Mortar and Pestle was My Nick Name in The Third Grade.

It feels like there are people looking through a microscope, and people looking through a telescope.
Feels like I’m using binoculars

backwards.
Everything is small and upside down.
“Where’s Barb?” / “Whose Don?”

 “Wet bread.”

The shapes are so close-
The lens is meant to focus.

The naked eye is a vacuum-

Is nothing is safe from question!?
Old granite blocks engraved / with symbols of Pizza. Limestone puzzles. Aggregated bloodlines. 

Whose dividends do we pay? 

..

Whose AstroTurf is this?

Their bold new directive-
The shriek and fear.  

The steer and clear.

Grandmas Old Apple Pie Recipe.

The word FIRST-BORN is used 108 times in the bible.
How many stitches are on a Major League Baseball?
The number 20 is used 108 times in the Old Testament.
The letter Kaph corresponds to the number 20.
The letter Kaph is derived from a pictogram of a hand. (I.e. The prefix Manu)

There are 108 cards in a deck of UNO.
Humans are all sharing the same consciousness.
The angle between the paws of the pentagon is 108 degrees.
Six squared equals thirty six.
Six Six Six 
(6×2)+(6×2)+(6×2)x3 = (?)

Everyone talking at the same time. 

Twelve times twelve, minus 36 equals 108. 

Robin Roberts wore jersey number 36.
Cubs win; 108 years later- Counter coup cycle.

ALAN WATTS BY PROXY. THE LEGS OF A SNAKE.

I want to spend time sitting still, or walking slowly, wondering at and feeling the basic sense of existence, of being alive, of watching my breath, of hearing all sounds in the air, and of letting clouds and stars caress my eyes.  

I want to let go of anxiety and turn it into laughter, and realize absolutely that life and death are two sides of the same coin. I want a female companion who will, alternatively, melt into me and wrestle with me, see me and, befuddle me and then suddenly show that she can do so many things much better than I. 

I want to talk to interested audiences, and play with their questions, but also to listen to those who can tell me things I don’t know. I want to watch water which reflects many changing qualities of light and wind, and is visited by seagulls, pelicans, terns, grebes, and wild duck.

I want to sit on some far-out rock or a lonely beach and listen to the waves and look at the western sky at dawn. 

   I want to shoot arrows so high into the sky that they seem to turn into birds. I want to see mountains and prowl through their foothills and forests, listening at dusk, to unseen waterfalls.

I want to sit at a typewriter, at certain times carefully and meticulously putting into words what I feel- the challenge being that it cannot really be put into words at all. 

I want to go off to a colorful and spacious kitchen to experiment with some new kind of soup or stew, or method of steaming fish, or to see if I can cook with a Wok

I want to be able to allay pain and sickness with the touch of my hands. 

I want to make a fire of charcoal and burn cedar leaves or sandalwood, in the evening, while listening or dancing to the music.

I want to see the reflection of light in glass and crystal, and, laying on the ground, to look up at trees patterning a vivid blue sky…

I know a gal whose name is Natalsaurs

Her eyes will change your life,
they sure did mine.

It took about three minutes for her and I to fall in love. (Real sick with it.) 

By our third date we were planning out first vacation.

Every chance I get to see her feels like I lucked out. Like the first time the mountains met the sea.

She’s patient. Knows how to tell a joke.

(She’s a real sweet lady.)

By our third month we we’re figurin’ out how to move in together.

(She’s a real kind gal.)

Prettier than the dickens. That smile of her’s makes me shout out!

“Do you see her!?”

She can wear a tee or tank, she knows how to wear heels. She’s comfy. She reads books and listens to music from the 20’s.

She dances like a fighter pilot. She knows what wine is, owns a hammer.

She’s fought her battles, likes her tattoos like she likes her bourbon.

Looks like a knock out before she can even brush her teeth. (She’s a real gem.)

She’s my bun. She can hold a conversation. She’s got a soul that goes way back.

Before our first year we we’re already living together. 

Her Rabbit fell in love with me.

