful summer and stormy fall we hiked through an arboreal paradise. Cold diamond drops of last night's rain sprinkled the fresh loamy air as we climbed through the most perfect hunter's forest. Three bears and a bachelor huntsman could scarcely have made our journey more true. Through the woods we walked, following faint paths and looking for signs of human life between the emerald leaves.

And we found it: the holy grail of our searching, the aspiration of explorers from the New World where 50 years is an eternity.









This was a new day. This crossroads in life, the joining of two essential components of my being in such a new way. It was invigorating and at the same time perplexing.



With every forgotten structure I am always made aware of the frustrating cacophony that is so stubborn to be fixed into art. But we try, and it's a glorious process, a reward unto itself.

Old World

It's been too long, dear blog. I'm sorry and hope that in the coming days we can be good friends once more.

After a week reliving crazy road trip moments with a dear friend, here are the first fruits of my harvest. It will undoubtedly be more than a few days before I have finished photos to accompany this movie, but it was truly a joy to stretch the brain to shoot video clips in addition to stills.

The Netherlands, despite being such a clean, efficient country, has so much in common with one of the other loves of life: Empty buildings. A country that, by virtue of it's location and geology, is ravaged by wind and water. These forces are so subtle and yet so powerful and the juxtaposition of the results was incredibly inspiring.

One harnesses the elements, the other falls to them.

... and then you throw in a little good old-fashioned tourism in the mix, too, and this is what you get:



Music is by Zoe Keating. Please do check out more of her work on her site or on iTunes.

(Thanks again, Thelma!)

Magic

Last night, I went out for some curry.
and found myself in an alley

surrounded by color and
the smells of piss and beer

Following music into a shed
where a line of people

and one scrappy dog
waited behind the garage

She offered me blue jello shots
while curry simmered on a camping stove

"I'm a therapist" said our chef and
David's shoes winked in the headlamp light

Up on the roof we ate
and talked with strangers

I don't know these people at all but
at the end of the meal

I left my pen behind.







Thanks, Magic Curry Dude.

(follow him @MagicCurryKart)

Trace the Sky

Nothing in the world has ever been so unearthly.

In the highest reaches of the Eastern Sierras, the desert lies so close to the sky. The air is so pure, but the beauty and lightness make the world dance with every step. It's oxygen deprivation, the say, but early people believed it was a mindset of the gods. Certainly the heart-stopping views lend validity to either or both of these notions.





Walking is a swish-swish of the feet, the sound replacing my breath that brings no release. It's so quiet here. I'm on the moon, a moon with gnomish trees. As I climb, chips of alabaster marble skitter down the hills, caught by the bare bones of ancient wood.



You wonder what lives up here: Moths, small deer, occasionally birds. Jittery gray jackrabbits with continental ears. Up here, the plants are low and prickly, sweetly scenting the air with fresh pungency. Tiny bright flowers, pushing with all their might for potent miniature displays. With no one here to sniff them, there seems to be an olfactory overabundance. Such a contrast to the subtleties of life, sound, and air.



The shape of the land is hard: First the gentle swoop of a lunar white landscape encrusted with jagged rocks. Pockets of tired snow hide in the shadows, and the rolling hills belie their stunning height.





A purple haze paints a backdrop to the blue mountain wall. A silent, swollen moon. No sound but the light whirr of hidden birds and the soft rush of the wind. Perhaps when the light is gone the lunar desert will teem with life, but I can never believe that such a pristine environment could ever be characterized as "busy."

Chimera

In the night he came for me; I don't know how I knew. I made my excuses and slipped away, and met him in the park. The lights were on, the storm was there, and lightning pricked the tarry sky. His quiet, his grin, and his cunning had not changed at all in many years. He was a traveler traveling light, but there he was. For me.

The smile I shared was not one familiar on my face, but time erases fault, guilt, and need. It was good to see him. It was good to slip to old comforts, feel the warmth of relief while starting new. Conversation was not lost in his reticence, and the night passed away.

Morning came, he left once more. I went home. I did not ask any questions of him to stain my present with our future.

Across the country he walked without a word. Ever traveling, ever light. I would dream of where he was, my angel of that night but never would I know for true. Slowly, my smiles grew cold and heavy again.

Somewhere, deep in darkness and miles away, he knew. Breaking laws of his nature he walked once more, back to me, my tears and my heart.

Was this a dream? Yes. Yes it was.