November 2005 Archives

Rest in peace, Uncle Mart. Your strength stands as an example to me -- the way you lived your life, an even better one.

Post-Gazette Guestbook and Obituary.

Woodruff Family Services Obituary.

May your home be warm and bright, your family and loved ones near. May your day be beautiful and your Holiday Season, joyous.

Happy Thanksgiving!

And Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad! Here's to many more!

It fell with a soft whispering sound, vaguely papery. The outside grayed...then frosted. Wet, on my face. Cold.

The ground stands-out, now. Pale in the twilight.

A photograph I took, earlier, reveals the crystal perfection of individual flakes -- on curves of Summer grass, gone to seed. The light is going down deeper out there, now. Hiding. Quieting.

I am sitting here in the warmth, eating dried cranberries.

In my dream, four lions (two males, two females) paced and prowled. They moved gracefully in my front yard. Dark manes and steady eyes glimmering by moonlight. All silent, in the drifting flurries of paper-white snow.

Silver skies. Kate singing, "Waking the Witch".

A bag of trash, on the floor. Kinda dizzy. Jasmine, in the air.

"Black bird..."

The electric candle is lit. Behind it, out on the horizon, bare tree limbs move against that deepening silver. Everything seems to be moving slow...but me.

I feel fast.

So fast I caught a snowflake on my tongue, later.

There's a ghost of jasmine -- and smoke in my hair. The memory of Pepsi on my lips.

Quiet, now.

Morning is melting through the black, like a ghost moving into the foreground. From glossy jet to smoke. Bare branches form a dark lace horizon, invisible before. Showing with decreasing subtlety, now. The paleness, rising, uncloaks the sounds of birds. One...then two, fading in. Singing these spectral moments up, toward rest -- and an eventually sunlit sky.

Were I a werewolf, the moon tonight would be howl-worthy...

I remembered to take out the trash, late. Or early, depending on your point-of-view. Outside, the air was unsettled, wearing a swirled mask of Spring warmth. Clouds, moving fast in a sky cast almost day-white. The Moon: Triumphant. That vivid fullness pushed the shadows down deep. Fallen leaves swirled in it, their most tiny details, visible.

Earlier, an icy ring haloed that pale and perfect disk; now the moon hides and reveals behind gothic heaps of white and luminous purple.

Such a vivid, swirling and light-filled night...

Sweeping the leaves out of my inbox, after awakening late. The sky is down low: the color of milk. Most of the trees are newly bare. I have a dull headache, a rapidly evaporating memory of a dream that I had last night (mostly the ocean, with a side-trip to strange cathedral-like brick building in artistic disarray) and a copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, that I plan on watching this dim Sunday...

Have you ever erased something on a piece of paper...excessively? Rubbing away at a mis-spelled word or errant pencil line until, not only is it gone, but the little pink eraser nub is shedding tiny bits of itself and the paper is shredding away, getting soft and worn and, eventually, tissue-thin?

I kinda feel like that.

Watching The Man Who Fell to Earth. Alone. Drinking Stoli. Neat.

I first saw the movie when I was a kid. On TV. It was chopped and edited, of course, but it made an unmistakable impression. Bowie's look, in both forms, stuck with me. Originally, I mistook the coat he is wearing at the begining of the film (as he clambers down that long, ashy hill) for a Pea Coat. After seeing the movie, I was struck with a long desire for such a thing. That collar: up. That look: so pale and thin. The hair, the eyes...both sets.

I got a pea coat when I was in high school and wore it for years. I remember wearing it on a date, in college. The sister of the girl I was taking out liked it. She said it looked mod.

Some years ago, I tried the coat on again. It didn't fit well anymore. Too short in the sleeves.

Not that it's all about fashion. Hah.

I was jazzed to finally get the movie on dvd a few years ago. It still resonates with me. (Though that glimpse of Rip Torn's peep is kinda disturbing.) The film, and Bowie's role in it, are so iconic that they could stand as an undiscovered tarot card: The Outsider, Corrupted.

Come to think of it, Nicolas Roeg directed two films that had major effects on me. This one, and, Don't Look Now. Alienation, love, sex, and death.

Beauty too.

Not bad for a couple of films...

The vodka is lighting me up...or slowing me down. Maybe both, I guess. What a drear and empty day. And strange. Definitely feeling outside myself, and the rest of it. The movie was a perfect match to my mood.

Whatever.

Got the headphones on. One song, repeating, as I write.

I'm tired.

Can you guess the name of the song I'm listening to? Here's a hint.

Hope I dream of falling up, or sinking in, again tonight...

I cast my vote in the rainy gloom. Many of the leaves have been swept from the trees by muscular winds. Bare gray branches show now, amid the remaining colors. It looks like mist swirled through fire. The sky is pressed down low, tied to the sodden landscape by rain.

"Close your eyes, breathe slow, we'll begin..."

The back of my neck has nursed an ache that has my temples throbbing in sympathy. But, hopefully, not now. A video game demo loops (looped) to my left. My dog, Pal, is sad. Happy again. Me? I'm tired. Thirsty.

Hmm...

The landscape was lush, earlier. Vivid and giving. Whispers from the browser now say that winds are coming. A change in the weather. Time is flexible here, though. And there, too.

Think I'll hold to the golden a bit longer...

Here's to a most excellent year for you -- and many more.

I went there first in a dream, this morning. My Dad and I checking out a weathered shed (a place to store cars?) perched on the hill. Then I awoke.

Tired. And, after coffee, still tired. But I went out to take some pictures. Collected two yellow leaves. Then thought of my morning's early hours...and went into the woods again.

It was smaller than it was when I was asleep. But more detailed. Moving carefully inward, I took my time. Resting often. Still, I was soon wet with sweat. I touched the Fallen Giant and regarded The Split Rock. I took photos until my camera's battery icon showed red.

The climb back up was even slower. I was grateful for the shower, once I went back inside. Tired again, after.

Then I awoke.

Again.

Happy 40th birthday, Joel! You are an inspiration, brother -- I hope you have many, many more.

And, Hello November...