The Brain-Mist and the Mangrove Man

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“If there are no mangroves, then the sea will have no meaning. It’s like a tree with no roots, for the mangroves are the roots of the sea!” ~ Mad-Ha Ranwasii

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“I returned to the courtyard and saw that the sun had grown weaker. Beautiful and clear as it had been, the morning (as the day approached the completion of its first half) was becoming damp and misty. Heavy clouds moved from the north and were invading the top of the mountain, covering it with a light brume. It seemed to be fog, and perhaps fog was also rising from the ground, but at that altitude it was difficult to distinguish the mists that rose from below and those that come down from above.” ~ Umberto Eco

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Here I sit . . . ummmm . . . here I sit. It will be a simple day, with body aches that could stop a train. Train of thought, that is. These side-effects from my second Covid vaccine dose are essentially the same as the first dose. The aches are centered on the tweaked and twisted structural damage and compensation from the bicycle crashes, way back when. Far be it from me to say ‘back in the day‘. ‘Way back when’ has always sufficed for me. Just sayin’. Like we really need yet another friggin’ aphorism. An hour ago I was searching in the fog of my mind, to find some corollary to exactly what proactive use I can apply within this fog. The mangroves came to mind. A place unto themselves, especially when you find a tidal channel, or a micro-lagoon, or a nice high tree where you can climb up top and nestle yourself in for a spell. I always thought of myself as a Mangrove Man when I was out in the forests like that. Jimmy Buffet notwithstanding. I always thought of Jimmy as a ‘cheeseburger in paradise’. But he did write some classic tunes that I will always cherish. Anyway . . . the solitude of a mangrove forest is a golden wonder of a sojourn. The memory of them is is carved into the walls of my inner mental theater. And that’s where I will be today, in that green and golden place where no one can find you. Ciao.

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Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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A Lucid Kind of Brain Fog

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“A hallucination is a species of reality, as capable of teaching you as a videotape about Kilimanjaro or anything else that falls through your life.” ~ Terence McKenna

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“Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?” ~ T. S. Eliot

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“Happiness was not the only virtue. After all, loneliness wrote great symphonies and could paint masterpieces. It was the imperfections and miseries that necessitated the magic.” ~ Sarah C. Patten

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Howdy. Nobody told me there’d be days like these. Why would they? I mean, who knew? America is returning after a failed coup, and I can go find a video showing a helicopter on Mars. I’d better feed the cat and pour another cuppa coffee before I dive in to the composition screen and turn on my personal inner GPS. Bisy Backson.

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Raven flies across the face of the blazing Sun in an attempted eclipse of the orb. And I’m like “nice try, buddy, but I can still see it”. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. Just sayin’. Yeh, I was just out looking at the mountains when I saw the bird. There were also plumes of clouds whispering up from the high summits. That brilliant blue New Mexico sky is also in attendance. Lilacs pushing out leaves. Mockingbirds are back. And me in a rather lucid kind of a brain-fog. That will come in handy later, because the one overwhelming side-effect of my first Covid vaccination was brain fog, and it is good to be prepared, even if not needed. This stuff is serious technology. My second shot is at 2 PM today. Tomorrow, goddess allowing, I will visit the Wash-o-Mat in the morning then surf on the wave of medical technology in the afternoon. And as for you dudes and dudettes who believe there is a high-tech tracking device in the vaccines? We can talk about that when and if you can find me. Ciao.

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Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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Mr. Peabody, Sherman, and Gumby

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“One of the Georges – I forget which – once said that a certain number of hours sleep each night – I cannot recall at the moment how many – made a man something which for the time being has slipped my memory.” ~ P. G. Wodehouse

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“We shouldn’t be afraid of the obvious, because stories are about life, and life is full of obvious things like food and sleep and love and courage which you don’t stop needing just because you’re a good reader.” ~ Philip Pullman

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Sunday, workday. I may never get used to working on Sunday, after all of these years of not doing so. Something to do with how the cookie crumbles, or some other crumb of aphoristic playfulness.

