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Sunday |
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We were standing on the foundry patio in the sun, red railing brilliant in foretaste of summer, Josh on eggs inside--his bi-weekly open studio brunch. Usually gets a good crowd, a nice mixed bunch. Bradley had just finished improvising a humdinger of a ditty about a dreaming dog. Jim hit the scat full swing w/ eyes closed. We discussed the pros and cons of instruments, agreed what's best is what y're born with should the day come y're locked up on some flimsy pretext. A new song: Aw, this cell isn't so small--I've been locked in my body all along. Which is really just an echo of Brent Lachapelle's poem, recited to me at my first Burning Man. It's coming up again, and I think its chief strength is the attention it bears on the cycle, another travel around the sun. It's a powerful ritual, stronger than the commercialized holidays that all blend together in a cascade of commercials and window displays. Maybe I'm just getting older, but the BMs seem to be coming faster. The sense is of a circle tightening, heightening awareness of birth/death cycle which consumer mindtrap lie of cancerous grow-at-all-costs economy seeks to override. So a lifted shirt to reveal FREEDOM tattoo fit just right and gave a glimmer of hope in face of headlines saying a shadow government of 90 unelected officials is already in place should DC be atomized. |
