“Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story.” ~ Neil Gaiman
“Why stop dreaming when you wake up?” ~ Neil Gaiman
“The one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.” ~ Neil Gaiman
Perhaps 2017 will be the year of better coffee for me. I would like other good things to come my way but better coffee holds a unique appeal that will sweetly add an understated element to the foundation of my life. Budgetary concerns have often relegated me to cheap, Folger-like coffee during 2016. Dammit. I’ve learned to appreciate it, and that is still what we have at work, at my job, these days, but there is still something innately unsavory about it. This type of coffee is the nuts and bolts of the coffee world, so maybe it belongs in a hardware store? I was introduced to really good coffee by my ex-wife, Shannon. She also took my virginity, then proceeded to introduce me to countless new things. Of them all, the coffee has garnered the most appreciation from me. After all of these many years, 40 of them now, I still don’t know what to make of her. I do know that when she and I performed as the musical duo “Seabird” the harmonies were downright haunting; tight, and fitting, germane to the story the songs told. The odd thing was that she almost always sang the melody, and I the harmony. There’s something to it, I tell you. I’ve got a native talent for harmony. Go figure. So, toward the end of 2016 I graduated to Cafe Bustello, which is an espresso roast Cuban coffee. It connects me with warm memories of stopping by the little Cuban cafe window next to Burger King, in Islamorada, Florida, where I lived for over two decades. I would stop by many mornings on my way to work as a bartender at Smuggler’s Cove; and open air dockside bar, just across the Snake Creek Channel from the coast Guard Station. While waiting for my 16 oz Cuban coffee to be prepared I found that the Cuban gentlemen there, who hung out in the tiny foyer drinking shots of Bustello, were generous enough to share a shot with me, although I had no friggin idea what they were saying. I can catch the drift when Taos Spanish is spoken, but Cuban is a whole different bird. Both sing sweetly. I rest my case. But now that I am receiving monthly SS benefits through direct deposit I can finally afford to buy the good stuff. The can of Bustello is not quite finished, and I will not besmirch it in a rush to get on with my life. Hey, I still remember the day that I had taken a low dose of psilocybin shrooms before mounting my bicycle to head in. The shrooms were starting to kick in by the time I got to where the gentlemen were gathered. They had the nicest smiles. Even the coffee was smiling that morning. Now, moving forward, it is profoundly cold out this morning; 8º, give or take. I’ve only been out twice since waking up. Beautiful. Rosie woke me up by tap, tap, tapping on my sleeve. I opened my eyes to see the upright feline silhouette against the backdrop of the lamp on the table by the door. On occasion I like to sleep with the faint light on. So there was the cat, “Dude – tap, tap, tap – wake up dude – tap, tap, tap – it’s time for my snack dude – tap, tap, tap – and by the way bro I chased away a bruja while you were sleeping dude”. My cat takes good care of me. I’m not particularly afraid of brujas, it’s just that when they come around while I sleep I awake with my hair all in knots, and I’m like all chill sister chill. Trust me on this: your cat always has your back when unfriendly magick is afoot in the land. I love magick, and I never lose my wonder when it occurs. I can protect my own self good enough alright but I grow weary of the conflict. I seek better magick in 2017. And less toxic of an attitude toward some women, not all. With some it never was toxic to begin with. Live and learn, right? Right. I feel stronger now that the hangover has faded. Take that as a metaphor. I most certainly meant it that way. But I also really did miss posting yesterday mostly due to a hangover – I’d been way too emotional for a couple of days so I fed it some beer. As Jimmy Buffet sang, “It cleans me out and then I can go on”. Now, I’m going to step outside to check out the stars before wrapping up this post. Busy backson.
It is way humid this morning, so the stars are subdued. Yet there is a vividness to the darkness; an edge, an understated beauty. I feel pretty good myself. That I am approaching 2017 with a romantic attitude is unintentional. It’s a natural, organic attitude. I know that after all these years the ex-wife still hears me in some way when I think about her. My love was true, is true. Hers, I’m still not sure about. That is simply a part of the story. I also know that my best friend, Sharon, hears me when I think about her. This mutual love is beyond question. All I really know is that there is magick afoot in the land this morning. The cat pointed this out to me with her incessant gentle tapping. The romantic in me is seeing a particular pair of blue eyes, but it is rather presumptuous of me to designate this as anything more than fantasy at this point. It’s not a goal anyway. Someone struck me with her beauty and it stuck with me through harmony. Resonance cultivates music within. Meanwhile my actual goal this week is to get a massage. My body is fielding a goodly amount of pain that I would like to send on its way. The massage therapist is likely to witness some tears. Such is release, muscle memory. At age 62 I find myself, oddly enough, in deep gratitude for sentience. And consciousness. Don’t forget that. Don’t ever forget that, k? Wake up and smell the coffee.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.