What a difference a day makes. Got busy yesterday with what seemed to be a small task, but it turned into a bigger one. My writing time went poof. And the task turned out to be unavoidably incomplete. All sad. Luckily I have time to write before I complete that task today. Then four days off in a row. Lucky me. This morning the Full Moon is being greeted only by the faint rush of traffic. No animal sounds at all. That’s the reality I listen to, not the rush, but the stillness. I don’t have to get in the car for nearly two hours yet. Be still, child, be still. Yes, I have made a brief perusal of the news, enough to get horrified a time or two. That’s for sure. Enough to shake my head cynically a time or two. Enough to be graciously amused at a tidbit of humor here and there. On top of all this I am unusually conscious of the accumulated stress from more than a year of funky stress. Retail stuff. Cashier stuff. And in general, like having a few people (all guys) come into the store with a gun on their hip. I can feel the whole fucking mess heaped upon my neurological web of nerves. It’s enough to drive a fella to the dispensary after work for a pack of gummies. I just might do that. I’ve yet to try gummies. Might be a fun way to glue myself to the chair tomorrow. Which is needed, as a targeted surefire medical application. Rosie the cat might like it as well. My success as a pillow is beyond dispute. The old girl deserves it. I mean, the beast is 17+ years old. Animals get that far along in their life and you just give them more loving. Before wrapping this up I should note – though it wasn’t an actual gummy – I ate hash once, years ago. Wow. It sent me back to the 12th century! I felt like friggin Mr. Peabody and Sherman, or Gumby. Maybe I’ll go easy on the gummies tomorrow. Ciao.

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Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Those silent Yet Salient Yawps

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“Fiction’s about what it is to be a fucking human being. If you operate, which most of us do, from the premise that there are things about the contemporary U.S. that make it distinctively hard to be a real human being, then maybe half of fiction’s job is to dramatize what makes it tough. The other half is to dramatize the fact that we still are human beings, now. Or can be…I just think that fiction that isn’t exploring what it means to be human today isn’t good art.” ~ David Foster Wallace

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“It’s always seemed a little preposterous that Hamlet, for all his paralyzing doubt about everything, never once doubts the reality of the ghost. Never” ~ David Foster Wallace

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Beautiful day, if I do say so myself. Regardless of the haze and the mighty winds that likely will emerge as this exemplary Spring day progresses. A jaunt into Taos is in order. Recycling, cat food, coffee and filters, deposit pay check, swing by work to look at this week’s schedule. I’m feeling kind of bored with the prospect of this trip into town on a day off, which I am usually, and oddly enough, offended by. I’ve long known it, but as I age I am realizing more and more that it really is all life. Every crumb, every morsel, every dazzling vista that passes unnoticed through my self-self-absorbtion. Every cloistered moment as I hide at home, in a habitual fit of agoraphobic yawps. Silent yet salient yawps, of course. Now, going forward . . . some tidbit of pollen is tickling my left nostril. There were soft yotee barks back around 3 AM. Rosie the cat is on my lap as I type. I’d pretend that she doesn’t suspect I am about to get off of the chair to go out for a look at the mountains, have a smoke, then come back in to pour some fresh coffee, take my psych-meds. Routine. Not really. Chronic anxiety hammers and hampers my attempts at creating a routine. And yet . . . plenty of clean clothes. It will be way easier to breathe this afternoon as I have my down time, ale, and TV, because of the Officer Chauvin verdict yesterday. It’s all a part of a behemoth of a cultural storm, but for now it is, on the level of psyche/Psyche, time for a deep breath. Yeh, I’ll make a toast to George Floyd. Honor the dead, I will. I’m pretty sure that Jesus or Paul or Tom Robbins said to keep your yap shut about praying. And do it at home. That’s the impression I got, anyway. But I’m a pagan, and in my worldview it is all prayer. How about we focus on that, reckon?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Of Folklore, 420, and Cheetos

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“You are an explorer, and you represent our species, and the greatest good you can do is to bring back a new idea, because our world is endangered by the absence of good ideas. Our world is in crisis because of the absence of consciousness.” ~ Terence McKenna

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“And it’s a disquieting thought that not even the past is done with, even that continues to change, as if in reality there is only one time, for everything, one time for every purpose under heaven. One single second, one single landscape, in which what happens activates and deactivates what has already happened in endless chain reactions, like the processes that take place in the brain, perhaps, where cells suddenly bloom and die away, all according to the way the winds of consciousness are blowing.” ~ Karl Ove Knausgård

