mango de espuma

Home Depot – bewildering. I tag along,
trying to be useful. Finding interest
in the types of wood trim:
cove, shoe, quarter round, screen, rail,
half round, full round, stair nose,
reducer, stool, sill, stop…all this
language, foreign, and then we go
to vacuum cleaner parts where I
learn “mango de espuma” means foam sleeve
(or a gourmet whipped dessert).

you only come back when you stand up

Driving home from work last night,
assuming that I won’t miss this.
Listening to dharma on Upaya’s podcast –
a talk on true prosperity, no
matter to which class you might
belong. I really want to accomplish
the way – the way home, the
way down, the way up, sideways,
backwards. “Any real bow, you disappear.”
Puzzled, thinking about the standing up.

from: True Prosperity: Nothing but the Bow, Dharma talk by Genzan Quennell, Upaya Zen Center

quotidian oppression

Just to pick a phrase out
of the rapid stream of sound
that splashes past my ears from
dawn till late. Today’s phrase is
just what I mean and so
the act of plucking, pasting, privileging
it alleviates, sets up a vibe
that’s like an anti-matter mirror
(mixing merrily). After all this, listen
for the glistening ice of silence.

Title: Ben Norton said these words on the radio program Democracy Now. I listen while commuting to work, Connecticut to New Jersey.

alien birdsong

I let my workmates know today
that I’d be moving this spring
to Maine. Odd conversation, full of
cross currents: how to, how to
move, how to move forward when

the rhythms are so chaotic and
so unpredictable. Feeling funny in my
face but, on the whole, better
about my clothes. Working on my
imaginary wardrobe in the new context.

Title: The character Tipper said this about the sound they were trying to decipher on the TV show The Outcasts.

february window

Last morning waking up downstairs. Moving
bed back upstairs today. Sleeping down
here, sheetless, for more than a
month. It’s my dad’s birthday. He
died in 2011. He would have
been 88. I like this window.
It will stay here as is.
We’ll paint the frame. It doesn’t
open, just interrupts the blank wall
with a picture of the day.

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being in my seat

I loved it actually (riding Citibike).
Especially when I was able to
BE IN MY SEAT and ride
with the most comfortable pace and
posture for me. Which is a
bit sedate, not straining, upright,
not bent forward, allowing plenty of space
and attention for anything to happen.

Good emotional framework at Bernie march
yesterday. Memories of Occupy are fresh.

navigating slush

We rode Citibike in New York
to and from the Bernie March.
Roadblocks: slush in bike lanes, huge
snow piles in intersections, people getting
in and out of taxis, traffic
backups, people in the crosswalks, bike
stations out of bikes, bad squeaky
brakes, one-way-the-wrong-way
streets, all in the cold and
later, dark. Sitting on my seat.

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