Sunday, February 2, 2014

a straight bet on non-linear life or 6 or so random thoughts

On the road again, with thoughts, thinking the big secret of my life is quiet happiness. (#1)

Portrait in beeswax.

(#2) California jumbles the brain, reduces lobes to hard little kernels strictly measured tossed into a hot air popper, whoosh, pop, brain now soft clouds blossoming.

“Popper,” I must tell you, originally set down with typo as “pooper.”

Ping ping pop, pooper.

(#3) The dance of extreme winters, winter being in one place extremely the opposite of what it usually is, winter being in another place extremely more of what it always is. Some maximize these conditions, others minimize. Perhaps winter alone knows what is what.

Somewhere in the California desert.

(#4) Elliott ripped away from paradise found, paradise being warm, dry, quiet, gophers, mice, treats in the kitchen, inside, outside, as one pleases, lizards, rats, birds, and a cousin to kick around. Good dust to roll in. Good clayey water to drink. Fresh catnip nibbled to the ground. Naps high up amongst the pottery and naps down low amongst the shrubbery.

(#5) I was thinking:
Thanks to the friend who reads Kierkegaard.
Thanks to the sister who eats onion rings in an Irish Pub in a Danish village in the middle of wine and cattle country.
Thanks to the mom who does not let go, even though her grip has loosened a bit.
Thanks to the sister who knows Italian and about it being like “the cheese on the macaroni.”
Thanks to the gambler in the cowboy hat.
Thanks to the cat who came along for the ride.
And, if you are here too, thank you.
Pop pop ping.

A sand and dust storm at the Nevada state line.

On the road again, but I rest in Vegas and of all things have a bet on the Seahawks to win. Now what are the odds of that?
It’s a straight bet
that cost ten dollars
to win twelve dollars,
so why not?
I say: Root for me.