of goods and sundry

carried

2011-05-25T05:31:00.000-07:00

My watch grimaced with frustrated clicking
and the sun tried to warm the stale air, giving up quickly
a coffee pot dripped in agony across cold tile
as the world spilled out like intestines from the newsprint

A greasy green salve odorized the room with menthol
but my vacuum packed muscles wrestled under the skin
“The stocks are in the shitter, honey” was all I heard
a bowl of gray oat cereal stared up defiantly from the counter

The first footfall was light, turning a corner on the maple stairs
a squeak and a pause, then a soft clasp of the railing
pink hands slid down the wall followed by a chuckle and running
two more pairs of shoes bounded down, soft pads of hope

Unburdened steps cluttered the hallway, a buoyant din manifesting
six sneakers had never attempted a nobler task
careless and carefree they mounted an assault on the routine
likely unaware a monumental healing was riding upon each step

communion

2010-01-17T12:08:00.000-08:00

Among violet grapes nurtured by the sun, adorning platters
roasted meats and aged cheeses entertained the senses
Over mirth and laughter, the strum of a lyre could be heard
choreographing blurs of silver and teal, crimson and gold
You brought me here with a great crowd, to ask for my hand

As elephants trumpeted outside with the din of braying goats
that wild, fiery look in your eyes told of great stories
It beckoned, there are things to be done, impossible tasks in store
A gentile touch ensured you would see me through, you wouldn’t leave
your enduring love would last until the end of the age

A goblet raised in celebration, offered up as an invitation
This union to be sealed with a sip of acknowledgement
The sweet fermentation stung my tongue on contact
I drank deeply and it burned warm throughout
affirmation sunk in like a rock thrown down a well

It was a fleeting peace, a momentary perfection
To build a home you had to go away, over the mountains
but while you are busy making, I miss your laugh and your gaze
My broken places have overgrown like so many weeds after a rain
I can hardly remember your essence at dawn and dusk

You have departed and been absent for numerous generations
This desert grows larger by the day and the springs are drying up
It is all I can do to crawl towards our home, where I think you are
You were going to come back, a triumphant return to your beloved
and though I cannot see your face, I will wait for you, only for you

Winds have picked up, whipping my tattered garments
The sun has baked my skin to a cracker, my lips are of paper
I am a melon smashed upon the mountainside, muscles liquefied
Through blurry eyes smeared with salt and blood, I look up
coming from a distance, a figure races against the clouds of sand

Oh, my God! My God! My God!

Ride towards me with zeal and ferocity, rescue me from this state
I can no longer move towards you, for my joints have swollen
In your silhouette I see your squinted eyes determined to meet me
You are leaning on your steed, parallel to its white mane
Bright robes of the purest pearl slap against the wind, come quickly

Pressing on one knee, I struggle to lift my dry, withered carcass
I cannot weep for my tears evaporated long ago, but my lips tremble
In a surge I open my arms, as you dismount with furious velocity
Our bodies crash in a sweet embrace, a passionate wreckage
Breath returns to my chest, color to my skin, my lungs are racing

Dust rises off my body in a cloud, our collision scraping off my death
I choke with laughter as you hold me and press a kiss upon my brow
Your stare says my boy, my son, I have come for you, as you cradle me
I close my eyes and fall into you, forgive my fatigue, Father
Place me on your back, for I want to go where you are going this day

and forever.

experiment

2009-12-02T07:57:00.000-08:00

Slide each hand into these gloves
their stale blue latex will protect
ninety nine percent proven efficacy
a barrier so the skin wont get affected

This is a sterile procedure.

That glass syringe is calibrated
each white line has a purpose
three point seven four milliliters
do not allow any bubbles in solution

This is a precise undertaking.

Four white walls surrounding a floor
decontaminated to exact specifications
zero point zero two microns allowed
anything greater has been eradicated

This is a purified location.

Operate in the silence of a vacuum
slow movements, careful now, don’t
a slip of footing, a drop of blood
crashing trays and brushed metal

This is not what was planned!

It must be felt inside the bones
break them open to the marrow
exposed and dangerously available
dripping wet and throbbing raw

This is a warm sensation.

Escape into the mossy wilderness
tussle among damp August leaves
dark brown fingernails are important
there must be gritty palms and matted hair

This is to be embraced.

