Corridors of Time

Camping with Cosmo in Indiana

Finally Someone Gets It

Finally Someone Gets It
A Monologue in Three Acts
(work in progress)


Every day, I have my horoscope delivered to my email.

For Amusement Purposes Only.

Sometimes, I wait until the end of the day
when the sun settles us up testing to see how accurate it is,
or at the beginning, wondering if, like, a uh, ah hem, Ohm,
[clearing my throat with a sip of water, too]

Is it a self-fulfilling prophecy, or more like, existential... Or,
Is "Or" at the end, or- - - ummm... or. . . what--- What for?
Either that or, or, nevermind. . . will it be no matter what. . .?
For what is- - - actually. . . true: (?)

How do we intrinsically know more than we think?
What is "gut feeling"? Instinct? Intuition?
Meta____? Why does our hair
Sometimes stand on end, white like a sheet,
Like mine does, as if I've seen a ghost?

Just languid, sometimes seething.

Do I see dead people?

A HA HA HA LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL ROTFLM OW OW OW

I swear. I cry. It hurts.
Make it stop.

[BTW: I've never seen a ghost, but my lord, my hair,
bursting out my head, sometimes it glows in the dark. . .]

just clowning- - -
How immature!. . .
Neotony at its worst!
The Fountain of Youth- - -

But the Earth keeps on moving. . .

***---***||| ***---*** |||***---***

In the beginning,

Reality is what you imagine it to be,

even subliminal, sometimes, whether or not
how much it has been stained and tainted matters,
or if our preconceptions count; or better yet:

Is it Sublime?

[[[What's so funny?]]]

(I'm just waltzing through)
Life is what you make it

seems to be the modern American equivalent.
Thinking makes it so.

In America, I be damn, progressive as it is,
Life is a consensual reality:

Your guess is as good as mine.

We're all in this together.

A house divided. . .

...and they all went to heaven in a little row boat.

Think what you will
and that's what have you.

Thinking makes it so.
Sharing is better.

What I got yesterday:

Dear monkey,
Here is your AstroSlam for Thursday, October 11:

Pretending you don't speak English has gotten you out of more sticky situations than you can count, but the act has worn thin. If you're smart you'll make friends with the truth -- but you aren't smart.


What the #%?@?

Finally, someone gets it right

and it just keeps getting better.

But the Earth keeps on moving. . .

Rattling at the Gates of Hell, part one

Photographs don't do it justice.
That hole is spookier than it looks.

For those of you who know me well,
It goes without saying, that I spend a good deal of time,
Sweating beverages in front of me, spinning coins
or golden rings or disks in puddles of dripping condensation
and little spills that result from tipping mugs and bottles
into the air. As I watch these coins or rings or cardboard disks
twirl and wobble, in both directions, pondering the spinning rooms
and refracted lights in warping mirrors, polished brass, liquid droplets,
carbonation foam and effervescing heads, reflecting quickly changing gestures
of other patrons in the bar reminds me of this leisure time long ago now past:

My favorite spinning top,
the inspiration for the Wobbling Planet Project.
(*note: insert top photo*)

The disks will always flatten out.

In my travels, I've noticed different places feel different.
It's very subtle and I think most travellers will tell you, too,
or you can feel it for yoursef and you will notice it as well.

Visiting temples, ancient ruins, or holy places, makes you feel
ancient or holy or something other, and you see things
tht were not there before and you hear sounds differently.
You glow, or other people start glowing, and right there,

There is light, an unbearable lightness of being.

The joy of living. Ecstacy and epiphany.

Why did it take so long?

Why do I have to go so far away to see it closely?
Why does that feeling always leave?
Why is it so brief?
Can I keep it, just for a day?

Me, skeptical of religious and spiritual experience,
only maybe exploring the possibility of it a little- - -
I tend to chalk it up to oscillations in energy fields,
increasing ionization, magnetism shifts in iron beds
shackled in the surface landscapes, or the 23 and a half degree tilt
of the earth's axis hurtling through space, lunar pull, solar flares,
comet dust in the uper atmosphere, plasmas made by sprite halos,
or superstitious historical traumas affecting the karma of a place,
like massacres in Chicago or Houston, other people's dreams haunting
mine and interfering with my own brain wave activity like a television
stuck in between channels, crossed conversations on the cell phone,
or accidental radio reception with the braces on your teeth,
and how the government jams garage door openers
because they want to use that frequency, incubating more pink noise
shoot it in the aether, spurt into the atmosphere.
Walk with me across this vivid globe we share.


