Another night, composing, but somehow googled Sinead O’Connor. I can’t explain it, but months after her death, I still watch videos. We probably would differ on our world views and yet I feel like I could sit with her for a cup of coffee, and just listen– for days.
Author Archives: the.primes
Broken in a Million Pieces
Watching your child want to belong is heartbreaking. I get it, but if they keep buying shit, like expensive ath-leisure-ware, in order to belong to some tribe– they’re going to go broke and be broken.
To add paint and color to a Japanese calligraphy piece is not an option. The color and images would distract from the meaning of the thick-black-lines, pulling the reader away from the message and its simplicity . It’s like looking at your shadow, severed into dots and rhythms. So why do we distract the integrity …
The Body, The Warning Walk
On my morning walk, I spotted an autonomous lawnmower– absent a human. I started thinking what it would be like to mow the yard without a body. Then I wondered what it would be like to sit down with my family for dinner without a body– And to embrace my wife without a body, for …
When creating art and content becomes your resistance– when you use it to avoid the necessity to cold call potential clients. The social awkwardness you possess compels you to create, but not meet. This is the one thing to fix or else, frankly starve.
Tonight
All night, the rain pours. Lightening flashes. The street illuminated by it all exposes a skunk walking down the road, like he owns the place. Then it all shuts off or simply goes missing into the shrubs, never seen again– just like memory or another insignificant picture we take with our cell phone. We’re all …
That Nudibranch, Again
Just like that, my slow mood moved away. I just had to sit at my writing desk, dig into some drafts, and get lost in making the work more concise, more chiseled, removing “I” as much as ego would allow. Almost two hours later, I’ve either forgotten what put me in that mood in the …
An Empty Porch
There’s nothing more profound than an empty porch with a half-glass of lemonade sweating on the rail. Who was drinking it? Why did he or she leave? When did this person discover the taste of lemonade? Was the person 5 or younger? Or maybe the person was 16 and spiking it with a spark of …
A Test
Last night, I shut the day down by having a cigar on the back patio. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of my puffy gray hair and thought to myself– Your hair looks crazy– like M’s. M. was a dear friend and mentor-poet. We exchanged poems and artwork– I’d visit him– walk around the …
The Unfinished Bridge in Columbus , Ohio
Driving home to Tennessee, we passed through Columbus , Ohio. It’s about a third of the way home for us. We started in Rochester, NY with a terminal point just south of Nashville, TN. In Pennsylvania and some parts of NY and Ohio, there’s the occasional slow traffic of Amish buggies when you take the …