Kerouac:
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
Kessler:
I woke up in the middle of the night and went outside to pee. I was only wearing underwear and expected it to be cold. As a child I always associated the night with a chill. I would rest in my bed and stay indoors where it was comfortable and safe and quiet, sheltered from true and natural things in this world. Oblivious to the patterned chaos that unfolded while I dreamed.
Now as I aimlessly pee on the open lawn, hearing the waves against the cliff like an endless orchestra and the nocturnal animals sharing secrets in thick grass, I stand corrected that a night in May on Maui's North Shore is not cold. And I realize now, the same goes for most nights besides ones spent outside in winter, at high altitudes, or in regions far from the equator.
The night is comfortable. The wind is strong. The moon is two days from full. The brandy, by now, is swirling around my belly and I did not drink enough to make my head pound.
As I sit down outside, I wonder what else has changed, though some is the world spinning, it is more myself growing. We are raised on ideas and principles of the previous generation. We are influenced by our peers, our landscape, our family, our teachers. We are meant to believe that some cultures are better at developing certain qualities in a person. An American child born in the twenties is different than an Italian born in the twenties. Just as a Japanese child is born in the thirties is different than a Japanese child born in the fifties. Our human and physical landscape define us. And there is no escaping that.
I've tried to discern how I truly feel about a person or a place by traveling and attaining multiple perspectives. I've talked and been engaged with people on many different walks of life. I've done a lot of listening and some growing and some shrinking and teased myself with understanding, but that just leads to more questions.
I can go outside now, and feel the night is not cold. Has it always been this way?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Fragranced Fragments
Poem / Short Story Beginning / Moments
Tilted Sky Edges the Marble
Yesterday changed
when today's sun grew tall.
The waves grew and the sun shone
brilliantly.
When the tide creeped onto low lawns
and the air tasted of yellow daffodils,
she smiled strongly
against the sun.
Lips awaiting a bright wet sky
and the air, too, tasted
of her Earth.
How easy it is
to get caught in a web
that is spun by every soul
except your own.
Tomorrow awaits,
patiently
she carries time
we all do.
**
North Brook
A cold blue flame slips
into the jagged crack
of the Johnson's roof.
As the stalking mouse
scorches his hairless underside,
the stalking bird sings.
Below the Johnsons had been
stoking the firepit for hours,
cooking beans and pork
for the fourth straight meal,
totalling eight meals now,
since the blackout struck.
Forces higher than the
white suits and black ties
compelled this phenomenom
to enter the lives of the
underpopulated, and once
quarantined town of North Brook.
Stu Johnson claimed he saw it.
Claimed he saw the lightning
strike not twice, but three times
'Hitting that same goddamn
tree that those kids had been
climbing and throwin rocks at
for the last thirty years.'
No one believed him at first.
But when they saw the tree,
it was hard to deny that lightning
had in fact struck it, not once,
not twice, but three goddamn times.
Stu was a bit of an eccentric,
having left the town and returned
two years later with different
hats and attitudes than before.
But he was raised in North Brook,
and so was his Daddy, and that
made him a part of the tradition.
Imagine a town that puts on a
Renaissance fair once a year
for three days and the character
that embodies the people who
put on the show and not just visit.
This is what North Brook is like
year round, minus the Renaissance
theme and the tourists. It's North Brook.
Where children are respectful
and therefore respected, where
order evolves with circumstance,
but certain issues, like a crime,
or falling a tree in between roofs
with two inches of give on each side,
are done with such an exactness
that error isn't even considered.
The town is surrounded by
great tall, thin needle like mountains,
and two parallel rivers border the town
like poisonous, domesticated snakes.
All the food is harvested in and between
these rivers, East Brook and West Brook,
and the social order of the town
is indicitive of who provides the most food.
Since the town was built on a slope
and the best views are seen at
higher elevations, one can recognize
the power by whose house is built
on higher grounds. It is said that
at the very top of the hill overlooking
the whole town, lives a Shaman inside
the hollow of a tree for the last 130 years.
