A Moment In Time

Janus the Roman god for which the month January is named was the god of gates and doorways. This god is represented with two faces; one facing forward and one facing back.  As we enter January it is our opportunity to look both forward and back, to enter a moment in time.
Our future depends on our past and as we leave the past behind, look back and travel in our imaginary space capsule called "The Present", we drag a little residue of the past with us. A souvenir so to speak to remind us of experiences both good and not so good. But we must be careful not to carry too many souvenirs as they will weigh us down and burden our spaceship, "The Present". Some things are better left behind and forgotten. We must simply watch from the rear view window of  "The Present"  and wave good bye to those things that are too heavy to bring along. Those things left behind may have their own future and to bring them along may bind us to that. So let it go and just watch it fade away from view until you can't remember what it looked like, felt like.
As we turn to face forward in our space craft and gaze out the window we see laid before us a vast almost infinite future of possibilities. Those of us who are lucky enough to realize "The Present" can be steered in all directions, will feel boundless joy and freedom.
We can look back for reference, look back at our starting point and plot a course to where we are going but "The Present" doesn't have a navigation system. "The Present" moves along on whatever course she wants. We can only steer in the moment, but that is the beauty of The Present. She can be steered in any direction at any moment. The choice is ours.

Happy New Year!

Skittles

I remember when we brought you home and you hid behind the dryer
I never wanted you
With eyes dilated black and wide as the universe you sucked me in
You knocked everything down that could break from the highest possible places
I remind myself you're not my responsibility
And then I take you to the vet to remove all your parasites and drain your abscesses
I don't appreciate the carcasses of rodents, birds and reptiles you leave at the doorstep
Why do you always leave the liver?
I hate liver
In the middle of the night on my way to take a leak you're under my feet
You gently remind me with teeth, claws and a soul wrenching baby scream that I just stepped on your tail
I'm bleeding now
Later you lay on my lap and try to kneed my scrotum into a pillow
You purr and snuggle
What do you want from me?
You play with inanimate round objects and try to look cute
You lick the butter with your wormy tongue and drink from the toilet
You rub against my legs with affection, but I know you're just marking your territory 
You're trying to make me yours because I won't have anything to do with you
You own me

Good Morning

Amber blue horizon hue, tree lined mountain green
A silhouette scene
The sun meets west, departs the rest and leaves the past behind
Future dawning a world in spawning
I see a day begin
An infant moment with all possible ways
A potential everlasting play

Werd!

I lost my sence of spell
A riteing blok as well
I hear and taste and feel and see but all theese werds make no sence to me
They sowd kine da runny and shapt sorta funny
They leeve me with drie mowth and eyes
The rools of grammer and punk chew way shun make me want to cry
A E I O U arvowls and make the sowds of bow wells
And Y is a constanit that seems kine da in calm pit tent wen it be cums sum thing els

Ode To Carrot

Oh you orange rooty spherical spindle
Let me pull you from your earthy home, peel your dirty skin and save you from the gopher's jaw
How I love you raw
Also in soups, stew and steamed but never creamed
I'll take you juiced with fruit, shredded, grated or guillotined into medallions that lay about like coins
A counter top treasure counted for good measure
Waiting for my tossed salad
A carotene ballad

All In The Same Breath

The selfish life breathes heavy
Heaving chest, bloated vest
A warm body of man takes what it can and leaves
Doesn't matter what it believes
The bones break the same
Blood stains
Feelings translate into all languages... and anguishes
Selfless are none the more
Fools of a kinder temperament who ignore an existence all the same
A game
Tic Tac Toe in the sky
Trying to leave a mark to be remembered by
All the while wind blows, oceans roar and death leaves room for more

Apple

Devour part of life, a so called apple core of life with its bitter seeds and fibrous, hard to chew visceral innards
Not for beginners
Juicy and sweet is fine and so is a straight line
But off tasting and chewy adds to my sinewy
One is what one eats down to their feet and none of what they doubt
So I'm going to eat this apple...all of it, inside and out

Becoming

The higher consciousness of being lays beneath the fossilized version of oneself, the picture of the false, the fool dressed as a man. This matter of being is not something solid and has no name. It cannot die nor live yet it is alive. It is and will always be in a singular moment upon the crest of a wave, vibrating, reverberating, falling and dissipating motionless until the next. It's truth and nothing else. It has no wants or fears. It is in relationship with everything and nothing. Knowledge flows through it fresh, clean and translucent. Its capable of nothing but love.
I wish to be this.

