Monday, October 8, 2007


Mist. A light wilty mist. Cleansing. Turning slowly to heavier drops. Rain. Mist. The blazing sun are my favorites. The sun is obvious. Without it only blackness. Pointless. Sun redemptive. Every dawn fresh. Every break sound overcast. A continuing thread thru existence. Ours – theirs – soon to be another’s. The sun. Sons – daughters. The circle unbroken. Why rain? Besides the fact of life as with the sun. The rain is affected by other elements. It’s reactive. Like humans. The sun. Though it sounds cruel , it’s routine. Rain is a lover. Best friend. Sometimes hated enemy when it joins evil forces. Rain interrupted as blessing from heavens. Tears of angels. I prefer a shower. Nature’s bath & the ground our bath mat. To receive & deliver. Out here it seems easier to accept rain. You get wet & you decide if it works or not. Stay or go in. No running. No oh my god, my bagel!

Our first human contact is a medical professional of some extent. Our first washing by the same. Then family. Mother. Father. The lists goes on. Showers, baths meant to cleanse. Scrub away life’s life. Dirt. Grease. Mankind’s gambling. Here there are no baths anywhere. From 5 minutes to whatever. Unless you work you have no grease & unless you trek, no dirt. So showers are for reducing stench. The funk of 2000 men. 200 without windows The funk. So rain. Rain like a spontaneous mother, father, friend, lover.
Now is the time to bathe. So I walk thru mist to rain. Remembering baths of the past. Their notable showers with friends/lovers. A surpise. Evan. Noah. In the kitchen sink. Wedding night. Tripping with friends. Cleaning of drunken buddy. Water. How glorious we get caught up in morning coffee. Where are the goddamn donuts! Life. We’re what 80% water? Linked by that which slides thru. I prefer water to snake- chicken-bean. Water & monkey. Our human way. Perhaps it’s that tiny slice of monkey that leads our crazy way. Some more monkey than water. The rain is perfect for thoughts. First like the lone ducks that soar above only 3 of us. Soon joined by a 4th. Seems to be the #’s that dictate my life.

In the silence interrupted by traffic in the distance & scuffing of boots behind, I drift. Rowboat without oars. Sail boat. Cheesecloth sails. I drift. You should join. Focus on your open palms. Trace the creases with your eyes. Fill the gulleys with water & slowly touch your toe into your river & drift – drift. No donuts.

Huey Long died Sept 10, 1935
Hamida Djandoubi (Tunisian immigrant) last person to be executed by the guillotine in France.


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