The architect; 12.21.24

Random thoughts in December

it is unseasonably warm

I welcome it

a chance to get in some bike rides

to swim without freezing

at least as much

How meaningless the holidays

without you.

I am busy

There is a project due next week

along with the holiday stuff

which is meaningless

insert without you where appropriate

A meeting I should follow up

where did it go?

lost in the mail

Why was it so good

Was it trust

love

were we right to depend on either one

were we right not to fight more

about what we both knew

was it so wrong to need someone

to need to hear you out

instead of hearing silence

to want to share

life

death

Is it so terribly wrong \

to reach out

to need to reach out

Everything is wrong with this life. 

Too much responsibility.

too little compensation

 Too much knowledge. 

What am i suppose to do with this  

for certainly i feel compelled 

to do something.

 My task seems impossible 

so why give me the knowledge to begin it. 

I will certainly die with it 

unfinished

 so why make me start?

And why should I serve a universe

so cruel

as to hold you in front of me

and deny me you

Kacey Musgraves - The Architect (Official Music Video) - YouTube

12.14.24 Days of Ghosts

I try to forget things

To just enjoy this time

of festive ghosts

who only scare you

to make you better

But the book I am reading 

had to drag everything back

But if it wasn't the book

It would be something

else

Because you

can't kill

Ghosts

a memory is like a ghost

and there are ghosts all around

this time of year

a dead friend's ghost

from a long time ago

one who saw one

of the dumbest things

I'd ever done

and that is saying something

the ghost of christmas past

of christmas yet to come

of this christmas

And what are ghosts

except unfinished dreams

what do we have left

A ghost of a chance?

Things are grim

not the end of the world grim

not we're all ghosts grim

not the christmas yet to come

with all the horrors it promises

But things are tight

a temporary terror

until there is time

for permanent terror

what you left me with

you made me the one

to deal with terror

I don't know what to do

But I need to do something

I can wait

for quite a while i think

for the things coming

the things i cannot stop

things that should happen

scare them away for a moment

but they will come back

I used to be afraid of ghosts

Now I wish i could see them

again

like your ghost

my old ghost

Our ghost

who we were

what we were

instead of

who we are

ghosts in waiting

i am not sure 

there is enough 

of me left

of us left

to make a ghost

and what is our ghost

except an unfinished

something

Something i chase 

with my science

but i can never catch it

something i waited

too long before i needed it

not a dream ghost

despite the noble quest

even if you were in it

it would be better

but its still the same

a nightmare ghost

Enough of that, here is an interesting article

Ghost towns show Greece's battle with falling birth rate, depopulation

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12.7.25 Saturday

 I think it is safe to say

that if love dies of neglect

if love cannot endure

a fading light

then our arrangement 

was not love

my longing heart

my teary eyes 

cannot see

how to build a bridge

to separate us for good

or for evil

Holiday joy

winter hush

loves embrace

the fleeting bliss of sex

all gone

nothing left but memory

the burden of knowledge

you saddled me with

you owed it to me

to share the burden 

if not forever

then for better or worse

 it was both

what is hope

for what I don't know

the one thing i could cling to

in the metaphorical storm

that washes away all meaning

is what you left 

you wont come back

there is no reason 

I have no expectations 

and nothing to offer

Delusion is left

And nightmares

occasionally a video 

That make me smile

for lost dreams 

https://youtu.be/ukfNXFgUEiU?si=uAlOFw-4bz54JPSU

A real poem: Original Fire

Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.

Throwms the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.

Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.

Don't even sew on a button.

Let the wind have its way, then the earth

that invades as dust and then the dead

foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.

Talk to them. 

Tell them they are welcome.

Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles

or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry

who uses whose toothbrush or if anything

matches, at all.

Except one word to another.

Or a thought.

Pursue the authentic-decide first

what is authentic, then go after it with all your heart.

Your heart, that place you don't even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Don't sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner again. 

Don't answer the telephone, ever,

or weep over anything at all that breaks.

Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons

in the refrigerator. 

Accept new forms of life

and talk to the dead who drift in though the screened windows,  who collect patiently on the tops of food jars and books.

Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything

except what destroys the insulation between yourself and your experience

or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters this ruse you call necessity. 

~Louise Erdrich, Original Fire

11.23.24 saturday

The unfairness of this

To me

Again a break through

this one ironic

harmony, harmonic

will there be

love after all of this?  

I don't think 

that is the reward.  

for me

I am just doing 

what the universe 

demands of me

demands of us

another realm opens

Another holiday season 

without you

without meaning

my work advances

eviscerates meaning

I know what you have

what i don't deserve

despite myself I want it

a fat man in bathtub with the blues

I understand it all too well

i was in the hot tub tonight

always alone

a gigantic owl haunted the yard

its cries were unearthly 

even for an owl

it made something primitive 

in me fear the unknown

and there is little enough

of that left to me

all the visceral evolution

that cries out for you

i wanted to get out

it was only for a minute

to drain some of the anxiety

of a very long day

another major advance

Harmony, harmonics

in a life with neither

you were harmony

broken is the music

another comic thought

alien communications

i sound insane to myself

but maybe not

what would they say

what are they saying

if it can work

the breakthrough

real, almost obvious 

in hindsight

like needing you

in hindsight

but before i could leave

a couple of calls

one to say things 

were moving forward

a never end road 

ending

the other to ask

how did things go

what am i supposed to do

when so much is going

forward, backwards

better, worse

and all that matters

is you who exists

only in hindsight

11.16.24 Saturday

 I solved the riddle of compression

as a form of resonance

which in turn 

allowed me to solve

the problem presented by small minds

I am truly the genius among mortal men

and yet we don't sleep together every night. 

