Week 7-23 - Haibuno

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13 February 2023

First time picking locks
open door to waylaid dreams
box full of lost time

What do they say about putting your ass in the chair and doing? I’m doing. Will it be a hot mess express, or will it be urgency not my emergency? The freeze/thaw cycle we’ve been going through produces a lot of mud, and I’ve been sliding around mired in it for weeks. So, sit in the chair and ponder. It takes approximately 20 minutes for my brain to come online after sleep, especially after epic dreams of towing RVs across sand dunes. What was that guy’s name? Our daily discussions have been a swirling morass. This morning I followed an IG, in an hour I’ll probably unsubscribe, but right now it goes well with my coffee adjusted attitude.

14 February 2023

Expecting snow fall
couch potato, finish book
snow melted, then more

It’s in there some where, nuée ardente, d’amour. Overstimulated by roiling clouds, and molten escapades. The three am spin out. Eat a muffin, drink a cup of tea, let the spin cycle ease its way out. A self-inflicted trap disguised as a cardboard box. Dangling. Obtuse. Arrested. Things moving at glacial pace - methodical or quickly? Checking the paper for the monthly blow-by-blow, a rag of indistinct. Drugs, booze, disturbing the peace, a daily indiscretion broadcast to the 50% there. Don’t say that out loud, your phone might be listening!

15 February 2023

Those thickets to broke
pacing the periphery
around and between

Around the corner from the spin cycle lies peace. Rest. Lay your weary head. Rubbish. Rubbish, the things you can control. Rubbish, the things you cannot control. It’s all a losing proposition. Arm the ladies. Enraged, we rage out until we are raged out. We wake up the next morning, and dive into the whirlpool once again. Expecting nothing. Gaining something. Existing or non-existent.

16 February 2023

Three trapped in powder
swimming their way out of stuck
those tempting freshies

The snow can’t hold them down. Up and over. Polishing the stoke. Waxed to the nines, and totally out of control. They whisper over their shoulders in the lift lines, “bumps, or no bumps?” At 71 he tells me this is the only sport he has left. Just keep moving. Just keep moving.

17 February 2023

Get little stuff done
to pursue bigger daydreams
nightmare otherwise

Might as well pull words out of a hat.

18 February 2023

Wait for alpenglow
line of clouds on horizon
atmospheric drift

I am planate. The hunger to produce ran me down like a freight train. Fully flattened. I move horizontally or vertically in 2D. Fast, slow, somewhere in-between. The effects of time are dwindling. Maybe rapidly. Maybe not. I’m not sure. I try to knock on the window to the next dimension, but a tree has fallen and the only one there has run off to hear it. If only I could paddle down the atmospheric river on my broomstick. Instead I am the magic carpet, wildly flapping in the spring winds. Wavering. Waiting. Tomorrow doesn’t exist so it will never come. Spring forward.

19 February 2023

Edit almanac
getting closer to proof
order then edit

What would happen if we put an end to all waiting? Edit then order. Proof that the person at the other end of the phone stopped reading their script. Watching the world burn with hexagonal ice. Watching them eat coffee. The beans have been sitting poolside wondering where their frozen chocolate milk’s been hiding. Over there, under the rafters, doom scrolling bears climbing trees. The season of flies begins, today.

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Jamie Larson