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Of course the local classical Muzak station is playing Mendelssohn, specifically String Quartet No. 6, and suddenly I’m in Cafe Nondescript in a provincial town of an European flavor, and I’m engrossed in reading materials and pamphlets of a Revolutionary Nature, and, without warning, the click of her stilettos on the cafe’s cold worn marble… — read more

Like a late-70s dream when you got it moving on a bagful of A&W mini burgers and a breathless call with her, and you’re driving, the two of you, in you VW bus, stereo blasting on that hot summer night in Phoenix and you smell her White Linen and both of you are so young… — read more

I near the beginnings of the Forest as sunset beckons; this, after my arduous two-day trek across a lifeless plain. A Wasteland seemingly of both body and soul. The green coniferous tree line stands guardian-like, and I smell water. So does my horse who I call “H.O.R.S.E.” (pronounced “horse”). He’s the one leading me to… — read more

Just heard a performance of the second movement of Barber’s Concerto for Violin & Orchestra, Opus 14, and i drifted off on mind journey of running naked northward on the open expanse towards Plateau Point with a cantaloupe in one hand and a torch in the other under the cold desert sky with white dust-like… — read more

Sultry early afternoon in the PACNW and it’s still with the turbidity of the atmosphere in silent consummation giving rise to the thunderstorms that have not yet risen, and I’m drawn back to Northern Virginia that hot August when we’d take my Coleman canoe on the Potomac above Great Falls, and she in her teal… — read more

South of the Elysian Fields, a warm sea breeze blows over me, the air invisible. The phantom wind rouses the nearby fire over which my crew had earlier cooked meats in sacrifice to the gods. Creusa’s shade finds me. I sit on the sand that overlooks a broad stretch of beach. As Creusa nears, the… — read more

It’s been two days since I’ve had more to eat than a handful of overripe wild blackberries that follow in a tangled mess the clear glacial-fed River Onyx. The berries have all but disappeared since I’ve climbed onto the boulder-strewn outwash, which has made my forward progress tedious at best. Yet when the wind blows… — read more

Thinking of this and that as of late, most of which is nonsensical (I.M.H.O.), and how we sometimes refuse to acknowledge the dangly bits on the sordid underside of each of us which, in that parallax of Love, tend to drive the passion and the Want that is totally reminiscent of the very first time… — read more

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The wind shift comes at noon, bringing a warm briny-smelling breeze from the Pacific Ocean to the airship docks on the Uniontown pier. Like restrained gray sky-whales, the airships shift silently by the bow in the wind around the tall metal spires of the mooring masts. Yesterday, I moored my airship, “The Resurgent Lady,” on… — read more