His spirit is said to protect North Brook.
Assuming the Shaman isn't just a myth,
he'd be the only fellow alive
to have witnessed the quarantine back in the twenties.
Few souls have glimpsed this Shaman
but many children have claimed to.
One child went so far as to claiming
he spent the night in the hollow drinking a leafy tea mixture
and dreamt time behaving backwards.
It was his dwelling, this tree, that
was struck by ligthning three
god damn times, and when Stu
Johnson saw this, he didn't tell
people what he heard, because
the lightning alone was enough for
people to think he was spreading lies.
He heard a sound. It escaped
the tree like a soul leaving its
flesh, and though it was muffled,
slightly indistinct, Stu was fairly
certain he heard the Shaman.
And he heard him say,
I will return in Nine Days.
With light for Nine Years
**
Of the moments:
Movie:
Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Watching soon:
The Untouchables / Kagemusha / Greenberg
Reading:
Norweigan Wood by Haruki Murakami
Reading soon:
Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
Tastiest food I've cooked at home in awhile:
Spicy coconut curry with avocado tomato carrot pumpkin onion.Tastiest pizza I've made at Flatbread
this week's carne special: The Bacon Cheeseburger
Red sauce, mozzarella and cheddar, ground beef, bacon, tomatoes, red onion, parmesan and herbs.
Topped with lettuce and pickles, ketchup and mustard.
Tropical Fruit:
Jamaican Liloquoi
Song:
Helplessness Blues
Goal for the week:
Stimulate the routine of everyday life.
A Tilted Sky Edges the Marble
Tilted Sky Edges the Marble
Yesterday changed
when today's sun grew tall.
The waves grew and the sun shone
brilliantly.
When the tide creeped onto low lawns
and the air tasted of yellow daffodils,
she smiled strongly
against the sun.
Lips awaiting a bright wet sky
and the air, too, tasted
of her Earth.
How easy it is
to get caught in a web
that is spun by every soul
except your own.
Tomorrow awaits,
patiently
she carries time
we all do.
**
North Brook
A cold blue flame slips
into the jagged crack
of the Johnson's roof.
As the stalking mouse
scorches his hairless underside,
the stalking bird sings.
Below the Johnsons had been
stoking the firepit for hours,
cooking beans and pork
for the fourth straight meal,
totalling eight meals now,
since the blackout struck.
Forces higher than the
white suits and black ties
compelled this phenomenom
to enter the lives of the
underpopulated, and once
quarantined town of North Brook.
Stu Johnson claimed he saw it.
Claimed he saw the lightning
strike not twice, but three times
'Hitting that same goddamn
tree that those kids had been
climbing and throwin rocks at
for the last thirty years.'
No one believed him at first.
But when they saw the tree,
it was hard to deny that lightning
had in fact struck it, not once,
not twice, but three goddamn times.
Stu was a bit of an eccentric,
having left the town and returned
two years later with different
hats and attitudes than before.
But he was raised in North Brook,
and so was his Daddy, and that
made him a part of the tradition.
Imagine a town that puts on a
Renaissance fair once a year
for three days and the character
that embodies the people who
put on the show and not just visit.
This is what North Brook is like
year round, minus the Renaissance
theme and the tourists. It's North Brook.
Where children are respectful
and therefore respected, where
order evolves with circumstance,
but certain issues, like a crime,
or falling a tree in between roofs
with two inches of give on each side,
are done with such an exactness
that error isn't even considered.
The town is surrounded by
great tall, thin needle like mountains,
and two parallel rivers border the town
like poisonous, domesticated snakes.
All the food is harvested in and between
these rivers, East Brook and West Brook,
and the social order of the town
is indicitive of who provides the most food.
Since the town was built on a slope
and the best views are seen at
higher elevations, one can recognize
the power by whose house is built
on higher grounds. It is said that
at the very top of the hill overlooking
the whole town, lives a Shaman inside
the hollow of a tree for the last 130 years.
