Fighting the Universal Spider Too

I stroke my beard. I do it automatically. I do it quite often. It has become a habit – as I read, as I stare out the window. I do it often – it feels like a horsehair sofa – there is a bit of eroticism to it – there’s a bit of honeysuckle in bloom without any bees about it – the fletch of cigar smoke blown in your face deliberately. Others notice how often I do this – I am sure of this. I beat my pen on the blank page of the notebook like a drumstick and then twirl it between my fingers in a rocking motion – I notice what I’m doing – Is this a substitute for stroking my beard – then I do it again and then again and force myself to stop rocking the pen or drumming on the blank page – but then I go back to stroking my beard or pulling on my ear lobe or picking my nose or even worse.

Ideas, knowledge, art, hospitality, travel – those are the things which should of their nature be international and conveniently possible; and, above all, let finance be primarily national – J M Keynes

The sun glows brightly on
     The wall
The man sings softly on
     The radio
This hot coffee fills
     My cup
There is no shame in
     Any of this
I shall never sin
     Again
     Then
The sun goes down
The radio was been turned
     Off
The cup has been set aside
     To be washed

There’s a bird among blossoms calling, // and when I ask what season this is / an oriole’s voice drifts among spring winds / overcome, verging on sorrow and lament, / I pour another drink Soon, awaiting // this bright moon, I’m chanting a song. / And now it’s over, I’ve forgotten why – Li Po – The Selected Poems, 1996 p18

S K Thoth is doing one of his solo operas. He should be taken seriously. Really. He takes himself and his work very seriously. Art is what an artist does. If he is an artist, what he does is art – but how is to be determined if one is an artist? It has nothing to do with certification or recognition and everything to do with tradition and standards. His sincere effort draws you in, even if your first inclination is to snicker. You do become absorbed into his world. It is self-absorbing and as Forest Gump would have said ‘Serious is as Serious does’. And was his mother not an artist? Was she not a violinist with the Sympony Orchestra. And was that not him in one of those Cullen MacCulken “Home Alone Movies” at the tunnel entrance to Central Park just before Cullen encountered the Pigeon lady? I don’t’ think he was wearing his loin cloth in the New York snow but there is only one person who prances like that (sort of like Jethro Tull/Ian Anderson) while playing his violin.

SONG OF THE MERCHANT: On heaven’s wind, a sea traveler / wanders by boat through distances. // It’s like a bird among the clouds: / one gone, gone without a trace – Li Po – The Selected Poems, 1996 p25

Then I am off to the Intersection for the opening of “Beautiful Ugly Violence. Kevin, Hesper, Monica and Sean. Then its over to the Elixir for two Sac Brews.There’s a strange crowd here tonight - a mixture of gay, straight, black & brown, sports fans, dog lovers, roommates and lovely dovey couples. The young man is insisting on only the most expensive wine for his new boyfriend.

Thinking of East Mountain: it’s forever since I face East Mountain. / How many times have roses bloomed there, // or clouds returned, and tinned away, / a bright moon setting over whose home? – Li Po – The Selected Poems, 1996 p46

Its been an evening of whackos, cranks, weirdoes. Where do you look when you have men on the prowl staring back at you. Do you avert your eyes? Do you keep your head down and write in your journal. Work is over. Flown away. Arreviderci, adious, adieu, Bon voyage. Calvin had told Hobbs at the top of the hills after a brand new snow during the night - “It’s a new Day!” – I had kept that panel cut from the paper on the last day of the Calvin and Hobbs strip on my wall since I had left my previous job seven year before.

The demands of money making almost always take precedence over the needs of individuals and communities – Ned Niedziecki – The Peep Diaries, 2009 p270

A cute girl is learning the cash register. The conversation is melding into a background swill. It’s rolling and breaking. One could surf on this. The combined cacophony is its own symphony. The experienced barmaid is very attentive. She is watching constantly. She notices the near empties and acknowledges their consumers’ thirst. She is quick to the site of any needed action. The apprentice bar girls are being shown how the stock is laid out. The music, the conversation, the yelling, the trying to be heard above it and in spite of it all; it just rolls on, breaking, rolling as in a storm. It repetitively swishes at your feet. Its cold. Again and again. You eventually acclimate to it. But swill after swill its just keeps rolling in. Repeating. Repeating.

Three cups and I’ve plumbed the great way, / a jarful and I’ve merged with occurrence // appearing of itself. Wine’s view is lived: / you can’t preach doctrine to the sober – Li Po – The Selected Poems, 1996 p44

The irregularities become regular as conscious is submerged in the noise. An occasional voice, one word maybe two can be made out, before they are again consumed by the roar. The waves are breaking all around. You are in the middle of the ocean now. You have been carried offshore by the rip tide, but you do not feel afraid. You have surrendered to the commotion. You try to imagine working this bar is such a roar. Its no use. The experiences bartenders are in their milieu They are killer whales hunting seals. In the pounding surf the seals make a quick rush for open ocean. Most succeed. There is five seconds of quite and the din gathers momentum.

Young love, new untarnished love. That first love that comes once to everyone and never comes back again – Cornell Woolrich – I Married a Dead Man, 1948

This has been a great day for having gotten laid off. I’m feeling fine, independent, irresponsible and ready to rumble. I’m enjoying being here now, the ambient noise, the suppression of consciousness. “How’s it going. Excuse Me” So far I have only consumed half a pint - and, oh yes - there was that glass of Zinfandel at the Intersection - and I am drowning in the midst of multiple conversations, the dogs, the basketball on TV and the juke box. They are all going at once; adding, adding, adding to the din in an exponential manner. I drink it in, this intoxicating elixir.

Isn’t it clear that weapons are the tools of misery? / The great sages never waited until the need for such things arose – Li Po – The Selected Poems, 1996 p59

More beer. now its approaching ten o’clock and I am musing in my suds. I fit right in. Being the only gray hair in the place has not be a deterrent to my fitting in. This is my milieu. What if I hung out here every night. Would its exoticness, its attractiveness wear off. Would it be normal, boring, mundane - God forbid. So let this be a rare occasion. Let keep it exotic. Are there parrots in the trees? I just got splattered by beer. It was like bird droppings. If you can’t stand the shit stay out from under the trees. Love it. Love it. Love it. But never get used to it. There are four behind the bar now; two newbies and two pros. A pro will pull five draws before a newbie spots an empty glass.

I sing, watch cloud and moon, empty / song soon long wind through pine – Li Po – The Selected Poems, 1996 p24