ST16 ... across the landscapes of realities

real and unreal

I went to escape but that didn't workout. The soft silence i was expecting turned cold, the day turned night, the social net to fright. That was yesterday. Today i can see again. Strange the way the mind folds itself across the landscapes of realities real and unreal. Just flow along the river of life, paddle against the current if you want high ground or go down over the falls for some low-lands and comfort. I know i am hesitating, my heart doesn't lie. There is another road or two luring me into themselves. Where is the bravery that i knew, the insight into the obvious, the fearless tangling with the devil, the freedom in my bones? Age scrapes securities to their essence. Every move is a possible danger to your wellbeing. Agility diminishing daily. Love of life increasing as with fear of ending. The mind is a myth; the machine, its extension. Myth is the illusion of our reality, nothing to get hung about….it's all we have, and that's no myth.

one eye on the trail and one in the ditch

Back on the road to nowhere i stumbled upon a career change and dug right in. There is nothing so important as that initial obsession with something. I love it. Takes me away, into it. I couldn't imagine what it was like before i crawled out of my hole into the tense pleasure of learning the ins and outs of it all. It's been years now and i still get excited when i run across a new way to see it. I know it will end someday and that it really isn't all that important or mind boggling to others. I wish it was sometimes but that doesn't lessen the total focus i arrive at when I'm lost in its fold. No, in-fact sometimes it enhances the buzz knowing there are only a few, if any, that truly see this incredible twist of reality that takes over my mind. It is an art i suppose. Some have said that. Some have said i have a real talent seeing these things so different than others. I feel that at times also. Mostly, i just gravitate towards these actions like a river weasel loves to play.

the chance you take when you refuse to stay in the row

I suppose some may see this as just another escape, and they are right, it is. Of that there is no doubt in my mind. It is a technique to create the creative juices to just meander there as long as i can and i do. That's what this is i suppose? Hope you enjoyed it, though really, that is not what is important here. Possibly when it is all said and done. Like everybody, one likes to have their labours of love appreciated, an artist, a craftsman, a politician, a machine shop worker, a dog groomer, an undertaker…..all of us need some form of recognition for passing our time constructively thru this short time here on this strange earth.

standing over the sacred strange earth like a numbskull

Thanks to any readers that made it this far. It's a challenge to be a reader. A reader must attach themselves to the page, to the words, the way they move about, try to grasp what is going on. It is difficult when a new form goes formless, falls off the cliff into something unrecognized, absurd, even too deep to make sense, or just into an abyss with no meaning at all. That in itself can be the meaning. It is all so subjective. 'The sun isn't yellow it's chicken' B Dylan, now what the hell does that mean. Nothing, but it sounds fantastic. I always loved that line but i never knew why and i still don't and that's kinda like this page, goes mostly nowhere and sounds somewhat intriguing maybe almost fantastic and that's alright, it's the journey, they say…..hymmm, 'Found a writer in my soup, swimming for the carrots'…….'he's not a writer she's a reader'……'the moon's not silver it's a numb skull'…..'i'm not lying, i am the virus, goo goo g' joob'….'see what i mean, it's snake medicine'…..'he's not yellow, he's chicken'….

Leave a comment, trees breathe free at their own expense …. i also.

older than that now

a coffee. a like, a whisper.

WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

My Work …. Images - sales