ones and threes
{ sometimes random cryptic meaningless titles suffice ;-) }
this is the 65th January; it will soon be the 66th March
north hemispheric California rains are nowhere near like the monsoons of one's youth; for one thing, I miss the metallic patter on corrugated tin rooves
where is the Dog Star now, I wonder? ::consulting StarWalk 2::
saw this sad message walking down Franklin Street a few of the rainy days ago (i wonder what thoughts compel one to scrawl such notes out to the world at large):
this does remind me to get going on that Map of Hurts of the city. why such a thing? for no other reason than to declare to the universe that they have been seen.
the day continues to unspool, as it does, the skies alternating with rain and sun and, at this one brief moment past noon, i looked up and beheld a sight that felt unaccountably, numinously, serene and beautiful:
and then the night came along, as it always does; then, walking east down Bay to Goodfellas, i see the eye of the risen full moon like that of a blue whale's vertical dreaming self suddenly blink open through the scrim of rain/clouds that had been scudding past overhead with intermittent space for what may be beyond and above...
...below, the lights of the city's streets, its various coloured sigils and quotidian marks open to obscure semiotics by these mechanical minds ensconced in one's pocket, ever at the ready, instantly calculating the next thought in speed like that of light itself:
verily, a day is a key to a week, is a page to a month, which are sheaves to a year, and is at the end then a Pessoan trunk to a life, waiting, patiently, to be found.
{ sometimes random cryptic paragraphs demand, cry out, reify. }