His spirit is said to protect North Brook.
Assuming the Shaman isn't just a myth,
he'd be the only fellow alive
to have witnessed the quarantine back in the twenties.
Few souls have glimpsed this Shaman
but many children have claimed to.
One child went so far as to claiming
he spent the night in the hollow drinking a leafy tea mixture
and dreamt time behaving backwards.
It was his dwelling, this tree, that
was struck by ligthning three
god damn times, and when Stu
Johnson saw this, he didn't tell
people what he heard, because
the lightning alone was enough for
people to think he was spreading lies.
He heard a sound. It escaped
the tree like a soul leaving its
flesh, and though it was muffled,
slightly indistinct, Stu was fairly
certain he heard the Shaman.
And he heard him say,
I will return in Nine Days.
With light for Nine Years
**
Of the moments:
Movie:
Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Watching soon:
The Untouchables / Kagemusha / Greenberg
Reading:
Norweigan Wood by Haruki Murakami
Reading soon:
Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
Tastiest food I've cooked at home in awhile:
Spicy coconut curry with avocado tomato carrot pumpkin onion.Tastiest pizza I've made at Flatbread
this week's carne special: The Bacon Cheeseburger
Red sauce, mozzarella and cheddar, ground beef, bacon, tomatoes, red onion, parmesan and herbs.
Topped with lettuce and pickles, ketchup and mustard.
Tropical Fruit:
Jamaican Liloquoi
Song:
Helplessness Blues
Goal for the week:
Stimulate the routine of everyday life.
A Tilted Sky Edges the Marble
Friday, May 6, 2011
May the Fourth Be With You
I have found myself more affected recently by everything and everyone I am exposed to. I suppose that is true all the time, with each breath being consequential and each action affecting someone or something in this everconnected machinery we call the universe. But under certain circumstances such as depression, heartbreak, first love, new moon, full moon, finanical crisis, financial breakthrough, mind-altering substances, pleasant dreams, trippy dreams, nightmares, recent death, existential crisis, first snow, rebirth, etc. we might just see this world, hear it smell it and breathe it in through a new set of eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. I've gone through a couple of these circumstances lately and had my fair share of good luck and bad luck. What it may or may not come down to, is timing. I believe in luck and I believe in fate. I also may not trust either when they turn on me.
One of the things I've found myself more affected by are books. I've been reading short stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Kurt Vonnegut and I too am finding myself in less than usual circumstances and honestly, I am trying to escape these. I'm sick of having car trouble, and I could use a couple more changes in my life. I have been writing my blogposts when in a positive state, not when vulnerable, because I would rather expose that side of myself to this world, but reading these authors, I realize that isn't realistic. Stories require conflict, pain and misery to keep you entertained. It is refreshing to read some positive thoughts after watching the news, but we can't always neglect the harsh realities that enter this world like an unwanted trick-or-treater on November 1st when you are fresh out of candy.
Now I will share with you some poems that I wrote 2 years ago or now that are without a happy ending, either cynical or ambiguous.
In Darkness
dust falls like rain
under my bedside lamp.
i shiver
when I think
even my blankets cannot protect me.
my mind slips
into the senseless
into what my body cannot fit through nor find.
the world is large
and though
I am small
I cannot hide.
the darkness I inhabit
has no shape
no quality
no end.
in darkness
i am safe
when i cannot see your face.