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Lap cat, excellent coffee, sunlight, the wind is still. So am I. For the most part. The truly alarming state of our society still rumbles in my gut like a bad bean burrito. But for today it is jest gonna hafta wait. The date? 4/20. Now, remove the back-slash. You get 420. And what is 420? A Grail-raft for safe passage of stoners across the Bermuda Triangle in a profound thunderstorm. 420 is an informal National Holiday. It just so happens that it falls on my pretzel day as well. Munchies are good. It might behoove me to grab a bag of Cheetos to go along with the pretzels, for variety is the spice of life. Is that why the White Nationalists are so bland? Just sayin. Hey! Did ya hear they flew a helicopter on Mars? A fucking helicopter on Mars! As Andre the Giant said to Westly, when they were storming the castle, in the brilliant film “The Princess Bride”: “You just moved you finger. Doesn’t that make you happy?”. And on that perhaps obscure note I’m going to go have a smoke, take a shower, drive up to Arroyo Hondo with Taylor Swift’s “Folklore” CD blasting through open windows, purchase snacks and IPA, flirt with the cashier, then it’s back home to explore and further my personal corner of Cosmic Consciousness. Ya wanna come? There’s room for everyone. Ciao, chow, whatever.

Peace out muchachas y muchachos. Goof gloriously.

A Vaccine for Spring Fever

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“He has that rare spinal appreciation for beauty in the ordinary that nature seems to bestow on those who have no native words for what they see.” ~ David Foster Wallace

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“I lost myself in the contemplation of nature, trying to forget my thoughts and to look only at beings as they appear, and to forget myself, joyfully, in the sight of them.” ~ Umberto Eco

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A perhaps rhetorical question niggles at me this morning. See, I’ve been feeling, really feeling, Springtime these past few days. There’s this unmoored feeling that things are going to be all right and that better times are coming. My problem with this is that I in no way believe that things come to you, nor that you make your way towards them diligently – not the really good things anyway. I’ll not get into the nature of personal reality here. It just seems to me that I am feeling what as a younger man I would have called Spring Fever. But talk of fever these days and ya got another thing comin’; people get all freaky and stuff. Like is there even a vaccine for Spring Fever? Yup. Boy howdy is there ever: large amounts of caffeine. Move fast enough and you just don’t have time to fully feel much of anything. A post-Millenial woman I know summed it up pretty good for me the other day. I told her that I have been taking one of those trendy nootropic supplements. And that it is helping me with focus and to move faster, without the effects of a stimulant. She replied, “Yeh, you drink a lot of caffeine and yer like all oh fuck!”. I just now poured my second cup since 4:30 AM. It is now 6 AM. I guess there might have been a more urbane way to put it, but my young friend summed it up quite succinctly. But about the Spring Fever – I think I’ll just keep it to myself for now. The fertility festival of Beltane is two weeks away. There will be enough magic to go around then. I smile at the prospect as I do the Seven Dwarves things, singing “hi ho, hi ho . . .”

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Peace out, y’all. Goof Gloriously

Bucking a Ubiquitous Aphorism

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“Our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.” ~ David Foster Wallace

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“The reality is that dying isn’t bad, but it takes forever. And that forever is no time at all. I know that sounds like a contradiction, or maybe just wordplay. What it really is, it turns out, is a matter of perspective.” ~ David Foster Wallace

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This is one of those rare mornings where I fed the cat before she admonished me to do so. It is not a point of pride for me, rather a source of gratitude for having been granted all that more peace in my life. Lucky me. Indeed. It’ll be another laid back day for me, even if it is not about me, when all is said and done, as the ubiquitous aphorism suggests. Pardon my language, but fuck that. How can you be all about self-care? All about rest, renewal, and reverence? Ummmm, about that reverence – only in moderation, k? I don’t wanna have to tell you twice: Irreverence is just as important. Maybe even more so. There’s nothing dire today. I spent too much of my time, living along the Florida Straits, thinking I was in dire straits. Go figure, right. Lately I have, sometimes vividly, been feeling the presense of my Grandfather Ebert. I’m not sure what that is about, but it makes me want to wear my Ozark Mountain Daredevils ball cap a lot. And I do so. Grandpa, the last time I saw him in the flesh, was wearing a khaki golf cap, and smoking a cigar, as we sat on the deck overlooking the tiny cove on the Lake of the Ozarks. That was nearly 40 years ago. And here he is again, in spirit only. Maybe he’ll watch some TV with me and Rosie the cat today. Mom might join in as well, if I’d tune into like Matlock or Columbo or something. Tis not wistfulness that drives me today. Nor am I merely dust in the wind. This whole thing is bigger than that. Naturally.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Expectation, Disappointment, and Other Complications

