..."you experience a story within yourself from its beginning, from the distant point up to the approaching locomotive of steel, coal and steam, and you don't abandon it even now, but want to be pursued by it and have time for it, therefore are pursued by it and of your own volition run before it wherever it may thrust and wherever you may lure it." -Franz Kafka, from "The Diaries of Franz Kafka, 1913."
I could say I'm better off without, believing it a lie
Does that we once were green together
in the same shared slip upon some time
ever haunt your re-formed mind?
Consumed by fruits of your labor, you grind
I wither along hallowed shores of the Nile
Anubis and Osiris bid me come
Tell me I have a pharaoh's smile
I have been the ideal
Patron of nature, magician, friend of sinners
I hear petitions of the downtrodden
Will you yet confess, yield your harvest here?
Daughter of the sacred earth, I resurrect
your dying pallid bat (Antrozous pallidus)
flank his naked wings, habituate your
deserts and arroyos, westwardly piercing -
rasping cries echoing off crisped, sere canyons
Every rhetorical climax of Poe could apply here
self-perpetuating, developing, insisting
so long as these same conditions prevail
Parry no more - fold into this knight's caress
I will only welcome, but I travel West no more.
~ARCantu * 2010 *
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Slowly, with Determination
I have a little space to fill
Would that I could
Break myself open for you
Take the portion that will
Satiate you best
And leave the rest
I hunger, and thirst too
For your toil and sweat, verve and grace
Thrust deep within me
Pulsing, beating
Lifeblood and knowledge
Coming closer to the truth
* ARCantu 2010 *
Would that I could
Break myself open for you
Take the portion that will
Satiate you best
And leave the rest
I hunger, and thirst too
For your toil and sweat, verve and grace
Thrust deep within me
Pulsing, beating
Lifeblood and knowledge
Coming closer to the truth
* ARCantu 2010 *
Saturday, January 9, 2010
for what are we without words?
Eyes, windows, souls
Smile - it is Saturday
O is for
Whatever the moment allows
Drama has no place here
If you need me to rest
Take eat, take drink
For this is my body
And my blood
Sustenance
Comfort
Dreams
Smile - it is Saturday
O is for
Whatever the moment allows
Drama has no place here
If you need me to rest
Take eat, take drink
For this is my body
And my blood
Sustenance
Comfort
Dreams
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Chapter 2 - The End (a new beginning?)
Aurora cast cascades of crimson, orange, and gold across bluing vestiges of the earth's atmosphere as he dropped her at her father's. She invited him in to drink coffee with her and Duke. Dad would be asleep at least until noon. He declined. There was purpose behind his soft kiss on her earlobe as her fingers reached for the Tahoe's door handle. He was in no position to linger. Somewhere between intermission and the closing curtain he'd decided. Dancing at Spurs and crepes at I-Hop hadn't changed his mind. He and she were going nowhere. He was going somewhere, albeit destination unknown at present. She smiled thinly and said, "Call me later." He said, "OK." He watched her sway slowly up the walk as she searched her purse for the house key. He waited until the door was closed...counted to ten...and put the Tahoe in gear. It was 2 miles to I-45, and the truck made an easy transition to 70 MPH in less than six seconds. North was good, for now. Maybe west a little later. The windows down, he thought the cool clear air never felt so refreshing before now. Humming along with Kenny Chesney, he wondered what needed building in southern Colorado...
Friday, January 1, 2010
I have no idea where I'm going with this...
Chapter One
It's not quite early evening. Memorial Park is quiet. Picnicking masses have availed themselves of their various modes of transportation and delivered their snot-nosed nymphs to Spiderman and Hannah Montana beds for naps. An unimposing platform blocks a view of the pond where ducks, geese and swans call out that it's time to sup. Spindly pines surround the area with some azaleas which seem to have taken no notice of the fact that it's early January. It's unclear if they're foolhardy or hopeful. As Forrest says, maybe it's a little bit of both.
A lone couple returns from their meander along a curving trail. She carries a blanket to spread upon the semi-green expanse of grass, where, in an hour, the night crowd will gather for Shakespeare in the Park. In January? Well, this is Houston, where folks aren't bothered by fickle trifles like weather.