Heart Strings

Symphonic low noise I hear is far away
It's filling in the cold but fresh silence with warmth, hope and dreams
There's also a beating, a stomping of feet on fold up bleachers in a hollow gym
They're promising something but you have to give up the fresh air
Crowd in with the mob and give it up for the orchestra playing the song you've heard before
Sit and listen or run for the door, the space, the changing of seasons
Its only a choice, a temporary embarassment
Their eyes may follow but not their hearts...they're deaf and run their mouths anyway
Wait for the door to close and cover your ears
Where's the sound coming from?
... so beautifully with the silence, that one without the other would be lost

Here She Comes

Segmented like a fat caterpillar
Frowning while eating
Smiling unhappy and swallowing
But she smells good, like some kinda fruit
KoolAid or fruity Life Savers
Her face is fruity too
A little grape around the eyes, lips like a butt end of an apple...red
Very red and pissed off
Cheeky, peachy and jiggly all over
She moves unbelievably with quickness 
No escape from her purple stare, her gelatin hug, her apple butt kiss
She makes me hungry and embarrassed
Knows it
I loath it

Sounds of the Past

There are sounds in the world that remind me of colors, smells and a certain time
A innocent crime
The plane engine whine, the transformer explosion followed by sirens
The watching of Star Trek followed by silence
I smell oil, metal and burning dandelion petals
Radio chatter as the firemen worked with the slapping of water upon burning car
The scent of tar
The laughter of friends as we played with a spot that's a sick color of grey over the grass which it lay
What is PCB? I had never heard that before
Maybe its okay because the the adults will ignore

Raising a Man

About a year ago I wrote an entry called "The Gift of a Father" (http://foginmythroat.blogspot.com/2012/01/gift-of-father.html). I revisited that today to remind myself that I still want to be a father...maybe.
I know that in order for my son to become a man he has to tear down the image of his father. I get that. I did it too. I was a youthful rebel once upon a time and when I think back on the things I did, I feel sad. I was self destructive and hurt others, especially my father. I don't wish that for my son. I never had the opportunity to show my father that I became a man because he died before it happened. His death was one of many experiences that paved the road to manhood. I would have rather walked hand and hand down that road with my father to make him proud, to make things right, to hold him one last time. I need to make things right with my son.

Dear Max,

Its been said that a man does not truly become a man until his father dies. Well son, I'm here to tell you it doesn't have to be that way. You can become a man with me still around, alive and kicking. You and I have similarities (both of us are extremely handsome and smart) but we are not the same. You are not going to end up being like me, so you can sigh in relief. I don't need the competition and if that were the case I hope you are the better man. First of all your name is Max, mine is Steve. Second, I'm already a man and you will become one. Of course your mom would argue the fact that I'm a man when I laugh at fart noises, but I can assure you I am (There is another saying which states a man is not a man unless he's a boy at heart ). Anyway, in addition to being a man, I'm a father.

I'm your father and you are my son. We are not peers nor friends, yet our relationship runs deeper than any other you will ever know. We can be friendly and enjoy each others company. We can be playful with one another, yet we are not equals and I can imagine that's hard to hear. We are only equal in the sense of human rights. We both deserve to be respected , heard and have a place in this world.
As your father I will give you the space you need to become your own man and as my son you will take out the garbage. I will respect your privacy and you will clean up after yourself. I will not yell at you and you will not yell at me. I will not physically harm you and you will not physically harm me. I will not break your things and you will not break mine. I am responsible for your healthcare, shelter, food, clothing and you will be responsible for your actions. I will provide you with privileges that can be earned and taken away as I see fit and you can test me to find out if I'm full of shit. I will take responsibility for my poor choice of humor and you can roll your eyes. I will provide you with learning opportunities in the form of chores that will help you be self sufficient and prepare you for the day when you eventually move out and are on your own ( you have about 4 years, so make good use of your opportunities. I'm not kidding). In the mean time I will make myself available to listen to how you feel and have discussions and you can share with me. I like it when you share with me. I am unable to read your mind and guess how you feel and it's crazy to expect me to. I will welcome you into my arms if you want a hug and I need not ask why. I will not shame you when you make a mistake and you will not shame yourself. I will not pretend to be something I'm not and you will have self respect. I will not put myself upon a pedestal and you will not tear me down.
I am only a man, a man not unfamiliar to the one you will become. A man that feels, bleeds, breathes and dies. A man in pursuit of happiness, a man I will be proud to have as my friend, my equal.

