Riding Metro North. And Sleeptalking.

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4:50 am.
11 minutes to the 5:01, the first train to Grand Central.
I step onto the front porch into darkness.
And into Salter’s Burning The Days…at both ends.

Peter Cottontail scurries down the driveway, his white tail bobbing.  A four-legged leaf clover.

Did I stop and allow myself to be surprised? Or did I trudge on in a daze?David Steindl-Rast prods in Awake, Aware and Alert.  Yes, David, Yes.

My head is down, I’m watching for icy patches. The footfall is covered with a moon shadow – the mind bleached with a word slurry. First Harrison: If you are strained, lacerated, enervated…take a night walk as far as you can get from a trace of civilization – a dance, and the ghost that follows you, your moon-cast shadow, is your true, androgynous parent.  And then Kalanithimy specklike existence against the immensity of the mountain, the earth, the universe and yet still feel your own two feet on the talus.  Lacerated. Enervated. Specklike. Immensity. My two feet. Flooded with Gratitude.  I keep walking.

4 minutes to departure. I pick up the pace. [Read more…]

Riding Metro North. With Weary.

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It’s the late evening train.
Metro North to New Haven.
The Quiet Car.

On my left, sits Stoic.  No book. No smartphone. Hands on her lap. Eyes dead ahead.

On my right, sits Dude. Head down, tapping his keys, ear buds pumpin’.

Across, sits Weary.  Head back on head rest. Eyes closed.  Tinted transition glasses. Lightly salted side burns.  Hair, jet black, neatly coifed, perhaps too much so.  A Pabst Blue Ribbon Tallboy rests on the floor between his black loafers.

Weary’s eyes pop open and catch me. I avert.

Stoic sits stoic.
Dude is bangin’.
Weary reaches down for the Tallboy, takes a swig, sets it down, leans his head back and swallows deeply. [Read more…]

Driving I-95 S. The Last Term.

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3:39 am. Thursday morning. Or, Wednesday night bleeding over.
20 minutes until shower time.
I’m staring at the ceiling. Woozy.  Did you get any sleep?

Six hours ago Mom’s helping him pack.
Suitcases are open.
Zeke sets the mood, moping.

“Dad, do you have any sweatpants I can take?”
“Take anything you want.”
“Do you have anything that doesn’t look like leisure wear?”
I smile. It’s clear who mentored that sarcasm, honed now, cold steel glistening.

We’re in the car.
It’s Silent. Father and Son awkward.
He’s turning the dials, away from my 7 on 70s on Sirius to some thumpin’ Electro BEAT.
The bitter taste of scotch at 4:30am.
I let it pass. [Read more…]

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

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Source: Charlie Brown & Sleepy Snoopy via Mennyfox55

T.G.I.F.: It’s been a long week

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Source: mennyfox55

And. The Day After…

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The leftovers!


Source: thesensualstarfish

5:00 PM Bell!

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Source: mennyfox55

T.G.I.F.: It’s been a long week

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Source: huffington post

 

Driving I-95 S. Miracle? All of it. 

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7 am.
Clear. 50° F. Blue skies.
I’m flowing down I-95 S.
I lower the windows and rest my arm on the door frame.
The gusts fill the cabin. November chill.

70s on 7 is spinning Neil Sedaka and Bad Blood.
Doo-ron, doo-ron, di di, dit, do-ron-ron

To hell with these nonsensical lyrics. I plug my own.

I do what I want to do.
I hear want I want to hear.
I See. Thank God I can See.
Good Blood. Good Blood. Good Blood.

And the brain train starts to pull,
the steel couplers snap between the rail cars,
the words begin to slide down the rails.
And here they come. [Read more…]

Just do it.

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Source: mennyfox55

 

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