He is a beleagured carpenter, on hiatus from new home construction that leads to overpopulation of what once was considered national forest. She interests him, yet he's clueless as to her reasoning behind the gothic attire, accentuated by dark lips and nails, which casts a gray pall over the otherwise softly caressing fading light. He doesn't understand her sorrow. She's a product of the upper middle class, after all. He's a working stiff still trying to make good.
He's confided in her that city life doesn't gel with his lifetime goals. She complains about her Australian Shepherd Duke, whom her father keeps because he has a back yard. She's resigned herself to the ridiculously expensive condo downtown, because she works in the medical center. Ironically she's a lab technician who spends eight plus hours, five or six days a week, drawing blood. She looks like a mistress of the dark, who's forgotten she can't traipse about in the daytime. She curtly dismisses any further discussion of family, shakes out the plaid flannel blanket, and arranges it neatly upon an even patch free of dampness. He takes her hand as the sit in silent repose. Tonight it's The Tempest. He was hoping for As You Like It. But that was last week. They missed it.
She sighs and lies back to admire the last rays of a star she has no business gazing upon. Her sense of disdain bothers him. They've known each other a good while, but they don't really know anyone, not even themselves. He asks her if she's jealous that a female friend called on his cell while they were walking. She replies with a, "Humphf," and says nothing. Is she petulant, or dismissing it as inconsequential? He thinks her most grievous flaw is her lack of appreciation for classic theater. He lapses into what appears to her to be a state of suspended animation as they await act one, forty minutes away. She contemplates his sweeping black lashes and faded worn jeans...
It's not quite early evening. Memorial Park is quiet. Picnicking masses have availed themselves of their various modes of transportation and delivered their snot-nosed nymphs to Spiderman and Hannah Montana beds for naps. An unimposing platform blocks a view of the pond where ducks, geese and swans call out that it's time to sup. Spindly pines surround the area with some azaleas which seem to have taken no notice of the fact that it's early January. It's unclear if they're foolhardy or hopeful. As Forrest says, maybe it's a little bit of both.
A lone couple returns from their meander along a curving trail. She carries a blanket to spread upon the semi-green expanse of grass, where, in an hour, the night crowd will gather for Shakespeare in the Park. In January? Well, this is Houston, where folks aren't bothered by fickle trifles like weather.
He is a beleagured carpenter, on hiatus from new home construction that leads to overpopulation of what once was considered national forest. She interests him, yet he's clueless as to her reasoning behind the gothic attire, accentuated by dark lips and nails, which casts a gray pall over the otherwise softly caressing fading light. He doesn't understand her sorrow. She's a product of the upper middle class, after all. He's a working stiff still trying to make good.
He's confided in her that city life doesn't gel with his lifetime goals. She complains about her Australian Shepherd Duke, whom her father keeps because he has a back yard. She's resigned herself to the ridiculously expensive condo downtown, because she works in the medical center. Ironically she's a lab technician who spends eight plus hours, five or six days a week, drawing blood. She looks like a mistress of the dark, who's forgotten she can't traipse about in the daytime. She curtly dismisses any further discussion of family, shakes out the plaid flannel blanket, and arranges it neatly upon an even patch free of dampness. He takes her hand as the sit in silent repose. Tonight it's The Tempest. He was hoping for As You Like It. But that was last week. They missed it.
She sighs and lies back to admire the last rays of a star she has no business gazing upon. Her sense of disdain bothers him. They've known each other a good while, but they don't really know anyone, not even themselves. He asks her if she's jealous that a female friend called on his cell while they were walking. She replies with a, "Humphf," and says nothing. Is she petulant, or dismissing it as inconsequential? He thinks her most grievous flaw is her lack of appreciation for classic theater. He lapses into what appears to her to be a state of suspended animation as they await act one, forty minutes away. She contemplates his sweeping black lashes and faded worn jeans...