Organic Food for Thought
what is contrived and
what is natural
in regards to unknowns
such as
a collective environmental conscious?
the trees shrug aside their
determined lives
precipitation has accepted its
tedious fate
even the wind sways without
a purpose
minutes and hours and days
and months and years elapse
the ocean awaits a green wind to
concoct a tsunami or (as the antagonist
markets it)
'a natural disaster'
I reckon when it pummels the shore
it is environmental bliss and
at the same time
karma at its finest
A Marred Figure
how does one distinguish
good from evil
in the midst of mayhem?
a shadow wishes its master would
sporadically purify himself in water
(for a fleeting abscond)
in return for a lifetime of compliance
the grass contends a drought
each passing day, with zero say
and even less to do
civilians become prisoners of war
lonely children break ancestral lines
billions die over a faulty idea
of an omniscient being
I am confusion personified
true colors
white bird at dusk homeward bound glowing blue
silver tips peircing the snow capped summits
faded into the sky etched into the eternal horizon
glowing orange now she floats onto a gray rock
will i or this rock shatter this sky into white lights
faded into the sky etched into the eternal horizon
she wonders how many hours must one fly
until they too find their true colors and are forever
faded into the sky etched into the eternal horizon
Hypocritically, I am ending on a positive. I got a job at Flatbread Company as a pizza assembler and my first real job in a commerical kitchen. Baking in farm kitchens in Hana and Israel were great experiences, but this one is full on. I'm fully trained and now have a week under my belt, including a hectic stressful day, so I'm learning the inevitable of the kitchen. Like the woodfire oven that cooks all our food, I'm stoked. More to come on this front. Also starting a long short story, maybe a teaser in the next post.
Aloha,
Matthew K.
One of the things I've found myself more affected by are books. I've been reading short stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Kurt Vonnegut and I too am finding myself in less than usual circumstances and honestly, I am trying to escape these. I'm sick of having car trouble, and I could use a couple more changes in my life. I have been writing my blogposts when in a positive state, not when vulnerable, because I would rather expose that side of myself to this world, but reading these authors, I realize that isn't realistic. Stories require conflict, pain and misery to keep you entertained. It is refreshing to read some positive thoughts after watching the news, but we can't always neglect the harsh realities that enter this world like an unwanted trick-or-treater on November 1st when you are fresh out of candy.
Now I will share with you some poems that I wrote 2 years ago or now that are without a happy ending, either cynical or ambiguous.
In Darkness
dust falls like rain
under my bedside lamp.
i shiver
when I think
even my blankets cannot protect me.
my mind slips
into the senseless
into what my body cannot fit through nor find.
the world is large
and though
I am small
I cannot hide.
the darkness I inhabit
has no shape
no quality
no end.
in darkness
i am safe
when i cannot see your face.
Organic Food for Thought
what is contrived and
what is natural
in regards to unknowns
such as
a collective environmental conscious?
the trees shrug aside their
determined lives
precipitation has accepted its
tedious fate
even the wind sways without
a purpose
minutes and hours and days
and months and years elapse
the ocean awaits a green wind to
concoct a tsunami or (as the antagonist
markets it)
'a natural disaster'
I reckon when it pummels the shore
it is environmental bliss and
at the same time
karma at its finest
A Marred Figure
how does one distinguish
good from evil
in the midst of mayhem?
a shadow wishes its master would
sporadically purify himself in water
(for a fleeting abscond)
in return for a lifetime of compliance
the grass contends a drought
each passing day, with zero say
and even less to do
civilians become prisoners of war
lonely children break ancestral lines
billions die over a faulty idea
of an omniscient being
I am confusion personified
true colors
white bird at dusk homeward bound glowing blue
silver tips peircing the snow capped summits
faded into the sky etched into the eternal horizon
glowing orange now she floats onto a gray rock
will i or this rock shatter this sky into white lights
faded into the sky etched into the eternal horizon
she wonders how many hours must one fly
until they too find their true colors and are forever
faded into the sky etched into the eternal horizon
Hypocritically, I am ending on a positive. I got a job at Flatbread Company as a pizza assembler and my first real job in a commerical kitchen. Baking in farm kitchens in Hana and Israel were great experiences, but this one is full on. I'm fully trained and now have a week under my belt, including a hectic stressful day, so I'm learning the inevitable of the kitchen. Like the woodfire oven that cooks all our food, I'm stoked. More to come on this front. Also starting a long short story, maybe a teaser in the next post.
Aloha,
Matthew K.
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