Thus Spake the Crow...: Broken...

To thank the Crow for so many years of support and caring...

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Sincerely,
The Hopper-scribe

Thus Spake the Crow...: Broken...

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I'd almost forgotten about it until the other day.
When it came it was bubble wrapped and taped,
The tinsel and ribbon poking out through the gaps.
As the UPS guy handed it to me it rattled,

Something inside gave way and the package shifted,
The sound of broken glass. Forget how much you don't want this,
Forget that you should run out into the streets,
Heave it into the air! "It must must have been damaged

In transport," he said. "Hope it wasn't anything important."
He turned and walked away, smug in his assurance
It was delivered as it had been packaged.
The card was stapled on the outside.

Has Anyone Seen Fern?

colourable, best described
windows, frames laying an overcheck
on the path, dark roots a
hush spreads the mist
settling like a song,
corduroy.

id -- an answer to echo

id

semiotic spaces

ungrammatically linguistic

primal utterance of elements

subatomic fractals seed

flower

seed

flowering swirling mass of subjectivity

never fully formed absolute

only uncertainty exploring forgetting itself

id

Meta-Mathematics

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1 + 1 = 2
this is called deja vu

what do you think
are you reading this new

or have you been here
B4

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# of funerals you've attended
over
# of weddings you've attended
is a function of your indifference

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( your age x 1.5 ) - 7 = oldest age of lovers you should take

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the time it takes a space spider to spin its web is inversely proportional to the reason the ocean bleeds roses in April

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happiness divided by regret is ignorance squared

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greed to the power of power is insanity
and also equals money
(which we know from previous proofs to be the root of all evil)

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surface area of covers you steal

x

surface area of the bed you usurp

=

time you spend in the doghouse

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twice nothing is nothing

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hope + fear + sun + trees + alone + houses + books + helping + guilt + boldness + self-deprecation + moonlight + childhood + water + writing + perhaps + running + fall + bees + hardwood floors + legs + variety + watermelon + forts in the woods + tears + screaming from the rooftops + coffee + cormorant + freshly cut grass + oranges + doubt + friendship + wind + learning + losing + crawling in the gutters + when it all first came crashing down + sugar + work + what we most want + what was before we remember + all those things that will remain unknown = life

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M(everyth(I)ng)E

***which is to say that I am in everything and everything is also in me***

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The shortest distance between two points is a writer and a beer.

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a dessert often served with ice cream and coming in forms such as pumpkin, hoof, rhubarb, blackberry, entrails, cream of toast, etc. is 3.14159265358979323846... (but I can't tell you why)

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1, 2, 3, 4
who's opinion matters more?

2, 4, 6, 8
whose do we appreciate?

not others (CLAP! CLAP!)
not others (CLAP! CLAP!)

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horseshoeampersandtruthallpossibleworldshawkslogicsebillieseergofortebussesineronobiliedemistruxsewasinemcowsandux

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in the end
everything will be OK

people do whatever they have to do in order to make themselves happy

because if it isn't OK
then it's not the end

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your greatest joy is equivalent to your greatest sorrow

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the only thing less than your time is the time you don't take listening to other

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life = love = life = love = life = love = life = love = life = love ...

Phoenix

Stormdrastic

So it is. All trials are only circles. The hurricane falls into the shore, mingling sand-surf-beach-rocks-electric-air, the false lull before the plunge. The innards of the ocean throws up a curtain of sleet that spreads like a comforter onto a king-sized bed.

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"You can't rush destiny."

No, I guess you can't. Just like you can't sail around a tempest, for if you did they'd still ask,

"Why were you late?"

And you'd have to say, "It was because of a storm."

Then they'd ask, "It must have been bad?"

And you'd have to say, "I don't know. I sailed around it."

No you just can't rush destiny.

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The moment of not understanding is an opportunity to learn.
-- bell hooks

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I love that all our things are mingled together, love how your stuff is a-clutter, crumple towels, jeans, and bras. I love to find traces of your passing when we're apart, love the way you're spread on the floor like a cyclone.

A day alone. Time to reflect, to recollect what was given, what remains. Back to the Falls. The prayers I had uttered there all answered, just not in the order received. Back to a time colored heartache, a grey shade of blue on a starless sky, curling, shivering into earth. A thin strand stretcheing to eternity, showing where that berg of memory has sailed since calving from a glacier of lives never lived. When again was that day it fell apart? Where was that fault line to be found?

A false lull -- something quite as ordinary as the drop in pressure before the restless expenditure of a thunderstorm. Remembrance soaking my senses: the scent of morning in the forest; sound of beachrocks chattering in the tide and the taste of salt water; a thread of light flickering from the last embers of a fire to dance, all yellow, all yolk, before the mirrors of my eyes.

I hold my breath, watch as that small spark falls faintly to rest in my hand. This moment becomes all moments, becomes this pen shaping symbols, crafting vessels into which we pour meaning -- becomes something other than myself. "Listen more carefully," it says, "Then you will know."

In still silence a tether is cut, these syllables set loose from the past leaving only a dream, a dream that has always been true. For all things were given. All things remain. And I am held in life's embrace as the soil nourishes a seed to flower to see only the sun, as joy can reside only where once was sorrow, as surely as dawn. I am in love.

Link

now hit this link

Untitled

Watching.

The world teems with life.

The great to the small –

oak trees,

pollen,

blade of grass

bends in the embrace

of day’s only eye

which made the world bloom

as a rose decorates a garden,

as the seed that remains.