When sweat falls salty and the chest stings
taste the air for it is sweet with life
heavy breathing, yelling and laughter
aching tears, choking and disruption

This is real.

reykjavík

2009-11-17T20:26:00.000-08:00

Your soul reminds me of fort-building sleepovers
peanut butter and jelly smiles revealing
checkerboard mouths on a Saturday
sprinklers in June and scattered bottle caps
let’s collect them.
They’ve fallen at our feet, we can turn in a bag full
I think there’s great value in this bent metal

Enough to fill a swimming pool, they come like coins
spilling out effortlessly of this slot machine’s mouth
only one pull of the lever and now it just won’t slow
and I don’t want it to.
Carnival eyes stay open past midnight, glowing neon
we won the big stuffed lion, one they say you can’t win

I wonder if we stayed up late too often
sipping carbonated laughter and driving into dreams
we never met a distance our legs couldn’t jump
so we kept jumping.
Hopscotch conversations into the cavernous nights
must have led to this sluggish sickness, this bruising aliment

I’m glad I could be your handkerchief
to smear the sticky, salty mucous from your wet face
and when you coughed up that bright color one night
I caught it.
Still, your flickering light shone through and then it bent
scattering into the most precious array on the ceiling

We emptied the medicine box, turned it upside down
but these placebo pills and styrofoam tablets don’t heal
perhaps a foreign leaf or scarce root can be ground?
I’ll start a search.
With violin fingers I will make a salve for your heart
so your accordion lungs can breathe music once again

quest

2009-11-02T11:29:00.000-08:00

Bat for Lashes’ latest effort, Two Suns, might as well be named 10 Suns, one for every world you enter during the enchanting 49 minutes. My first impression of Bat for Lashes, or Natasha Khan, was for her freaky Donnie Darko-inspired video for “Whats a Girl To Do.” While that song was interesting, layering the pains of a heartbroken lover over a spooky Friday-the-13th-esque tune, Khan has broadened her horizons with Two Suns.

Thirty seconds into the first track, Glass, she beckons us to come join her on a quest to find “him who my soul loveth.” With driving tribal drumbeats I am inspired to don a sword and spear to aid Khan in this quest. Harkening back to a most ancient Love story, Glass inspires and invigorates. I can see and smell the dust kicked up as sandaled feet cover the rocky desert, looking for her beloved. This search for a lover sets the tone for the many adventures to be had on this record.

Two tracks later, Khan has not found her mate. The beautifully solemn Moon and Moon calls to her lover yet the warrior mentality does not leave. She laments, “Lover when you don’t lay with me, I’m a huntress for a husband lost at sea.” Beautifully longing words are laid out over a twinkling piano. This is not a needy, whiny girl, but the same fierce persona from Glass who longs to have her soul touched by the one she loves. In Daniel, perhaps the record’s standout track, syrupy synth melodies take us back to when she first met her lover. I can’t help thinking of the 80s, karate chops, and the beach when she describes her time with Daniel. And perhaps in a shout-out to Mr. Miyagi and Co., Khan reminisces about “marble movie skies.”

Just when you are catching your breath from the sweet memories on Daniel, we are dragged into the Tennessee woods for an olde tyme revival. Using a rusty guitar and a choir, Peace of Mind changes the tone from a legendary quest to a search for something else. We see a heart that breaks and desires to be a “mother for this childless world.” After we get a glimpse of her sweet soul that breaks for this world, she shares a darker side. The dilemma we all must face as we try to love one another is that we are incapable. She is aware of her innate wickedness saying “Ill love you the best way I know how… try not to let you down… till the siren come calling, calling…” The siren she speaks of is our natural fleshy call to be selfish and unloving. Upon a building piano score that evolves into a euphoric drum explosion, Khan explains the human condition beautifully yet leaves us with no conclusions.

All hope is not lost however, Good Love reminds us that there is a perfection to yearn for. “Good love, passed it last night in a dream/good love, and my heart caught fire.” And I don’t believe this is the “good lovin” the Rascals sang about 40 years ago. It is a spirit-completing love, one that we are lucky to get a glimpse of… but then how often it “disappears as quickly as it came.“

The ethereal tones continue, floating softly by as Khan questions whether this Love can exist. She cautions in Traveling Woman: “hold on to your plan/cause it will come back to you/before you lose it on the man.” Has she given up hope of this great prize? This seems to be the helpless conclusion in The Big Sleep as the haunting piano ballad asks: “how can it be the last show?” The gloomy backup vocals of Scott Walker chill to the core as the song shuts out all chance with Khan slipping away into the bleakness saying “goodbye my dear and into the big sleep.”

On the iTunes bonus track, Wilderness, a hopeful epilogue is added. After the chilling Phantom-Of-The-Opera curtain close in The Big Sleep, the search is back on as Khan calls to “come join me in flight.” Perhaps to yet another world? To experience the call of the human spirit? To find Love?