 How does one explain that?

My model says we are characters

free will as much an illusion

as time

so being a genius

among mortal men

is just being selected

to read the words of the script

written by the math of the universe

who is written by what?

Charles d'Orlean

and of course it was Orlean

something old and something new

wrote these words 

Je suis desja d'amour tanné 

Ma tres doulce Valentinee

Written by a man

separated by prison from his love

I understand his words

I’m already wearied by love, 

my very sweet Valentine

I believe I have written something similar

or been given that part

before of the script

not weary of love

but exhausted of separation

11.9.24 saturday

 It is hard to say much about things in general.

 I will not say anything about politics. 

I don't sleep in the mornings

It has been a long time since I slept

at peace like you

Sometimes it is better, 

sometimes worse

Now it is worse

My days do not go by one mimicking the next.

There should be a rhythm to them, 

but it is a jazz rhythm

it appears chaotic 

though i know a pattern is hiding

if i can just see past the individual days

the noise, loneliness, longing

building to a crescendo

I like to think it ends with recognition

But i know that it ends in darkness

I will not get to see it

even if it is there

perhaps i will hear it

i like to think it ends with you,

i lie to myself 

to give it meaning 

it ends in death alone

perhaps death, alone

I thought about the multiple ways

that you can look at endothermic and exothermic

It woke me up

insisting I write it out

telling me

you can't sleep anyway

you can't hold her

nevermore

the darkness insists

write about fire and ice

The parallels with you, 

the heat, now the cold

intertwined only in our minds

Dancing away from each other

The math coming closer together

Even as we drift farther apart

the science becoming rhythmic

as we descend into chaos

11.2.24 Saturday

 Last night i woke up thinking about you. Then i thought about a deadline and decided to move up dealing with it this weekend so maybe I could sleep.  It's later now, so this whole thread is unstuck.  Everything below was written early and now the sun is setting, although not set for another hour I think.  I rode my bike, took a long backwards (from what I normally do coming back) route and took care of the problem that helped keep me up last night.  4-6 hours of sleep according to my watch.  It took less time that I feared dealing with the problem and I found two places out of 3 where it was pretty important.  I had cleaned my office inside and out and I did some additional cleaning, getting the paperwork organized and mostly off my desk which was nice and gives me a little breathing room with things.  Plus a lot of the vegetation that had taken over the deck is gone now and since they are going to take pictures for insurance, that is a good thing.  I may even go back tomorrow.  Anyway I rode home and it had gotten hot even though it is November, a global warming November.  I walked the dog almost as soon as I had ridden home so I was tired.  I'm still tired.

I saw something somewhere on not giving up on something that you think about every day.  The context is forgotten but when I read it and I think about it now, it seems to be about you more than anything else.  i think about eating every day, but it would not be the same type of thinking unless maybe I had not eaten for several days.  Even starving for a single day would only create a numbness which has long since been replaced with something esoteric and consuming.  Would, if I was starving, think only of the meals I had passed up?  I don't think that is the case.

It is 545am and I've been up long enough to drink coffee, to eat breakfast and to think for a long while on that deadline and you.

Yesterday I rode my bike to work in the morning, early but not absurdly early.  I had a pleasant call which cold develop into something.  I cleaned the office inside and out, at least out in the front, for the first time in a while, leaving it smelling of pine sol and bleach and raked leaves and earth.

After being home for a while, I began to get antsy again and even though I was tired I swam 1500 yards, the pool had actually gone up 2 degrees to 72 so it was not as uncomfortable as it had been yesterday when I swam a little less than 1500 yards.

What am I going to do?  I tell myself that if I could explain things it would be different.  I think that I should have explained things, that you would have understood.  Pah!  You very well might have understood, but you had pointed out a long time ago, there would always be something and so there is and so there was.  I tell my if I can just live till June 7, the day after d-day coincidentally, then there will be nothing else, and I believe it, but I cannot believe that you will wait, that you have waited, that there is any reason for you to wait.  I am trapped here, but I know that alternatives abound outside of the prisons I build for myself.  Even more so without you.  If I could just explain things.  As if there was someone to explain them to.  But that is so ridiculous, because words had become frustrating, you would probably be surprised at how much I was done with words, how much I am still done with them.  I knew what needed to happen.  There are reasons, good reasons.  Reasons you would understand.  Maybe. But the only difference then would be to know that if things were made right, I could eat every day and that is where the logic fails.  If it were an option, would I take it?  I tell myself it is your fault, always running away, never holding tight.  That it was the right thing for me because you could not be depended upon to cling to me.  Who cares?  When you are starving, the only thing that matters is the next meal, not what you will do when it is gone.

Offering you explanations helps me, and I tell myself I love you. I don't love myself.  I have made some bad decisions. It is hard to fathom some of them.  They brought me to right here, right now.  The things I believe are hard to believe.  They defy logic, they are called brilliant one day, preposterous the next.  But the only thing I really believe is that if I was with you, then everything else would not matter.

What could you have done, what could I have done?

https://youtu.be/ftpcloTDU5c?si=QaGnjVDjKiXPZMMp