Everything Shows Me Its Face

Everything shows me its face its innermost being its secret soul the contents of a broken egg sliding into a pan yellow and white and glistening until the heat makes it congeal and there you are scrambled eggs & toast slathered with jam. Wednesday we splurged on seafood R got a birthday coupon for Chinook’s the lingcod was ok not quite as chunky as before the fries are still excellent so is the coleslaw but the Wild Mountain Blackberry Cobbler is gone we don’t know why there was no explanation. The face of the world is everywhere. And it’s looking dire. I don’t know what else to say. We’ve been witnessing the devastation brought about by floods in Belgium and Germany while here in Seattle it’s been unusually hot we worry about more wildfire smoke we bought an air purifier it’s reposing in the closet among the paper towels and toilet paper and clothes what remains of normalcy from a world where air and water weren’t worries they were everywhere. A friend sent a postcard an old typewriter white keys rimmed in steel I remember the joy of using a typewriter the clackety clack clack & ding of the platen. That made writing Buddhist & precious as a teacup I remember the parable the story of the Zen monk’s teacup it fell to the floor and broke and the monk was totally calm how come you’re so calm his guest asked because said the monk the teacup was already broken. And what has that to do with writing writing is broken all the time how can it not be it only dies when nobody uses it appreciates and loves its words coming out and going everywhere Kerouac’s letters are all so vigorous and richly expressive never stiff never formal the language is alive because he understood how all things are in flux this is what it is to expand the mind in linguistic elasticity. I only have to dig out a box of letters from friends in the 60s to be reminded of how much more verbally adept and versatile and graceful in working out their thoughts people once were before all this technology finding that era again of free college and affordable housing and easy access to healthcare seems as distant as Neptune. It’s gone. What we’ve got now is just plain dystopic no other way to put it. I love Peter Green & it’s great to hear him on YouTube so there’s that. Mortality is a bitch and that’s just plain true no matter what era you’re living in. Hummingbirds don’t migrate. They hover. And dart about. And that’s some life they lead. Me, I’ve got a cowboy hat with dust on the brim & I wish I could bring myself to believe in a universe imbued with a moral underpinning. I wonder if it’s too late in life to switch species and become a hummingbird. If an epiphany explodes out of this let me know I’m right here doing the dishes.