She’s curious, fearless. Strong- a talented professional.

(She’s a real beautiful women.)
She’s got a voice- a spirit that you can see. She’s a friend,

a companion, a critic. She wears sunglasses.

She’s a smart shopper, knows how to cook a turkey. She’s a dream and a morning by the lake. She plays boards games, and doesn’t mind a little rain. 

the world. Everyone in it,

moving at the same time.
It seems like everyone is after the same thing, but going about it in different ways.

The billions of us, sitting on different sides of the scale. The lows, the highs, middle, the bottom, the part of the scale that holds itself to together.

Standing / eating / sitting / breathing.

Expressing ourselves through clothes and culture, technology as a middle name. 

Games / practice / cameras. Everyone holding a phone or crossword puzzle.

It’s just another wild time in history.

We’re all wild here. 

Everyone thinking in their own way. Behaving within the own reality tunnel. 

The man with the air brushed hot rod t-shirt. The women with her expensively thin sandals. A gold watch, a calloused heel, white headphones, those pair of glasses. 

Each breath is theirs too.
A city is now more diverse than the jungle. 

People are allowed to be victims of their own making. A wild deer isn’t taking a loan; for a cell phone. 
But, both are just as amazing with the right perspective. With the right amount of expectation everything is so spectacular.

We’re all natural parts of nature. Some animals can type, and some animals can digest bones. 

So, why are the ones who can type feeling so displaced?

Social conditioning? Confusing education? Unexpected parents? A bad cup of coffee? A movie that just “didn’t cut it”

I think most of us just don’t really think about what we want.
We think about, what would feel good, what sounds good. What is good based on what we don’t have. But is that it?

Is there any one thing we can have that will clear away the desire for more

money / food / luxury / power / love / sin / more time / another chance / bigger / faster / smaller / taller / posture / her shoes / that boat / a new face / color / time / a house / a bigger name / better attitude / voice / skill / handwriting / outfit / hips / intelligence / style / talent / grace / reduction of clutter / usage of energy. 

Is there any one thing that will clear away the misinformation? The confusion, the search for more things? 

The Planet Earth is Inhabited By People.

This morning a person jumped in front of the red line and died.

The whole ordeal delayed my commute. I sat for a few trains. Finally, I made it to the factory and had my morning meeting at 9:00am.

Just another Monday. 

There was a bomb in Chelsea this weekend.

The prime minister of Haiti accused our democratic elect of bribery. I shot a fly with a salt gun during lunch.

My dads’ phone fell into a lake.
My cousin is getting married in October, her father died yesterday.
Paul Combetta got caught deleting emails on a popular Web Fourm.

Ohhhh, and what else?

Vincent is Another Name for Australian Beer.

Your resignation letter was torn into twenty seven pieces. The GSR still stuck in your palm.

We heard that your office was consumed by vultures. 

The fiends pecking away on your stapled paper. The damned birds didn’t even let your body cool.

The vultures should of had their wings clipped, because we all have mouths to feed.

But yours was filled with iron.

Watching the stars align like ducks.

Truth at the edge of our Long Island ice tea.

So cold, was your body when those birds flew away. They hadn’t even left a single rose pedal. Not one ounce of information out of place.

And, so what if Birds had history books? 

What stories would they tell? William always told me. “I love you in a place, without space or time.” 

The pecking-order-of-raw-meat. 

Grapes on the vine. 

Your depression like burnt rubber. 

A wet, tire iron. 

The distance between you, and everyone else was a mouse trap. The horizon, where you saw our shadows was moist. 

And, we watched as you sank, up stream in the ancient Nile-

granite in your boots, dimes in your eyes.

We saw you, Vincent, with those vigilant Rose Petals. You were so young then.

Kansas was a part of you, but it was also a breeding ground for intelligent birds. 

And the Starr’s finally aligned in ninety seven. 

And your family was so tired by then. 

With Polk, Finches, Clinger, and Robins, nipping at your bones.

In the dark,

we continued to breathe. While those colorful birds, sang in the morning sun.