I Love You,
Dad

The Stoke Factor

Shivering cold while mumblings of sparseness are sent in. A change is coming. I watch the feathering mist blow hard off the wind... an offshore wind. The wavelength runs deep today and the escaping water from shore is pummeled into foam. There's an eerie fog and thunder. I'm small as is everything in their presence, but I paddle like a giant, then stand like one. I've been told so. I know so as I'm thrust down its vertical surface. I am speed, motion, grace and stoked!

The Sea

There's a place in the world for those who are only lonely around people. A place where the surface moves to its truth, its moods. It is not kind nor mean and its edges are motion. This place is colorful yet colorless and full of light and life even in its abyss and darkness. It is a soulful and soulless place that is in balance when it staggers. It is a universe upon which time machines float and sink. You and I know this place yet we know nothing at all. Those who know are lost at sea.

Methhead

"I don't know what the back of my head looks like!"
That is a statement I heard from one of my patients from the ED. Granted, she was not in a "normal" mental state and seemed quite anxious at the time for reasons I believe had to do with methamphetamines. This patient was very obsessed with the fact that she could not see the back of her head, as she kept  repeating this over and over to the point where I responded ,"Its okay. The back of your head doesn't know what the front of your head looks like either." It was at this time she stopped with her incessant obsession, shut up and looked at me as a calm silence filled the room, and stated, " I got eyes on the back of my head, I got eyes on the back of my head, I got eyes on the back of my head..."

The God Inside

Will you let them kill the God inside you today?
The God who speaks for you, the one you forgot to worship and feed.
Are you going to stand by and watch the killing?
How will you fill the space left behind?
There is no other (divine) to find.
There's only you now, all alone, vacuumed out and crumbling
A bowl of nothing held together like ash ready for direction from the harsh wind of others
Blown apart
A vessel no more
Or...

Three bodies and a boat, upon a bay they float
Starting calm and ending fast , the rigging moans as the wind blows past
Angled now they are close friends and that is how this sail ends. 

Stubborn Laughs

Oh man! I forgot to teach you or maybe I can't.
That's not how you wear your socks or listen.
Look at me through your fake glasses and listen! Do you hear me?
No, because your ears are covered by your sock hands.
And that face... that monster face, take it off!
I see you and I know you can hear me.
Turn your head this way.
I know you want to.
I'm dancing here...

Ha! I made you laugh.

Trees

Get off the Road

I started from the trees today
The white barked trees with green leaves
The honeydew was sweet and dropped from above
Made a mess on top of my hood, poured syrup upon my windshield
It smeared as the wipers worked
Slowly the view cleared as I watched the ravens dodge
I'm on my way to work now, but I seem to be the last one up
They work while I'm asleep
On call so to speak
They're trying to get me to notice them day after day
And I show them no respect by cleaning them up and staying on the road...
The stupid fucking road!

Heart

Take your heart out and let it go
Rip it from your chest and flow
Watch it fall to the ground and bleed...plant a seed
Of red and blue, love and true
Its blood relax and calm, watering the hand to hold a lifeline upon fingers fold
Hear it breathe again and warm in the sun
Give it up from where it begun

Buddy

I miss that black, fury beast with juicy kiss and snuffling bliss
The one that smelt like death, ate garbage and shared his breath
He was always sandy, wet and doggy but his mind was never foggy
He rolled in beachy dead things, came back with stinky offerings
His undigested gifts wrapped in plastics, ropes and gaskets
Whatever I threw away he found, even below the ground
He never gave up on me, even when I acted angerly
He was!

