steamed rolls

{another relatively stand-alone response to my friend storm about old and new and the ability to appreciate old when only looking forward}

i was remarking, just today, about how this one fence i sometimes drive by (residential streetside privacy picket fence) has already turned barnyard brown. it started out as pine-blond. it was probably covered with some protectant but not completely sealed allowing the wood to weather or “age.” it has only been a few years and the fence now looks like it’s been there for decades. it’s like seeing the statue of liberty when it’s not oxidized blue. with those changes, and if those changes are consistent for a length of time, then we establish associations and bonds with those truths and facts. it becomes the stuff that forms our reality. but some or many of those forms are temporary and perhaps context-fragile. for example the statue of liberty is pretty stable and tough. it is not “fragile.” but it is fragile to context if the context involves a city initiative to polish her. afterwards she looks copper and not her aqua blue and people’s reality is disturbed. their comforts shaken, perhaps probably their identity as well – especially for a city ego like new york that has a worldwide reputation.

the affect and effect of things over time. it is interesting.
perspective and perception can alter appreciation, can alter reality. how we look at things how we feel things or consider them changes much.
mindstates, influences, brainwash, campaign, instruction or education, conditioning, these things have a big impact.

i was also remarking about how each scratch or dent or worn piece is an exciting thing to me. where most people flinch or get disappointed, i feel elated. in ways, someone who wants things to (always) be perfect, to remain the same, unchanging, unmoving, static, permanent is someone who wants to no longer exist, to be dead, to be lifeless, to not be human; or they are just not thinking beyond their own boundaries.

hole in my pocket

{my response to dialogue from my friend storm regarding the past and going forward - regarding the earthquake/tsunami in northern japan and google streetview replacement of affected areas}

the abstracts of “past, present, future” can confuse. i respond heavily to culture, to nuance, to texture. because of that i can easily be swept away by “idea” by romance, by the story of something, the packaging of something. i tend to call this “marketing” of something, but it’s really about my reaction or response to the clumped consistency of a thing. so my loves or attraction are not exclusive to any tense in time or category of culture, my love is my dynamic responding to the dynamic surrounding me, or that i’m immersed in or surround by.

the past is as delicious and nutritious as the future; as the present or the imagined. and while i can be sad about something i can be equally happy about it at the same time. i can also have varying degrees or levels of every emotion occurring at the same time like a soup or like the levels on a mixing board or equalizer for a piece of music.

layers will be built again. there is constant renew. constant change, adaptation, movement, oxidation. as humans we establish new bonds, new experiences and associations. we make the uncomfortable familiar and recognizable. we establish bridges or connections to shape our environment so that it becomes comfortable. that is us in general. that is a human quality whether it is a benefit or detriment to either us or the world we live amoung.

so i am excited to see things healed, to see what is around the next corner, but i also love the corners already explored, the alleys that are well known and well worn.

reconciliator

the day is burned by common fuss. It is everything my redcap can do to hyde the interpret-blind between noise and the clarity of wonder.

the too turns, every day, wear and build the continuant cinder. abrade and polish are equal continua. all ingredient in that soup-aware. identity and reality; conjured and constructed by our each to cope and handle the boundaries of our decided and discovered singulars.

node to designation

i enjoy clutter, attachment, bric-a-brac, bauble, miscellany, refuse, mess, and rubble.

my shadows are stubborn and my curious are lantern-lit by nightly gnats.

i favour the attachment of obscure acronym to name or noun. asterisks, exponents, and radicals are a permanent tickle; floaters swirling about parts of speech and connecting human sentiments. accents to nuance – necessity replete.

clutter, for the majority of humans, appears to be something visited not lived with. "appears," because that is the relative madness that most humans assign themselves as indicated by the outward projection to their adjacents.

