redirecting

flashing, flashing, the air is cool, quite a bit cooler than the bay area of california, but then again, that's no surprise. the sky is grey giving it that melancholy look to inspire close introspection if for nothing more than the elation of feeling one with the masses of dramatists who in looking so deeply within themselves happened upon great universal truths. or so they thought, and so, absolutely, you thought. i see a clearing in a hemlock grove, a clearing, i am certain no one else truly knows or understands, save maybe the native americans because, they, after all, were a spiritually enlightened bunch. i laugh at my romantic infatuation with a gloomy sky. how is it that on the clouded days, i feel i can see more clearly? what a mixed up bumble bee i am.

still. i'm on a porch typing. a black and white cat gently and sleekly ascends three concrete steps across the street. surely this is how any great artist starts, watching cats on the street...hell, we have to start somewhere.

so what am i doing here in portland? redirecting. and recollecting. cashing in the check of my experiences and trying to get these fat and feeble fingers to feel their way through the eons of life that i have been observing. i feel i've been underwater. it's the only way i can describe it because when one is underwater, one feels weightless, motions slow and language, verbal language is halted. there is only sight and touch, a bit of sound. taste is strange. i've observed people like a diver observes the underwater creatures. i record it all in my memory, if only i had a pen that could write under water!

and so, an older gentleman in his late fourties, balding, his hair receding as quickly as his figure, crosses the street wearing a pair of converses with tie dye socks. a squirrel collects nuts. i feel the urge to smoke a cigarette, not because i like them, but because the tone of this scene would comply, encourage it, i dare say. the squirrels here are bold. a beautiful red head, hair long, eyes icy blue but gentle, joins me on the step. i want to touch her but that could come across as a bit rash, a bit too forward. she settles and watches the street. you look so soft, could i, could i offer you a bite to eat? but i dare not disturb. i will accept this distance. just as every orbiting creature touches, not all paths are destined to trace the same pace. it's a difficult concept to understand and yet, it's probably the simplest. we are funny little creatures, making things always more complicated than it ought to be. the cute little red head understands it no doubt but she's a cat after all and as such has always had more sense than people.