Reactable...

Demo #1

Demo #2

Bjork!

Morning

Even the mists stand still before
spring's meager offerings -
there were some red ones coming
from the branch tips
that seemed to be teetering on jealousy
of the white blossoms
hailing along the paths -
the sky cries in this way:
a moist, sulking sob
cold and excited.

Floating in my mind just now....

Epigenetics...

...my health in relation to my genetics...and my sinuses...

...neti teapots....

...singing...Fa!....

...autoharp strings...

...tar...musical instrument, of course...

...Marjane Satrapi talking...

...she's speaking on Tuesday, which is April 1st....

...which is the day after the first day of Baseball season!

Where songs have lost...

...I will be there, too.

Above her shoulders...

...she found her hair behind her eyes. It was very clear that the night was moving past her at speeds that made her slightly uncomfortable. She could appreciate city light pollution only when trapped in cloud-bottoms and only when they scrambled this quickly. What wily winds! She could barely control her breathing in the alarm. When the whistling eased from her own lips, she sunk her chin to her heels and moved on.

American Furniture

As he crossed York and Baltimore, he stumbled upon his rocking chair - it had plastered itself, in public no less, to a wall well-known for its tendency to peel away lewd comments such as "Osbourne & Osbourne", as it sported this day.
He gaped at it for a few minutes before realizing it wasn't his chair at all, but some unlikely impersonator - he could tell by the number of rungs on the back - that and the rocking just wasn't the same.

Snap

When his speech froze in the air, he was surprised to find that it resembled a branch that had slipped its hairs to the tip-most of its arm, as if to dip them in the sugary grass below. Without realizing what he had said, he blushed in embarrassment and left it there, hanging in suspension, without a thought as to how to make it go away. He was sure others would come across it and twitter at how careless someone had been to leave such a thing out for everyone to see. What prickly expression, and spiny undertone! He hoped he wouldn't let this happen again, but knew in his heart he was likely to.
So instead, he tried to think of what other things he could say that might leave a better impression.

If buttons really existed...

...who would push one that had been left behind by a clumsy texture?
If it had no reaction to any touch - what, then, would make it live?














He asked himself such questions when the thrill of a mystery took him by surprise on windy afternoons. When the trees chuckled with chills so that their bark became expandable in seconds, that's when he knew he would get to see these solutions for himself. The twigs drew rings about themselves in lecture - he knew all their tunes very well. Sometimes, they could even harmonize.

Noticing musical notes...

When he packed up his thoughts and left to catch the 22 to his boat in the harbor, he had mistakenly placed too much in his pocket, and, without ever hearing it escape, his humming drifted in the draft just behind his hat - the tune was laced all about the corner of Pratt and Light, and a bit of it even caught on her dress. She wasn't worried, though, for when she turned her chin a little to the left, she noticed the last note of it hung there for future falling.

Other stumpers....

Where are you here?




























Or here?














Any closer?














The birds have a much better perception of these land markings - the old stories of trees mapped to their roots - the absence of time creates a world - continents and islands formed from missing rings and cores. When observed closely, one can see a topographic solution to their path - an escape or a reason. Where does the river meet in estuary? When does the mountain sink into isthmus...
are the trees as lost as we are? or are they telling us that never mattered?
How do the birds sing at us when we pass these postings? Or were they just curious about other things?

Bottle Cap Map!

Is it Africa? India? South America?

Map

Can you find me on this map?

Sacred Flock

They were singing!














Because they had songs to sway them -














From tree to cloud, from perch to flight














They had songs and no answers.

Trail by the Blue House at the Corner of Prospect and Paradise

Abandoned and free,
a red rusting railroad track -
train-struck in a trail...

Beans

Three beans are growing:
Hero or storyteller
you are always you.

Sea Haiku

association:
chipped
sawed
mechanical lines
organic lines
growth lines
age reflection
cracked
hair lines
shadow lines







Wood reflects my age.
Waves fold over each other -
engrained behavior.

The Skylight on Friday 3/7/08

OH!

Like candy!

Oh...

You never were a runner...

Look at you, pink and plump - reveling in the wet wasteland of a parking lot...















Always one to be apart from the crowd - the others take a more directional route -
















I hope you survive the gravelly pasture - I hope you are not out for too long -
I hope you are not parked on -- or worse! Stepped on lightly so you wriggle in pain and separation, waiting to be dried up like a strip of fruit,
chewy and only slightly sweet.

You never were a runner, you know.
The passerby notices...

Puckered...

and rusted, and algae-ed...














taken in by dimples and freckles...















age-spotted from being in the sun too long,
















weathered striations from laughing all your life...