getting to the other side

on july 1 i was launched into the street by a ford focus.  my friend, camera, was destroyed but alot of people witnessed and even tried to warn me before impact.  i may have been hit worse had i not turned and slightly reacted to the oncoming car. i'd have been completed blindsided.  the car was going somewhat fast but in reverse.  i'd checked the road and was particularly alert, still, it seemed to come out of nowhere.  the people say i was thrown, that i went over the car.  one particular guy really helped me out.  seemed trained, at least at basic first-aid or response.  a nice woman got a clean towel for me to wrap my dripping arm and the guy helped to wrap it up keep it elevated and apply pressure.  the guy asked if i needed water, i said yes, and the woman went off to a nearby bar or gallery to get me some.

as i was sitting on the curb continuing to be asked routine questions for trauma victims, i noticed what other people had already seen and known,  the back window of the car had a huge hole in it like someone had blasted it with a shotgun.  at the time i figured perhaps my camera went through the window, but the glass in my elbow and the type of lacerations were proof otherwise(the fire dept. paramedics and later-on doctor would confirm this).

it wasn't a surreal experience but it did happen faster than the senses seem to be able to record.
when i turned to see those reverse lights and sensing the speed of the car i had this sense of doom, not negative doom, but that this was going to be bad; something that i might not be able to walk away from or maybe survive.  still i saw or felt more practical or perhaps observant of everything.

i did what a creature does.  i was helped  up and i took it slow, in case i was more broken than i could detect.  i seemed to be able to get up without pain or crunching sounds. so i responded to the help to get me to the curb.  i was hoping nothing was damaged but as soon as i was getting up i could feel blood coming from somewhere. at the time i thought maybe i had some severe road-rash.  the wounds were on my elbow, the side hardest to see without a mirror.  i couldn't see the gnarly evidence, others could.

i was told by the paramedics i'd definitely need stitches, but they said i'd need at least three. i went to the closest er after getting a courtesy ride by the police to my car.  oh yeah. i declined for the firedept to take me.  i mean, if it was severe enough, wouldn't they just take me?  they gave me a choice with a hint of liability-feeling issues or stance, probably because i was conscious.  how was i supposed to know i had a lacerated artery in my elbow.  how could they know?  i don't know.
i was fortunate in that i made it to the er nearest my house, after not getting much help at the first er.  i was bleeding through my original bandages but i suppose many people in an er(that first er) are used to seeing that stuff, not to mention i didn't look too beat up except for the blood all over my pants.  i was dissapointed in the first er.

the er by my house was unusully light for a friday (they told me), so i was seen right away.
i drove about thirty minutes to the er by my house and it had been about 40 minutes since the accident.
the initial dressing kept things together enough, but i couldn't have gone much longer without dripping from my bandages.  i started bleeding pretty good when the doctor took the bandages off.  there was an excellent nurse aiding and together they got everything under control.  i had to have some cat scan and xrays and glass had to be removed.

i am waiting to see an ortho-something-or-other to double check an unusual shadow on my elbow xray.  i'm sure my elbow is gnarly, i have some crazy missing skin patches that couldn't be sutured.

from around 10pm to 4+am in the morning was my ordeal.  i got to see "under siege," well partly, and "invasion" - almost all of it.

the pillow makers

". . . in their shop one can find the finest menner-batts and caterpillar leathers for leagues around. you can find your fittes quickly and take flight in the later-ons.  they are swift and precise and have a great tier to befriend any pocket book."


[gloz.]
menner-batts:  famous (pillow) fillings by the master, menner family.
caterpillar leather:  just like what it sounds like, virgan trappers cut and cure the finest.
fitte:  a kind of rhythm or tone that one has with everything they interact with. for pillow tailoring this regards the selection and choice of the constructing materials.

a skein of knot

i told a story once, of my magic uncle, but in the telling of the fascine fable the grounds loosed and nimbusly-adrift we found our station. uncles like that should warn you that, in the telling of their tales, you may find yourself stitched in the clouds.

and not too many people find it so easily recieved, their being amidst the virga at sefen tousand feets.