gottok - Tumblr blog

[gottok]

Site Moved

All other content is available on ottokienitz.wordpress.com

[gottok]

I LOVE studying.

[gottok]

"These wanderings of the imagination broaden my soul, lending it a majesty appropriate to its nature."

Bernardin de Saint-Pierre

[gottok]

Going Abroad - 5 Things To Take With You

Pewter marmalade mountains dripping wax. Viscous midnight dew, like mercury. The Atlantic. Tumult below, counting time in ripples and eruptions. I count to five, pressing on those secluded treasures I bring near my breast.

Firm paper presses back. My first treasure - a pocket notebook scrawled, scarred, scribbled margins gaping gashes in its spine. Small, ambiguous, a simple Stygian sheath holding my memories, impressions, dreams. Quarter-filled, summer musings, nights on the water, Venetian moons, choppy surf and blown glass - moments passed.

I press my second treasure, a camera tucked away, stoic, awaiting celestial rays. To capture the rainy cobblestone, mossy greens and peat-sobered browns, a somber nod to the heartbeats I do my best to never forget but slip away like chiseled eddies along the corridors of my mind, out to sea. The Atlantic.

I snap to attention and fumble in my pockets. Three: wadded bills. Leafy and lustrous smelling of opportunity. Cab ride. Midnight train out of town. A pint of stout. Stamford Bridge. Ashburton Grove. A roll at midday. Necessary, I pat them back into place.

I look under my seat. Four: the ridges and spikes of my cleats. A footballer’s toolkit, kangaroo leather paws. Well worn. American sod, a rugged Venetian pitch. I hope to play daily. A ball and boots and speed, a spin and deft flick, roll, and poke. New friends. A common bond.

Five: I rub my temples and massage my skull. An open mind, quick of wit, free of misconceptions. A mental strength, independence, a longing for adventure, zeitgeist, and a window to the world.

[gottok]

how good is Jean-Luc Ponty and why is this Jazz History Final so much fun to study for

[gottok]

@upennspectrum @chancetherapper ACID RAIN #IGH #Number1 #UPENN #NOV1 #SaveMoney

[gottok]

amazing. 1-15 one of my favorite albums of all time.

[gottok]

#Humanities #LivePenn

[gottok]

oh my god.

[gottok]

born a son like a star

A diffusion of glow

warm around the edges

shines soft as a rain drop

crystallized in melted honey milkshakes

marmalade candles

sip and flicker in a misty flavored meteor shower

shiver pained wind breaths

pass ripples of umami shaded whispers.

do shh.

[gottok]

Harpooning:

To harpoon various sea creatures namely whales from the deck of a sea faring vessel such as in the literary classic Moby Dick by Melville. Ex: Peter was out harpooning with his pals for sport and snagged an eight foot eastern spotted seal off the coast of the San Blas Islands.

[gottok]

“Everything will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, (then trust me) it is not yet the end."

- Patel, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

[gottok]

watch.

[gottok]

"What a strange adventure indeed, this right-about face of destiny-incredible, humiliating, whimsical as any dream!"

Thomas Mann, Death In Venice

[gottok]

Impression #3 (Boat Ride)

The wind blows into my face from the prow as I turn my head into the midday breeze, sheltered coolly beneath the Italian metal frame of the boat which beats forward with lethargic desire, calmly breaking wave after wave, painted as white as the clouds, spattered across the bluest sky, mirrored upon the jade sea as we traverse the lolling undulations of the lagoon, lazy in the afternoon sun. The bell towers and spires of ship masts greet me on the horizon as the boat rocks with firm gentility from side to side, I see the cranes jutting from the tile facades, storkish monsters, modern obelisks of an Industrial Age already forgotten, they stand broken and decrepit, grasping at an unknown hand to stop their perpetual descent, their free fall, clutching at the open air searching for a stabilizing savior where nothing but wisps of clouds look back, jeering at the mechanized pinnacles that look so woebegone on a warm summer day, whose colors stand lost among the rich blues, oranges, and greens of sea, home, and tree that speckle the perimeter of the island.  The water is green with envy for a placid evening that will never come, the constant hum and whir of motors never let the city rest, sleeping upon a bed of hard slate, tossing and turning like the white crests of ocean waves spurned by the criss crossing patterns drawn in the liquid medium of countless captains and first mates, experts of oils, matte finishes of sea green, turquoise, and chalk smears ground from the same kelp forests and sea weed jungles as their fathers and fathers before, the delayed artistry of the wake, a wide white brush stroke filling the void of matter as each square meter of surf is continually vacated, replaced by the clouds only after the artist is gone. Oh, had I a golden thread, wound through a pinprick of platinum blue, rusty azure like the haze of sunset on a famished evening brocade. A chariot ride through the sun on cable wire made of yarn, puzzle pieces dangling like mobiles twirling in a shuttered breeze, blazoned shells and charred feathers, flying too close to a star when the sky seems to go on forever - does it not?

[gottok]

Poem

- -