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Evenings should be days.

I’ve had a TiVo┬« for year (thanks Dana) and it makes teevee tolerable for me as I just create my own programming. I am working tonight, validating a months long migration project that hopefully will be successful (looks like it may be with some small caveats), but sitting in a hot apartment under two fans alone clicking on things isn’t really what I want my Sunday night to be necessarily.
So I turn on the boob tube (which oddly I don’t actually use to watch boobs) and see I have 5 Bill Moyers shows in my queue, the most recent of which “Going home with Maya Angelou” and I think, “this should be lovely and profound” and I start playing it.
Of course, within the first couple of minutes I realize I really haven’t thought this through, but continue watching anyway. Maya and Bill stop right before walking over the the railroad tracks into the old “white section of town” where she never felt safe because anything could happen and that at least on the black side she had “an idea of protection” and Maya hesitates and says “I really don’t want to got across the thing, I really don’t” and Bill says ” I understand. So what are you thinking right now?”
And Maya says “You still on my side. We both be safe.”
So… now I am a weeping mess, blowing my nose, heart happy and achey all at once and can’t concentrate for shit.
I would rather live in this state of thought and reason, emotion and connection far more often than I am able to. Maybe some point before I lose my ability feel this way I will figure out a way to do so.
Watch this.

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Why can’t everything be beautiful always?

Jigsaw Falls Into Place

Patti King & The Portland Cello Project

Source unknown.

I thought I’d never hear this again- I had a total meltdown listening to it again.


Art Gish

Art Gish died today
This beautiful man
of peace and thoughtfulness
of unending patience and bravery.
He practiced his beliefs boldly
and intensely
without ever shouting or belittling.
Coaching young stoners on non-violent protest
Defying Israeli tanks, a canon barrel at his face
he taught to find the good, the humanity in every situation
And that there can be no peace without a conversation.

Art Gish died today
This beautiful man
A man of Love and Peace
When his tractor rolled on him
and caught fire, pinned in the blaze

God is a mean-spirited fucker.


Tonight I sat out back

Tonight I sat out back
between the mini garden and the petri dish hot tub
and watched the dusken sky turn to an orange mottled gray
and the rare Portland thunderstorm breathe to life above me
You could tell the trees were happy
I am unsure about the banana peppers and the marigolds
but they are transient as I- The trees win out

The lightning arced and slammed into clouds above my head
and just like my mother taught me
I counted the seconds
and just as always
it never really made a difference
because it’d explode regardless of how many miles
and I realized
I didnt really know what the ratio was

the explosions
had a continuity
and I was instantly
In Las Vegas
as the most vicious sheets of icepick rain
slammed into the ground and veins of electric feathered across the valley
In Atlanta
at Donna’s watching the rains pull down a hillside
and dumpsters bobbing along on a hillside parking lot (thats a LOT of fucking water)
In Athens
watching the greatest storm of my life well up over the West Virgina hills
and crash across my porch for nearly two hours; it was like fucking
In the woods in Monsey
Cutting from the strip mall past the Yeshiva
and to my development, the smell of earth, inhaling and drinking
In Spring Valley
watching the from the huge picture window in the living room
that framed the foothills of Harriman State Park and imagining I could grab and hold
the lightning in my hand and make it act upon my command.

The trees were enthralled
my bare chested roommate agreed
as she giggled and hiccuped twirling in the drops

Breathing deep
Breathing deep

The storms mirror the heavens
the primordial essence of anything
that is ever to be
or was

and we
get to enjoy it

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