2 and a half more days
The closer Monday comes, the more I want to zombie out/anesthetize myself with some mindless endeavor, like Pirates, Petville, or Vampire Wars. I don't want to have to think about going back to work. I do enjoy what I do for a living. But the company's sucking the life out of me - all of us there - by continually trying to get more for less in their quest to manage expenses. Whereas employees used to be treated well and rewarded often, we're now expected to do more and more and more, and we're rarely rewarded. A job well done is not praised. It's considered the norm. Going way above and beyond what's expected may get you a pat on the head, a nod, and a halfway decent raise. But who can go above and beyond when they're drained from mental exhaustion, the utter fatigue that comes from trying daily to do more than is humanly possible? Ah well, I'll do what I can to enjoy the weekend while I can.
The bottle of Martini & Rossi Asti Spumante Fred bought us for NYE is still unopened in the fridge. When he went to bed last night at 11:00 PM I asked him if we were going to drink our toasts in bed. He replied he'd be asleep before midnight. It was expected; after 28 years I should know. Ha. So maybe we'll sip the wine after dinner tonight. Jessica's called to invite us over, but I'd just as soon wait until tomorrow to go over there. I told her as much. I'll call Mom in a minute to find out when Dick and Lucille will be in from MI. They're passing through, spending the night in Houston, on their way to Corpus Christi. I would like to see them. Lucille's father and my dad's mother were siblings. So she's my 2nd cousin.
Fred just called to say he had a tire blow out on my car on 610, so he had to put the spare on and is getting a new tire now at Wally World. Always something that interferes with what we think is going to be our budgeted allowance for the pay period. Which is why we need more reserves in savings. It's so hard to save when the cost of living nearly doubles and salaries increase by less than 10% annually. I don't know if I'll ever be able to afford to retire. I don't know if I can afford not to retire...which reminds me...gotta go call the dr's office and leave a message to ask if they'll refill my Rxs before I go back in for my next quarterly blood work.
Geez, if I was going to write something to cheer myself up, I haven't done a very good job. LOL!
The bottle of Martini & Rossi Asti Spumante Fred bought us for NYE is still unopened in the fridge. When he went to bed last night at 11:00 PM I asked him if we were going to drink our toasts in bed. He replied he'd be asleep before midnight. It was expected; after 28 years I should know. Ha. So maybe we'll sip the wine after dinner tonight. Jessica's called to invite us over, but I'd just as soon wait until tomorrow to go over there. I told her as much. I'll call Mom in a minute to find out when Dick and Lucille will be in from MI. They're passing through, spending the night in Houston, on their way to Corpus Christi. I would like to see them. Lucille's father and my dad's mother were siblings. So she's my 2nd cousin.
Fred just called to say he had a tire blow out on my car on 610, so he had to put the spare on and is getting a new tire now at Wally World. Always something that interferes with what we think is going to be our budgeted allowance for the pay period. Which is why we need more reserves in savings. It's so hard to save when the cost of living nearly doubles and salaries increase by less than 10% annually. I don't know if I'll ever be able to afford to retire. I don't know if I can afford not to retire...which reminds me...gotta go call the dr's office and leave a message to ask if they'll refill my Rxs before I go back in for my next quarterly blood work.
Geez, if I was going to write something to cheer myself up, I haven't done a very good job. LOL!
Waiting on the Rose Parade
I was up at 3:30 this morning, after going to sleep about midnight-thirty. Tried to watch George Lopez's last HBO special again, but fell asleep. It was hilarious the first time and still quite humorous the 2nd. But with this my 3rd viewing, I couldn't last until the end. At midnight I went out in the front yard to watch fireworks. There was a cold north wind blowing, so I didn't stay out there too long. I think it should be sunny today, near 60. At least that's the way it was yesterday. And it doesn't look like rain now...always subject to change. Later I'll watch the Parade of Roses, as is my tradition. I think I'll watch it in bed, and hopefully I won't fall asleep before it's over. Friday is menudo day for Fred and his brothers Richard and Louis. So he'll be going to meet them, probably about the time the parade begins. We have no plans for New Year's Day. I think I'll make chicken and cornbread dressing for dinner, with green beans, and maybe cauliflower. Now I'm off to play Vampire Wars.
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