Tell me… am I thinking too much? Or can we make a real sacrament out of the debris of the everyday unwakeful routine?
Amazon Warehouse: hell on Earth
An Offering
Sort of a haiku, a haiku in spirit. I liked the rhythmic flow with each line having exactly six syllables, so left it that way…
Sharon’s proffered bosom
Fragrant without perfume
From years of honest toil
_______RS
[ Image : excerpt from an abstract nude ] (link)
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A Dream (2026/08/02)
True account to the best of my recall. (Because the memory function rapidly deteriorates immediately upon crossing the membrane from sleeping to waking — the sudden influx of sensory inputs taxes one’s will in an overpowering way.) Note: look here to see other dream narrations within this series.
Lupine Covenant
each June it’s fulfilled
even when all have forgotten
while the sun yet loves
the blue lupines wake
infesting the barren hills
as though they’re laughing
_______RS
Notes: Since relocating to Quebec these blue lupines have become one of my favorite wildflowers, offering themselves up to their sun god in erotic multitudes of devotion on hillsides along the freeways. But I am told they proliferate all the way down to Texas and in the uplands of California. And even in wild Iceland, as this staggering photo from Colin Watts attests.
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So Strong, Almost
Where Life Comes From
Ossified Epoch
Steven Pinker gives talks, graces panels, and writes popular intellctual tomes peppered with statistical graphs devoted to arguing how the Age of Reason, despite illusory appearances, is right on track ushering us forwards to the least dangerous, most progressive, and objectively flourishing period in human history. What a clueless prick.
Existentially Deluded
Not a bad idea to reconsider what ‘Reality’ signifies, after a century or more of bonafide Krapola…
_______RS
Notes: A tanka in 5-7-5-7-7. When I felt the inner stirrings to commit to a renaissance of my writing, maybe a dozen years ago, I glanced around and noticed that Charles Bukowsky was receiving considerable acclaim en ce moment. So I figured I should do some selective reading of his stuff. Yuk! It’s not that his observational talents weren’t praiseworthy; it was a matter of what obsessed his attentions. And in the end sculpted his being. The strange thing was what qualified for the laudatory label “realism” then — as now, even moreso. What you see: you become. I knew I would be nothing like this… a kind of anti-Bukowski. One could argue, I suppose, that directly staring into the grunge without sunglasses is a necessary ‘Swedish Bitters’ for the social indigestion that is widespread. But if so, you then need to be able swivel your glance away, else you fall into the Medusa condition. Word!
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Imagination Taxi
Drive
mission sustains us
even just imagined ones
purpose within trumps without
_______RS
Notes: I twisted this ‘haiku’ in that it goes 5-7-7 rather than 5-7-5, just because I liked the rhythm of it better. The image is from a distinctly B-movie called “The Girl On The Train” from 2014. But those are the coolest, right? Those films with nothing to lose… And in fact, the inspiration was triggered while watching the early few moments. I really liked the contrast between the Nazi concentration camp survivor’s monologue in the protagonist’s documentary footage and the train girl thinking out her window, luring the protagonist into her own ‘documentary’ script.
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||skirmishes|| ||with|| ||reality|| 