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Monthly Archives: August 2009

I was to listen one day on a street corner.
I listened cause all i had were the senses.
Cast adrift my lost to whims of
me.. casting adrift to music and seas
encumbering straight lines and necessary deeds.

where of music April first came to re poke
where of travel the unemployment check
gave flight, all about me
my only plight
a straight tone of environmental reaction.
my interesting circles to personal circus.
the clown the fool to enough to see.
what blindness comes as purpose.
devoid of the interest of me.
auto matic and seventy hours pushed.
driven, to driving , and solitude.
the april winds graced alone
in purpose.

so in a chair . with a book, a coffee, in another house west of travels. Mountains passing still in my mind, the hope of the green ,the movements of Rock to tree to river to subtle , as the earth turned under. the echoed of great resolve and determined innocents, the grasped plains , and dried earth,
sparkled greener yet to expand in hope,
if based upon the great sparseness of the planet.

The chair pushed back a sidewalk building wall spread with three paintings or so. the table with small sized same.
people passing.
then the chair next to me. the table gets people , two. one who i talk to in the morning for a second. she had long red hair and was tall. he was almost as tall with bushy blond hair. a matching mustache and all black with a french bonnet,, i saw visions of Cambridge streets around Harvard ,
and felt at home. The women had taken my picture , for a website which was just called Faces of BEllingham. The next day i felt good about that. Nothing more homey then acceptance.

so i sat back knowing peace for a second. Washington has life. it was my maybe second week in this town just close to the border. and i lstined as oft i am to do. Natures true stories are told on the wind, in equal to the power they entertain.

The small city streets are filled with all kinds of entertainment. i like to listen, Horns,. emergency sirens, clunking chimes and pounding feet, over tempo-d but sea gulls squawks tie it all together. this is their home. this is where they are welcome. Far away from where the sea edge is consumed. and gulls only live in the dump. so siting is listening on a warm summer day with two people having a conversation.
and they are close and i can hear every word.
i listened to a really intelligent , (and as i was to find out later. a really good person and photographer.)
talk about an event from being three.
i have never been able to get back to maybe seven. years old , and was jealous. There should be a respect for the ones that travel through environment of physicality, we call personal past. a metal or extra money somehow. for those that travel and look at where the innocents was scattered or where the reconciled pain injects its remedy. That it was that everyone would try it. to travel in consciousness marks the reason for life, thoughts function to ease a feeling mind. and the unconscious follows with a silly smile for the moments lift; to free it.
to the timeless spirit as mental health inhabitants goal.

funny what listening tells.

A world spinning under this same chair that used to travel for the last year and a half. at one hundred miles an hour, if i was late for a job.
this same seat.
“the summer wind came drifting in
a crossed the sea. ”
lyrics by sentra.
Again , there streets of Harvard University , I had a reaction to a thought. Peace..
i said hello.
to the two.