Keyboard's a Whore

Dust, dirt, numbers and letters
I could spell the grime and give it value, decorate it with a little hair
What is the hair...an eye lash, pubic?
Nice!
A Wiki search, porn, YouTube
I think I see a fingernail in between "F" and "G"
I Googled the shit outta that one
Ew!
This keyboard is filthy

Brother

I remember the time...
When memories ran deep and the feelings were fresh and cold
Its been four years, way too long
I think I forgot the words to the song
I share his past and he mine, but we walked a different line
He came to visit, reminisce and climb a moment we both will miss
I loved him and now I love him
...I just remembered

The Champion

He had won. He was too old, an unknown, an underdog of such proportion that his winning could only be described as a miracle.
In his one and only media interview he was asked how he did it. He answered, "The only way that miracles exist is through doubt. I did what I did because I believed it. People who believed it was a miracle or otherwise,  doubted. I'm not special. I didn't find the cure for cancer, or save humanity from itself. All I did was swim one length of the pool really, really fast. It took hard work, tears, sweat and even blood on occasion. But I trained and lived in the now and never doubted that I could do it from moment to moment. I'm not a hero and I don't wish to be. I don't want money or fame. I just want to live my life alone and be happy. "
Then the interviewer pressed the Champion more and asked, "Is there a secret to success?" The Champion answered, "No."
The interviewer looked puzzled and asked, "What do you mean?" The Champion answered, "There's no secret only the illusion. You still doubt what I did otherwise you would accept it without question.  I've been accused of cheating, using drugs and even making deals with the devil, but the only thing I can be guilty of is a trick. I created an illusion in which I was a champion and I believed it. The trick was that you all doubted it. That's a miracle."

Windows and Tic Tac Toe

El Huachinango Rides Again!

Jen and I raced in the HYC Whistler Race this weekend and got dead last. Now you're probably asking yourself, "what is there to write about then?" Well, it was an adventure as the conditions worsened within 2hrs of the start and we had to take the "alternative" route.
The "alternative" route got us into close quarters of shoals, 70ft fishing vessels, crab pots, narrow channels and every possible marine obstacle one can imagine. All that was missing was the Kraken. The winds increased to 20knts with gusts to 25 and I chose to keep full canvas as long as possible since I am more competitive than prudent when racing. So, we had the rail buried in the water for most of the race. We finally ended up reefing the main after we began to take on water and we were still healing to 30 degrees, but at least we had the rail out of the water. The beat against the wind after rounding the buoy was a two hour slog of tacks that began to defy logic and sanity. All I could think about besides my back cramping up was a cocktail and muscle relaxants at the end of the race. Jen's thoughts were on hot soup, which she said should be prepared by all the yacht club "bitches" that weren't in the race. She was the only woman in the race by the way.
The 12 nautical mile course took us just under 4hrs and our boat speed was between 5-7knots the whole time. That should give you an idea of how much tacking and jibing was involved.

In the end there was no cheering crowds, no bells or whistles just the two Eds, the two salty yachtsmen both named Ed of the Humboldt Yacht Club who take first place in every club event, offering us a pity cocktail and telling us next time to finish sooner before everyone else goes home. Thanks Eds!

Sea Lion

Sea dog! Why are you so curious, checking me out?
I paddle away yet you keep coming about.
Go away man! I'm surfing here!
Why do you keep coming ever so near?
You're freaky big and bold
And I wish you did what you were told.
But you don't listen to me, because I'm not of the sea.
You push particularly gently like the lead in a dance.
I move elsewhere and give you a glance.
You're far away now and small as a dot.
I lost my pet and his name was spot.

The Elder Machine

Old dog new tricks, an analog man, old habits and grey
The machine wears down over time along with the work its done
Who is the man, the machine in a digital bit fed world of black and white, zeros and ones,  on and off?
An elder machine of parts and pieces, a sum of not, a spectrum of in between
The switch of time will eventually break with the elder machine and the digital world the same
Zero!...or is it one?

Follow Me

You want to know what its like?
Are you ready? Careful how you answer.
Yes!
So you wish to feel the hands of creation upon your shoulders...follow me.
Okay!
Stay close and do as I do. Feel as I feel.
The hands upon your shoulders won't be comforting.
I know!
But they will be your friend.
How?
They'll be your teacher.
Who are you?
A follower but I may die so you will become leader.
Teach me!
No! You must learn.