Disappointed to wake up late another morning, another sunrise lost, even if it was cloudy anyway, time slipping away up in heaven, I got to go home soon,
Truths keep coming around same as cats, all around your legs weaving, and you go to pet them and they scratch and fight and gone; just let me grab up a single truth so I can understand
The world is so big and wide, how can I?
Out here in old rained up brown paradise, another dog follows us down the cold road, shy-eyed but loping, (ragtag delta dog parade) we are into the grass and into the mud and I am not full out into life, I am just booting out in the slop of it, the good slop, but -
Out into the woods and water, mud and air, blue and brown, cold and cloud, we go - marching, nearly, to witness as the sun circles again. Nothing strange today, especially, just good studio hours and mixed thoughts, kite-line-tangled thoughts, push and pull, sit and stay, I think it’s the soul, too, caught up in not-knowing that keeps it going this way,
I know a land or two full up on ghosts, out here feels so peaceful and clear, I never worry, but I never worry anyhow,
Everywhere a good word, even in the dust of semis, saying “God Bless you,” and these faces of these folks, I see them and love them, and
I wish I could be like this every day.
Cleansed up in Cleveland and grateful; muses is funny things; I should treat them same as heros, up on a pedestal and in the irretrievable past, golden-glowing into eternity.
I don’t practice hoodoo, I don’t much pray, but I might some day.
The startle of a blue sky breaking from a quilt of grey clouds and I don’t think there is enough time in the world; can I stay up forever, here approaching 4 am and -
“I love you mama but your ways I just cant stand,”
Out to understand stories and knowing people know better than me, and knowing the only way to find out is in words.
The whole world is information. Doing soul filling work is the goal.
Knowing what is true lasts - but not really knowing what true looks like now.
Hands, handwriting, writing, all carries on.
“i was born to preach the gospel, and I really do love my job,”
Love and joy into the grey of life is the ding-ding-ding-ding of it
I got my problems, you got yours, I’ll go my way, you go yours,
Art is my celebration of life, that I am not always celebrating because I am sleeping or drinking or otherwise doing things that keep me from the knowing of life, which is a constant study. It changes every day as I have believed enough to write before, but art can take a leaf or butterfly and hurtle on with it, hollering with gladness of this bright glad thing.
That’s all.
“What are they doing in heaven today?”
Snoring and warm by the fire, in the cool shade of a summer day, in the rain for the silly joy of it, out at the juke joint dancing, I tell you -
Life is surely complex, but I do not feel complex. I just feel glad. Art is probably complex, we are taught sometimes that it is beyond knowing, or only knowing if you really know enough, and,
Talking about bodies leaving moments, yes. I know I am here writing and singing, but I feel liminal, I feel like I could be gone any day,
Sometimes the world is all at hand and sometimes it leads you on an old foxfire love, sometimes it runs away with the rig, and sometimes - well, you are in the parking lot of the united states post office, and
I tell you - I don’t know if I said it all yet - humans, truly, humans. Sleepy still wide-eyed,
Laughingingly and continually amazed, confounded, astonished, we are all so simple and complex,
He said “i just break women’s hearts,” and I hollered with laughing. He said, “You aren’t supposed to laugh.” I am thankful for my life and learning, knowing when it all comes up short, for this peace of understanding, for it all, for -
Well it was figured out, and equations help, I can’t keep up with my own mythology, how can I keep up anywhere else, but I found out by talking,
Sometimes people become the land, if they mean it or not,
Mostly if someone is out looking for symbols they will run up on more than they could expect,