Tuesday, October 25, 2016
used to be i'd want a famous name, a beautiful wife, a mansion in the poconos, and i'd feel bad. where was my drive? my ambition? my workaholic ethic? no good, i never got past the first attempt at immortality, the leap where i fell between shadows. and now what? older i am a little wiser.
that famous name, having to hide out on a desert island to get a bit of privacy. damn, another photographer drops out of a palm tree. and the beautiful wife, what a bathroom of bottles and bars of soaps she needs. and as she grows old, she knows it. she complains, men always get to look handsome. as for the mansion in the mountains, well, i think of roofs gone leaky, pipes rusted, the window glass slowly slipping downward.
and so, when this item floated up from my possessions as i packed for winter, closing up the lookout, i had to smile at myself. better to remember what i've enjoyed than dwell on what i never did. written on a mechanical typewriter, it bears a day but no age. at least i had the pizzaz to praise. click on a page to enlarge it.
Friday, September 23, 2016
“The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
― Matsuo Bashō
I am desperately timid. Fifteen years chained to my desk and computer, browsing the world from the comfort of my armchair, this has drained me of a certain pizaz. Long ago i'd simply decide to go somewhere and be off with nary a thought. Has the world become more dangerous? Or am i into saving my own skin, even at the price of depression and boredom?
Greece, Italy, England, i remember days when they worked. Travel mainly a desire for awareness: new smells, bird-sounds, insect-bites, it all awakens my senses. the eyes see more clearly and fear of missing a bus puts energy into the legs. exercise, that's what it's partly about. walking ten hours a day, carrying a backpack, sleeping in odd beds, jumping at the sight of a tarantula in the jungle, all of it brings the body back on board.
of course, the older person can overdo it and never quite recover. sleeping in the back of a bus across canada would probably not be a good idea. i'm sure this time i'd turn into a preztel. in fact, i have no idea how i did it before. I keep telling myself: don't bite off more than you can chew. Be more focused. Realize you have to be able to swim fast to escape sharks in the great barrier reef.
So far i've merely been shopping: a pack with wheels, a sewing kit, earbuds, a stretchable close-line, small and cheap stuff. I've a year of travel insurance. They promise to send my body back! And i've applied for an austalian visa. Actually, i didn't enjoy sydney thirty years ago. Instant coffee! The shame of it. I read now the place has become a caffeine heaven. Up in the blue mountains, not to far away, i heard the strangest birds.
Must be those birds calling me back. I like trains ever since my father took me to watch them in montana when i was six. And passes took me all over europe, i lived to ride. Australia has some good deals. At the moment i'd like landscape more than culture. The latter a strain, ie. Tickets, cars, hustle and bustle. Last time in florence the banging of the motor-scooters echoed off the buldings and left me half deaf.
My dream: swinging on a hammock in the bush, the temperature perfect (74 degrees), a koala for a pillow, and kangaroos playing badmitten for my pleasure. Other times i body surf in sea, ignoring the hole in the ozone. Maybe i'll take up the digiridoo and blow my heart out. You see why i didn't leave home for fifteen years! All this easier to manage in a california cottage.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Suddenly dumped from my domicile, i've been thrown into a tizzy. Yes, life slipping by, and being such a homebody the last few years, i've hardly noticed. This is an opportunity to re-evaluate. Shall i take a new room, sleep on the boxes of diaries, letters, and photos from my past, as i have been doing? It's not as though they're eggs which will hatch!
And my body, how much longer can i trust it? This past winter i worried i wouldn't be able to climb the tower, carry up groceries and ukuleles. I did make it and gradually regained my step-upping power. Yet, a knee, a foot, a leg, it wouldn't take much to make working impossible. Yes, the lack of cataracts has help, and a slow fire season so far. Alas, eyes can't do the work of hands.
So, here i am with a shorter future, still able to motate. And i'm working up the travel fever in my blood. Better do it while i can! And i can't think of any more poems to write, plays to produce, pictures to take. In fact, all those would simply add to my load. Yesterday i felt completely free, contemplating putting the whole lot in storage and going on the road.
First, i realized my huge laptop demanding to be warmed up in the morning, the moment my eyelids parted. And i'd jump into email, and with this election year the news parasite invaded my brain. I kept thinking, what can i do to keep a certain lout fromn being elected and starting a race war? Thank goodness huge numbers of intelligent people working toward that goal. I don't have to do it alone.
