California Storm

We came to this mountain in search of gold
We’ll leave with pockets full of solitude
We speak to the wind
We are here now
Everything else is gone
The cars and houses
The monies and the media
The interconnected web of information that
Ties us all together
None of that can truly exist at all

We know because we’ve listened to the quiet
That raged so loud our ears bled
We know because we’ve stood on the edge
And peered over
And seen everything we ever held on to
Smashed against the rocks
And washed away
Only to be returned as the treasures of
Small children on the outgoing tide

Dream on, dreamer, but when you awake
You’ll find nothing here
And that will be all that you need

Ok, bring your own beer if you like
Just don’t forget to pack out the empty bottles
When you leave

A Break in the Rain

All the while the day grows darker
And nothing dry is left.
The eternal endurance of water has won,
And now even what’s wrong is right.
You can see it, but you cannot understand it
Nothing more can be done
But surrender beneath the weight of it all
And be
Washed Away
This is what it is to be human

Restricted Access

We never did imagine
The golden
Acceleration
Of our free fall
Would yield…

Such high rent
For apartments so small

And
So many left turns

And
No rights at all

Mid-Morning

If you spend any time at all in this town, do yourself a favor and find a different mode of transportation than a rusty old van. Parking is nuts to non-existent and navigating the unfamiliar streets in a vehicle that can’t hop curbs, cut over embankments and weave through crowds of pedestrians really hinders one’s getting around here. A bike however, opens the world. A borrowed bike with a friend or two to follow around is even better. They’ll know all the fun zigs and zags.

I recall this morning clearly, even though it was quite a few years ago. My old college roommate was living in town here and had the day off work when I rolled through so we
grabbed the bikes and hit the trails, roads, paths, walkways, dirt hills, etc., on the way across town for morning surf checks and coffee accumulations. This was before the age of cell phone cameras, so I brought a camera with me in case anything caught my eye. The borrowed bike I rode was a bit unruly for one-handed use on the crowded bike path that follows the shore here, so once we procured the coffee and rode on, things got difficult. I’d managed to get this far without incident, but no further. Fortunately the landing was soft, the camera intact, and somehow, against all odds the coffee remained unspilled. After brushing off and taking inventory I snapped a photo, and later painted this.

No Fires

The higher laws do not forbid
The burning of your gasoline dreams
No
They practically command it


We’d driven all over the state, the miles passing like a rushing river in a sudden spring rain. It wouldn’t do really, us being together, that is. She was from a different world than I was, far too refined to spend any sort of life with me. Even her car was the sort that would start up every time, a Toyota Tercel that would look at home in any dealership’s
used car lot. Made me a bit uncomfortable, really. I came from a long line of Volkswagons (believe it or not, they weren’t always worth so much), old American vans, unclassic relics from someone else’s childhood.

On this cross-state road trip, we drove her car.

No hotels, no campgrounds, just a soft shoulder on the edge of the sea with a construction site dirt berm for privacy, and a big blue tarp to envelope our time on the side of the road. There had to be at least two dozen rules against our unplanned happenstance there, but neither she nor I stopped to read the signs.

Though we did not break the rule you’re thinking of, we did awake to a different look in each other’s eyes, and the fire was still burning that morning, suspended in a soft falling mist as we drove on.

-Entry on August 5, 2011

First Look

I’ve been told lately 
That I didn’t paint this one quite right 
Or it must be somewhere else 
That our local jetty doesn’t look like this 
That it’s all busted up 
And full of holes 
Where the ocean pours in 
And leaves salt in every wound 

But I painted this a long time ago 
From photos and memories  
Made even earlier 
We never had 4 wheel drives 
And the sand road wasn’t so well packed yet 
So we walked along the edge of the seawall 
Unbroken 
From the carpark to the rusted chain 
Our first view 
Was this 

Looking at it now 
It’s easy to forget 
That there was a time 
A time and half a time before 
When the path that we walked  
Wasn’t falling apart 
And once in awhile 
A painting like this  
Let’s us stop 
And remember 

House of Prayer

These trembling walls dance
With their Maker’s invisible spirit
As we wage war on tomorrow’s past

Victory was better an hour ago
And defeat is a low-tide

Rising

Above and Below

One world above
And another below
It might be heaven up there
But
Down here
We live in our vans