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Saturday, April 28, 2012

...The Sleepy Child

~The sleepy child ambled up clumsily to a kneeling position in order to better survey his surroundings. The room where he awoke was semi-dark and the midafternoon light played across the white bed linens laddering them as it exited through the venetians on the eastern windowed wall. Small motes of dust and other particulate matter floated eerily and caught in the sun’s rays forming disorganized patterns and glowing dramatically in the vertical eddies created by the heat in the stillness of the room. The queen sized bed from where he drew his bearings rose scarcely three feet as it surfaced from the floor but could just as well have been The Eiger or perhaps even the southwestern face of El Capitan such were his juvenile negotiating skills.  

The room itself was small by adult standards but, for the toddlers’ perspective, loomed large and profound with shapes contemplative and angular, and silence everywhere both distracting and oddly frightful.

 Translucent and bone colored window dressings embroidered with some sort of vertically running bamboo-like striations adorned one side of the bedroom. A steady summer breeze billowed the shadows of nearby maples and oaks and their representative dark duplications paneled the floor and western wall above the bed.  Discordant shapes and patterns displayed themselves in the filtered light as they struck objects within his field of vision.

The carpeted floors stretched out from below the bed and to the walls themselves.  Brown in color but perceived by the boy child as a form articulated somehow more by ill intent, malicious in nature, seemingly animated and perhaps better described by dread than spectral shading. The alarm clock on the bedside table ticked out the seconds, pulsating and clicking, adding some vague aural drama and establishing a tone of general unease. 

Somewhere in another room sounds emanated and passed beneath the trellis of the doorway. Muffled and incompletely understood but sensed by his childlike mind, disturbing and ill boding.

The young form that he currently occupied drew in all that he surveyed and all that was surveyed by him,  became him, ….occupied him, ….colored him.

 Given his relative newness to the world and, indeed, as some part of it unto himself, the synaptic foundation upon which he would begin to lay the groundwork for all of his understanding of things both tactile and philosophic began to take shape, ….To Evolve, ….To Learn, ….To Grow.

Countless varied things were absorbed and diagnosed by his “new” mind that would, in time, come to define who and what he was along with some cryptic pseudo-understanding of who and what the actions of others were and meant in relation to him and his own selfish needs. Neurons in his tiny but growing brain fired and bridged marking chemical pathways and creating connections with which to analyze that which crossed his mental geography.

The curtains along the window on the wall, their faintly embossed patterns, their nap, the lay of the material as it fell upon the valley of the floor. The dark and water-stained walnut finish of the dresser table, it’s poorly veneered surface covered by a laced and coffee spotted throw. The simple round clock marking time, making patterned observations of its own accord, telling its simple story. Muted conversations, their words not yet fully understood –not completely defined for study. Already he could grasp inflection and color in speech, volume and pitch, cadence and importance or the lack thereof. Although limited as he was in his ability yet to coherently label that which he drew inward, the absorption of everything that took place within his youthful surroundings carried on and he took to the task at hand like some factory worker seeking overtime and carefree of time clock considerations.

The sights and sounds and feelings from where he took this communion of sorts all filed away for some future references’ sake to be withdrawn from some colossal library of thought perhaps later, perhaps never to be glimpsed again except possibly in dreams themselves, perhaps never to be remembered still.

So much to take in, everything new. Things even when finally known, finally understood, firm in their definition, only later to be reassessed, re-understood like some task never fully completed only started, ….A Beginning Forever.

Still sleepy-headed he began to drift off. The heat of the afternoon sun settling on his skin, draping over him like some unknowable radiant netting, the boy dozed escaping this plane of awareness for now. Dreams came and his limbs twitched as if in recognition of some important task at hand.

On this day, and many others soon to come and go, there would be no memory of these dreams nor of the things that may have undoubtedly inspired them, ….Thankfully.~

Friday, April 13, 2012

Little Bohemia...

Well it’s been close to 30 days since I last decided to weigh in on anything ~New~ and I suppose that it’s about that time again , so here goes…

Maybe it’s best to begin by saying that I’m a fairly progressive thinking kind of guy. I try to remain moderately open to new things and ideas and I‘ve been known to be persuaded by logical and impassioned rhetoric even when I’ve previously held some sort of stubborn position on a particular topic. I believe in diversity and am intrigued, to a degree, by the way in which it can inject sometimes dramatic affect and change in socially stoic ideations regarding all manner of “things” different. God only knows -I take some getting used too, not necessarily for the way that I look or dress but most certainly for my odd way of looking at and describing the things that cross my gaze from time to time. I too can only assume that I require some degree of patience and understanding when it comes to listening to the driveling prattle that escapes my lips. My rule of thumb seems to be -if It entertains me in some fashion I’m compelled to share It with some poor soul in my life and let the bitter fallout settle where it may! -Hey, hopefully it’ll retain some of the strange humor that was intended, oftentimes, however, that intended giggle-factor doesn’t succeed in making the target that I thought I was dialing in when I opened the bomb bay doors -Oh well, that’s life right…