Last week i buttoned up the laptop and set it at the end of the bed. I switched to using phone and tablet. They take up a lot less space on my desk and i have a better view of the fire-threatened landscape. True, i'm having to learn how to do a lot of things in this smaller way, exercising the weak underbelly of my brain.
And i have already gotten rid of two hundred boxes of books, maybe five remaining. I even downloaded a lonely planet guide to australia to read on my screen. Yes, i've learned to read by the light of the moon, and i can carry two hundred boxes of books on my phone. All this contributes to welfare of the nomad. Not to mention it works as a tv, a time traveler and flashlight.
I do have a problem: as a taurus i'm doomed to love having a home. Yes, it can be temporary, seasonal, and i can find garbage cans in which to hibernate. Unfortunately, i remember bleak times in beautiful places, where the stones of greece turned to skulls and the streets of berlin wove swastikas through my brain.
Used to be, i'd meet a lot of people in my perigrinations, mostly do to a fiery libido. Now that i fear love like death, i'm less likely to make servile approachs. I would like to be more social, and i try to believe throwing myself on the flowing waters would make me bump into people and yelp, thus starting a conversation.
I just read a fine quote: "Everything you could ever want is just outside your comfort zone." Comfort, yes, i've fallen for it. And as soon as i'm in my igloo of pots and pans, bookshelves and clothes-closets, i sink into a stupor. Maybe i can escape them for awhile. This is my chance, easy to contemplate on this warm summer's day in the mountains. Do it before your blood and the weather turn cold, i tell myself. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Hmm, put that way, i don't feel so bad. Been there, done that, and survived. What i mean is i'm homeless once more. Having moved a couple hundred times in my life, i shouldn't find it so difficult. Ah, but choices are miserable. I'll have to ground myself, ie. Psychically, so to speak, before i can lift a foot. True, i had been speculating about leaving my little cottage. haha, the ax fell. the area taken over by the city. the planning commission loves wielding power and charging for permits, blood-suckers, i say. built in 1984 in the county without permission, thirty-two years later it doesn't qualify as a living space.
an act of fate? another message from the gods to move on? if only they could put themselves in my shoes! fat chance. okay, once fire season over, where do i put my stuff? most of it can go. except i checked out the 24 boxes under my bed. yes, all pictures, manuscripts, and diaries, 40 years of work. i'd already cut that cache in half. like most writers and artists, i suspect i've donated it all to the trash. okay, i just read, "most of us unhappy thinking about what we've accomplished instead of what we've enjoyed." I can relate to that. True, i wanted fame and fortune as a writer, especially as a playwright. Little did i realize the competition!
Ah, but the poetry. I still enjoy it myself. And it led me into trips and love-affairs around the world. Those often seemed more painful and lonely and more disappointing than not. Yet i do remembert certain slants of light, even on shabby beaches, and bodies which i recall with great pleasure. The idea i had to have all kinds of experiences to write about the carrot taking me through the jungles of russia, europe, japan, can i disavow that now? even as sordid as they might have been, they've given me memories i can carry in the suitcase of my brain. "everyone wants to be appreciated." o hell, what does it matter now? i'm being forced to live in the present. Alas, the moment never very satisfying. Only imagination can give it the grace it needs.
Yes, i am stirring the soup. I keep thinking i'd like summer in winter. I can't afford a playa in southern california, mexico riddled with headless bodies, morrocco feels beyond the pale, too close to grinning terrorists. What does that leave? South and central america. Poverty. Indonesia. Claustrophobia. And what am i actually considering? A place where i had a terrible time before: australia. So, that was 32 years ago. All news says it's changed for the better. What about a train-trip around the perimeter. the people fun, even if strangely down beat. Of course, i was in a terrible mood myself.
Anything else interesting? I could by an rv and travel to florida, the only state i've never been in. It has beaches. One israeli friend said, "when i hit miami i felt i'd come home." True, he's attracted to the underbelly of life, the violent and crooked, not exactly my cup of tea. I could buy a trailer and stay in town, find a place to caretake. I'm reluctant to decide anything too soon. A time of terror is also a time of opportunity.