At the end of this album, we are still searching. Past Two Suns, Two Planets, and many eras, we follow Khan on an endless journey. It is evident she (like all of us) longs to be loved and to find completeness in another. From the start it is evident this will not be easy as we strap on our leather boots to hunt for a lover in Glass. This is a tale of the human tragedy, trying to find fulfillment in one another. Bat for Lashes issues a strong album here, digging in to one of our basic needs. Sadly, it goes unresolved. However I look forward to future expeditions with Khan leading the way.

Perhaps we will test new waters, waters that will not leave us thirsty.

vessel

2009-10-24T19:22:00.000-07:00

I was a glass half full
Sitting quietly, satisfied
Silence was a warm blanket
I needed no more, I was content

Our eyes met, your gaze
Sweeping over me swiftly
You were beautiful, that I knew
But something wasn’t right

Half empty! I cried
I wanted to fix you up
I can help, you see, I’m full
It was arranged, and we met

It was awkward at first, nervous
How would this be done?
Me to you, you to me?
Or both in together?

The latter was agreed

Truth trampled me like a herd
We were both half empty!
Pouring into one another
It was clear, together we fit

Concave met convex,
Rough edges became smooth
Pushes received by pulls
It was bright and glorious

How had I missed this before?
I had been content, just unfulfilled
Now the shade was lifted
Colors flew, sounds danced

I breathe in with you
We exhale together
Every moment is pivotal
Now, it all means more

grey

2009-10-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

"Shit, man. I don't know." Erik muttered, waving the smoke away from his face. He zipped up his navy hooded sweatshirt and peeled at the label from his beer. His fingernails were chipped and scratched but provided a good tool to carve back the damp paper which so plainly stated that he was drinking a "Samuel Adams lager."

Alexander didn't really have much input, which was fine. It was the expectation that he would listen and offer the occasional damn. He took a lengthy drag of his cigarette, puffing two or three times before finally bringing it deep into his alveoli. The carbon monoxide snaked down into his lungs, bullying out oxygen in the gas exchange at the point where the blood vessels were thin enough to allow for free sharing. This provided a welcome lightheadedness while the nicotine added a bit of a buzz as it snuck into his brain and excited the proper receptors. He contemplated this as he stared into the soft orange glow burning at the tip.

"I mean, what the fuck?" Erik flicked his cigarette out into the grass covered dunes.

"Who knows, maybe she didn't pay the electric bill and her phone got cut off..."

"Holy shit, I was talking about the fact that they stopped selling cloves at that Shell on Monroe." Puling out a Camel filtered, he shielded the wind and lit it, producing a crackle of affirmation as the flame caught. "I mean, what do they think is going to come of that? Oh...well I better stop smoking anything now that we can't suck down cloves...its asinine." He shoved the dented pack back into his blue jeans, creating more creases in the worn cardboard.

"Oh yea, that sucks man...totally." Alexander's blue and yellow plaid flannel was whipping around his stout frame. He tucked his hands inside the open buttondown and wrapped it around. "Its cold, bro, why are we out here? Its November. You do know we live in Amesbury, Massachusetts, right?"

"Ah, Amesbury. That's right, Zander. We live in Amesbury." He set his bottle on the weathered wood, and motioned for Alexander to move back as he pivoted around to face the sea. He put the Camel to his lips and pointed out into the grey sky. He took one step, "OH SHIT! Sonofabitch!"

Alexander erupted and clapped his hands. "Saw that comin, man." He stepped over to pat Erik on the back and encourage him with additional laughter. "Well, it was a solid effort, I think it woulda been good from 25, maybe 27 yards." He said, with squinted eyes looking out into the moonscape of the sand.

"Idiot." Sitting down, he leaned up against a warped post that was apparently holding up the walkway. A rusty screw met him at eye level, reminding him he wasn't completely safe.

The salty breeze was getting moist and colder with every gust. He exhaled a cloud of his own into the afternoon.

Defeated, Erik looked down to his Saucony Jazz sneakers and tied his left shoe, which must have gotten loose during his field goal attempt. His hands were stiff and numb. The frigid air inhibited the calcium exchange in his muscles, making minor, delicate, motions like those required to loop a lace around itself, seem like climbing Everest.

"She'll call, man. She will." Alexander straightened his knit cap, also pulling it tighter over his head. Putting out his cigarette on the bannister he suggested that they go.

"Yea. I guess so, I think I felt some rain a minute ago." He offered up a hand and Alexander brought him to his feet. There was one Sam Adams left and he grabbed it, tossing the empty box over the side. They shuffled off the walkway and onto the parking lot pavement.

"Heh, sorry about your foot. Youre a real dumbass."

"Screw you." He half-heartedly shoved Alexander into the green recycling bin on the sidewalk. "I mean, whatever, it hardly hurts anymore."

listen

2009-10-23T10:53:00.000-07:00

This song is good for rainy days.

"The Sea Is a Good Place to Think of the Future"