Anyhow since this past December I’ve been residing here in the western part of North Carolina: Swananoa/Black Mountain/Asheville specifically,…a beautiful part of the state, and, without a doubt, one which provides an entirely different perspective on all things Sureal. Little did I know…

One of the kind of interesting things that goes on close to my office in downtown Asheville is an ever-changing parade of corner street musicians and other sundry entrepreneurial types panhandling for loose change and vague (or not so vague) passing focus. Interesting…

…Indeed… I for one am a big big fan of people watching in general and was intrigued at first to be in the presence of such a seemingly vast and eclectic parade of different (!) assorted attention seeking individuals. Ah Asheville…Little Bohemia…

Now when I think of Street Musicians I envision one guy on one corner in some fairly metropolitan downtown area maybe playing an acoustic guitar for an hour or so during peek pedestrian foot traffic times. I picture a New York Times Square kind of scene in my head -pretty vanillaesque I guess you might say. -Not to imply that I can’t or don’t possess a fairly significant degree of imagination and creativity myself, but in retrospect it’s fair to say that I had a pretty na├»ve picture in my head for what was coming. I wasn’t mentally prepared for the carnival-to-be that would blossom on the concrete sidewalks just outside my downtown doorway once the good weather really broke.

Oh to be sure there is “that guy”, the one guy with the acoustic guitar strumming out your basic run-of-the-mill folksy/bluesy street ballad for stray quarters. Enjoyable, and not just in small doses, for short periods of time…“he” adds another dimension to the experience that is “working in the downtown area”. “He” is meeting my expectations I guess you could say…tahdah…, hell, I just might pitch him a quarter or two, I may even contribute the occasional cigarette…“He‘s” adding some not so insignificant value to my newest home away from home here in the “hills”. This was the aforementioned picture in my head and I was more than satisfied by this image come to life here downtown on Haywood street.

And now, a word from our sponsors…

Don’t you just love it when your expectations are met, when you project a picture of some future thing in your mind and things turn out to be much as you’d previously expected them to be. Life should be like that don’t you think…of course, by that, I mean my life, not necessarily your life -unless, of course, it’s my idea of your life as it best suits my own selfish needs…these things , of course, almost always never work out in quite the way you had planned for them too…I digress

Of course the one guy on the one corner with the one guitar quickly multiplied, …exponentially.

It’s barely April and already it’s become impossible to enjoy a quiet contemplative cigarette outdoors what with the aural (and visual) cacophony that has descended upon the downtown area. There are music playing street folks and wannabe hippies with all types of musical (dis)abilities on every corner of my downtown “neighborhood”. And not just on the corner of the block, I mean also spaced out in small groups throughout the entire sidewalk area as one tries to manipulate their way up and down the geography so to speak! Guitars, banjos, flutes, saxophones, spoons for God’s sake (which, by the way, was kind of cool probably because it was so unique and unexpected -but really who leaves the house in the morning and says to himself -oops, almost walked out and forgot to pack my bag of spoons -please!). There’s an older kind of heavyset guy with fairly long shoulder length white hair and ditto beard to match that I see about once a week always on the other side of the street across from the office who walks around wearing his green tartan-plaid kilt -so far sans bagpipes, but I’m waitin’. There was even a skinny guy in ripped up jeans and a flannel shirt doing some kind of a Grateful Dead dance, I guess you might say, while manipulating a bright red ball which was about half the size of a basketball but with a smooth bright glossy finish --truly a “you-had-to-be-there” kind of moment -I couldn’t make this up if I wanted too!

Honestly I really need to get some of this on film because words (my words at least) just simply can’t express the utter symphonic explosion (in a real visual sense too) that has evolved in what can only be described as the new southern fried Haight-Ashbury district.

Last Wednesday or Thursday morning I think it was I was coming out of the parking deck making my way to the office in the morning and as I turned the corner I almost tripped over this fairly large woman with kind of short matted hair (the early pre-stages of natural dredlocks that seem to be so popular here in the “ville“), she was caterwauling out what I can only describe as some sort of tundra themed Alaskan whale folk song piece while sitting cross legged on the walk there in my path. She was accompanying herself with an accordion…an accordion.

Darwin himself would be Perplexed

… Amused

… Bewildered