Week 45-22 - Haibuno

7 November 2022

Fails to deliver
falling back, the curse of time
made up by humans

The vagaries of winter dreams are an untidy hangover. We are calcified in persistent parity. We attend to one day of merry making per week. Roll your eyes. Squat daily. The outsiders are feeding their way through cultural backlash with a backsplash catching all the detrital bits burrowing under their skin. The low tunnel behind the waterfall is a way through this morass, but you can't fit through it wearing a 12' skeleton costume. Weird wanderings through highly detailed cosmic photos spent anthropomorphizing the Oort cloud. Tendrils of tethers gluing the universe together. Pieces of me in pieces of you in pieces of us torn asunder when we wander too close to a black hole. Our combined miasma sucked through and spit out in flames in a fireplace that flickers away.

8 November 2022

Election jitters
shoveling horse shit all day
avoiding the news

I remember sitting in a coffee shop in Park Slope chatting with a regular about their recent return to NYC. All exasperated "I'm never leaving again". They had left, and then back again for the last time. I didn't know then that I would leave too, just as I had never known that I would arrive. I know that I'll never live there again. But never say never because this back and forth is common in Didion's city of the young. You love it, then grow to hate it, then you yearn to return. Or not. Here at this moment, sipping tea enveloped in a mystery of pogonip, there's no going back. It's always been one foot in front of the other, one at a time over and over, until you land some place new. After cycling though more than one city of the young now i'm in a town for the old and out there. And that suits me comfortably fine (for now).

9 November 2022

Hard day of craving
temptation solicitates
tumbleweeds flying

The wind stopped, dumped everything, and now the everything is stuck unmoving. Static world. A single tree split in two hang-dogging heavy and there's four dogs bouncing through. The snow is smiling on their faces. Hallucinations running amok inside the snow globe. Bunny tracks, mouse tracks, bird tracks, dog tracks, mystery mongoose Sasquatch tracks, the who's who of high desert life scurrying about. The seeds have long since been dispersed. Maybe there's a sneaky morsel under there kinda sorta staring off to outer space.

10 November 2022

First gluten free loaf
kind of a failure but still
tasty with soup dunk

The snow fog inches slowly closer. "Whatdya think? 2, maybe 3 days tops of sunless skies in a row". "Yea sumthing like that". Day 1 - we couldn't see any lights except the torch lanterns in the driveway next door. Day 2 - the mountains have disappeared. Day 3 - a future mystery, maybe sun and puffy clouds, maybe not. One last missive for the miserly. Day 4 - full stop.

11 November 2022

Creative instinct
drives impulsive word scramble
ignite then explode

They taught me to using hands and heart.
Smart enough to figure it out, naive enough to start.

12 November 2022

Gelli monoprints
mystery rush of colors
a simulacrum

Two weeks of clarity. The coffee is getting cold. I ransacked the art box and a colorful mess ensued. It will unfold as it is supposed to unfold.

13 November 2022

Sudden pass snowfall
weep gently into moonlight
no time for goodbyes

The neighbors dog escapes again and decides to play frisbee with us. Snowballs, frisbee, and a side of distracted bunny hunting. There are paw prints all over the property. 3 huskies roaming through again, we need to improve the fencing. Giant snowflakes drift down from monochrome skies. Sea urchins dancing in drifts with the octopus that lives down the road. Meep meep! The sheep are laying loaf in line with the sunlight. The simple pleasures of a paddock in Wales. Standard mail blues, hollowed out and deeply sounding. Will we ever have the winters of childhood again?

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Jamie Larson