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."