“The glacial landscape reminded her that she was, first and foremost, a human living on a planet. Almost everything she had done in her life, she realized – almost everything she has bought and worked for and consumed – had taken her away from understanding that she and all humans were really just one of nine million species.” ~ Matt Haig

“Time is just quantified eternity.” ~ Deepak Chopra

Sunday morning, nagging cat, and I made the coffee a tad too week. My bad. It is a burden I must bear alone. And, dag nab it, it’s a workday. Sunday mornings are supposed to be for a broad perusal of the news, an intellectual article (or two), and a healthy dose of wake and bake, which weakens the bonds of expectation and disappointment. It’s not a bad thing to do on occasion, for those bonds end up causing many complications, way too often.

I just went out to witness the Sun cresting over the high mountains. As of yet it is cold and windy. That will change. Upon coming back inside I found that the cat has decided it is feeding time. At one point I grew frustrated with the incessant reminders. I looked her in the eyes and softly said, “You are starting to piss me off”. Oddly enough, she quieted down. Don’t expect that kind of cooperation from a cat; you will likely be disappointed. She and I have been butting heads, on many occasions, for 17 years. We do understand each other pretty well. I just got lucky this time. There was a big black cat in the yard when I went outside. Sleek, beautiful thing. It was acting like it may have been friendly, but I resisted seeking closer contact. I know how they are. As a former cat herder I know what kind of pain those critters can deliver. It’s nothing to trifle with. I’ll give it a few weeks and see how it goes. Maybe we can become friends. For now it is time to get my day rolling. Heeeyah! Burning daylight!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Finding My Mind

“Who can believe that there is no soul behind those luminous eyes?” ~ Theophile Gautier

“The mountains knew the definition of freedom. They provided a place where he could find his mind.” ~ Daniel J. Rice

“I think the world divides neatly into those who are excited by the managed induction of terror and those who are not. I do not find terror exciting. I find it terrifying.” ~ David Foster Wallace

All formatted, sitting ready in the draft file. Good thing too; I feel like writing and I can forego the two hour quotes search/photo tinkering, which I enjoy muchly, yet it sometimes is too daunting and I back down. Also I get lost in the search, often, because reading quotes most mornings is a major remedy for what happens to me daily because of my traveling companions, PTSD and Bipolar type 2. Plus, I learn a lot along the way. One thing I have learned is that it is a fool’s errand to wonder what life would be like without these mental disorders, conditions, whatever. It may sound counterintuitive, but that actually makes things worse for me, in the long run. Mindfulness is the way. Let it be, dude. Once again this morning is one that finds me with a lot on my mind yet not a lot to say. Coffee, lap cat. A trip to the dispensary is in order. Cat food and beer. As the t-shirt says: never underestimate an old man and his cat. Onward.

Beauty is the way. Goof gloriously.

A Storm of Comparable Proportions

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“Sunlight streamed through grumbling storm clouds that played like tiger kittens around the mountain ridges.” ~ Jane Wilson-Howarth

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For whatever reason I am craving a good storm. What triggered this desire is a conversation with a woman the other day, a fellow Floridian. We talked of Andrew, that eerie, freakish mega-gyre that ground a couple of layers off South Florida back in 1992. I felt comfort in the sharing. She seemed to as well. That storm was a definitive force for me back then. I was in process of falling in love with Lori Mellon, who later gave me a storm of comparable proportions when she died. I miss her sorely to this day, over 25 years later. And here I sit on Monday morning, the day after Easter of 2021. Thinking this all means something. And it does. Of course. Yeh, whatever. There is a woman in my life now who touches some of the same in me as Lori did, but I don’t think I could fall in love again. As if we have a choice, right? Yeh buddy. Alas, tis a workday. It ain’t so bad. A jaunt through the mundane world will do me good today. Edgy is as edgy does. That in itself is okay at this point. I had another chat that same day, with a dear friend who is now 81. At one point she said “My mind. Ken, what’s happening to my mind?”. I don’t know, it seemed just fine to me. And on that note it is onward and outward for this old-ish dude.

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Beauty is the way. Goof gloriously.

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