Posted in Art, Body, Bones, Dreams, Growing Older, Haiku, Life, Photography, Practice, Vehicles, Vision, Wake Up, tagged BlackBerry shots, bowling alleys, cars, cell phone photography, honoring the past, murals, Nokomis Lanes, perspective, sleight of hand, tanka, the future, the movement of time, the past, the practice of haiku, the space between, vintage cars, Walldogs, windows and walls on April 8, 2010| 4 Comments »
Vintage Cars At Nokomis Lanes, BlackBerry Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, April 2010, photo © 2010 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
snippets of the past,
bowling alley or drive-in?
2-D sleight of hand —
vintage cars fade into walls,
the future walks a thin line.
-posted on red Ravine, Thursday, April 8th, 2010
-related to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), WRITING TOPIC — MEMORIES OF CARS
Posted in Animals & Critters, Memoir, Practice, Work, Writing, Writing Practices, tagged Duluth, memory, Monkey Mind, the past, vintage, Writers, Writing, writing practice on March 30, 2007| Leave a Comment »
Time to get to the heart of the beast. Silent predator. Guardian. Of what? The intangible tangerine. I miss the silence. The scheduled flights West. I will be going East, end of May, beginning of June. Geography. The Monkey may follow me. To the heart of the South. Breeding some nameless representation of gangly limbs and chirping mouths, receding gums. Wreeereeereereeree. My allergies are acting up. Doubts creep in. At the center is a thing that is less than me.
Everyone seems so confident on TV. What happened to Mister Ed? Airplane glue? Remember those models you used to put together? Cars. They were model cars. A 57 Chevy. Ford Model T. A 63 Volkswagen. But me, I put together models of Frankenstein’s wife. I read Mary Shelley and Edgar Allan Poe. The Fly. Tom Sawyer, too. I could never get into books about Victorian women in crinoline dresses. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.
Wait, I don’t have allergies? I am allergic to work. I’m tired. I need rest. I’m heading to Duluth, to sit by the Mother Lake, the womb of the earth, half Canadian, half American, and skim stones across the surface. It’s the tension that holds them up, the rocks, I mean. The draw bridge will rise. The snow will be gone. The wind will blow. On Park Point Beach the gulls will be flying. You will run in the rain like last time. There were dying butterflies out of season. Come to think of it, there were beetles running along the sand.
Skittering.
One summer I went with a friend and sat on the beach. I didn’t know her well. We laughed so much. And had a picnic in the sand. I got so burnt, I had to have a friend bring aloe vera and Solarcaine over the next day. I couldn’t move. I think it was the last thing we ever did together, the last time I saw her. I never think of her anymore. Except, look, there she is on the page.
That’s what happens. People come and they go. But when you are linked by blood, someone usually remembers what happened. Is that what they mean when they say blood is thicker than water?
Don’t feed the Monkey. Or as least if you do, make him tell you the time.
Friday, March 30th, 2007
| S | M | T | W | T | F | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | 3 | ||||
| 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |
| 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 |
| 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |
| 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | |
No Instagram images were found.
redravine.wordpress.com 