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Sky getting smoky 350 acre wildfire over in Angeles National

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dabble: Adam, Traveling, Returns

What you had waited for, a treasure

bubbling up from the river underground

came to surface first come the day's sloping

into night, what emerged caught and gave a light

the colour of that place that will accept you,

elongate its strictnesses for your sheer acts

and acts of well-reasoned refusal. 

You now returned, we talk tracing the source 

(hopeless): the clue is in the hue, not the rise

over run. Conclude back to the dream of being

weightless somewhere exotic, think parrots,

Dalmatia, jellyfish

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dabble: Dust-It-Off Engineering

Back to the desert dwelling for a spot of day & night

welding, grinding, and drilling. We're engineering

high-efficiency energy out here with mild steel 

and old car alternators, catching the wind's

endless momentum, endlessly falling down

the mountains into the desert basin

(it catches everything > your exhale).

Using what we find in this vast sand bath

to disrupt the sight of chaparral undisturbed

in all directions, we make costless imprints

on the landscape's shifting swatch,

constantly trying to improve

our cuboid's stance in the ecotone. 

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dabble: city stepping

breeze block forts and  brand new  reclaimed  matter

decorated in tenants

(eco-tense, entrepreneurs,  trending   and     trended),

carry the eye  between cross-streets  on the back streets,

breezier than the main strip, stomped   and rolled   hot,

oral exhaustives  line curbside  imitation french cafés

(hear   passé but she had inviting eyes    spoken in 

a slack,   guttural,   Angelino   drawl   but nice,  true:

replies loiter).

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Hardwood Floor with Human Female

Digital Print, 2014

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Coastal Terrain: Malibu

Banana palms, parrots, the orange tree, and the orchirds. From the boxy maid's apartment below a lopsiding hillside house, my view of ocean was a clearing in the trees (I measured it at 4 feet stretching my flat hands out). All the windows gave way to deep views. Eucalyptus soaked in the ocean wind and spilled easily into the lungs. 

The vacuum black newfie and pebble shore tabbies kept easy company on long days I indulged in with heavy verse or sanskrit grammar. Between concentration and syllabic symphonies, I almost made the first week content knowing the ocean was that close. 

By that first Friday at nightfall I was walking on the lightless asphalt road with coyotes crunching fallen eucalyptus bark hinter the slight verge. (Steady breathe keeps all peace.) On the shore beside the pier, I let the insects hop on and off, and synchronised myself to the ocean after the body slept sitting. I made it a practice, then, to walk the coast on evenings not with company, as far as the tide permitted.

Daylight scribble after morning reading: Subtle study of upanishads, Merrill continues. May I never cease being grateful that others wrote and write. 

I wrapped the last night there in the top terrace's view, a Port and sweet tobacco the landlord gave in Farsi. 

Home again, treading water on the internet, I read so much power I need to turn from the monitor. Staring off cross eyed into the blur, the memory of lime parrots on tall eucalyptus branches squawking above me prevails. I linger there, on the retreat's grounds again; a morning, elongated breath, moisturised, air falling in long drops. 

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Malibu so far

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Dabble- Crip Walk

A crip in full Dodger blue garb just walked out of the psychiatrist. My dreadlocks and Birkenstocks feel especially harmless today.

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Hey, thanks for the follow.

Likewise- I love the look of your space. Made me giggle

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Dabble- Wind Advisory

Llano tonight has a wind advisory

the wind coming in through my window 

has the push of a fat bully and makes a noise

something like heavyweight sex but more plastic

,

and less determined. In the wind you can hear 

lots of things 

, but mostly old 

desires

, the shape turtles whistle to,

and neither grandfather.

Look,

I'm listening 

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Some nights, it's best just to test your new lens and take long exposure selfies.

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“But the surreal has always been and always will be with us, proposing sites for change. The movement that called itself Surrealism articulated and demonstrated that promise: that through trauma, confrontation, and destabilization we may be set free, that life isn’t tawdry and the imagination is limitless in its power. Our peril is our possibility, the surreal insists, and its optimism is our right to hope that out of obscene negations something positive may come forth. Our poetry, as exploration, as fecund expression of what we don’t know as much as what we do, has always been and will always be surreal.”

Dean Young, from The Art of Recklessness (via myshoesuntied)

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By the railroad ties, Monolith, CA

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May has come, and there is so much solidity already in it. The colour of sunrise has shifted, and brambles seem suppler. Yogic touch on everything, the clocks tick backwards

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Monkey See

When you sense the monkey, stay away. You will only be disturbing your inner peace.

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I've spent all day annotating this Nick Flynn poem called "Alcoholism" from The American Poetry Review.