So now, we've got this a here thing called GRACE,
twin satellites mapping fluctuations in Earth's magnetic field.

Look at the map:


So now, I'm sitting at the bottom of this gravity hole
I like to call the seventh sewer of hell
with a mouthful of Fudge Rounds and spurting
Coca Cola out my nose holes, laughing, and debased
wondering why"Clarissa Explains it All"
skipped over the problem of astral projection,
binaural beats, and event-related potential.

How did I get here?

Whose handbasket am I in?

The Fate of the Little Prince

(all photos by k* cosmo's mom)

Love nothing but that which comes to you
woven in the pattern of your destiny.

---Marcus Aurelius Meditations

round-trip and flat-lining

Chicago kills me.

You heard my stories about how I got myself expelled
from the temple, but
you might not know my motivation for doing so.

Cosmo lives in Indiana now, about four hours away -
in Blomington.

A small college town in the middle of the corn fields. . .
ummm- - - I mean the Heartland . . .

I've never been there, but from what I hear it's a nice place. . .
for far more than just visiting- - - s'pose they got their
fair share of corvus birds flocking there, too, to take off and land, spawning new rookeries alongside modern painting trends that just refuse to die. . .




*-*

Before I said maybe the words flow more easily later
and now they do, so here's what I have to say: Listen
to the rumble in the soles of your feet as you tip toe
across this place we call, collectively, Earth.

When you wonder, like I am doing,
know that you are drawing
maps the gods traced onto your soul,
routed through your DNA,
that part of you that whispers,
drooling on your sweaty bed sheets
tangled into knotted rings
that vibrate tiny fibrous hairs
behind your eyes, sweet cauliflower head.

Neurotic Dreamer

The whirling does not belong to you, to me or to us,
a voice that pushing air communicates no less 

than through your hands, your feet, your pitter pat
across the marbled floors, hardwood, tiled or pine
on eggshells, sea foam,  or dancing in your linens,
sushi, croissants, asphaltum burning coals
that worry you with wringing hands
with wringing hands, wringing hands that

etch small grooves into copper wires, 

entrenched and buried
in dark shadowy valleys of your brain, 

florets of broccoli twirling all around, entwined,
entwined with this, with this, this fragile

place our wobbling, listing planet. . .

to be continued . . .

J.A.K.



*-*

p.s. > I spent the last few hours with The Little One.

(say cheese! * photos coming soon)

The Labyrinth in the Tower

I know I said some terrible things in my premature attempts to describe this place where I live called Earth. It's too late to take them back. The damage is done, already. . .

But,
would you believe it if I told you?

In this city I used to call flying toilet of glass and steel,
the sewer in the sky that other people, the Foxes, called stinkiness. . .
- - - there I am

. . . right square in the middle of downtown Chicago,
again with Bean in the lobby of The Rookery.

Tiger in the Temple

I always admire Kafka, especially his parable
"Leopards in the Temple"

Leopards break into the temple and drink the sacrificial chalices dry. This happens again and again, repeatedly. Finally it can be counted on beforehand and becomes part of the ceremony.



Here's my version:

Tiger in the Temple

Not sure what you may or may not have heard, but on my tenth day at Odiyan, I decided I didn't want to be there anymore and I threw a tremendous tantrum, smashing things that were already broken and wasted. It felt really good.

I called it Maitreya's Revenge.

The next morning, in front of a council of elders, a jury trial, if you please, they asked me what was happening and I told them, straight up. I don't want to be here.

"We can see that and you're angry."

"No, not angry, just displeased with the way you people operate."

"You were smashing coffee cups in the temple and throwing buckets down flights of stairs."

"Yes, that's true. I did. Not just buckets, I threw a flying fit, flinging coffee cups that were already broken and caked with stucco. The buckets were cemented together. Trashed already. The easiest way to bust them apart is tumbling them down the stairs. I was working, like I was told."

"That's not working. That's an anger issue."

"If that's what you think, okay. Fair enough. But, you haven't been down there and I don't understand how you can pretend to know. Besides, I don't want your dis-ease. I don't like feeling sick, and I don't think anyone else does, either. This place is dirty. I'm not imagining things and I didn't manifest all the mites, rats, staph infections, filth and inaccountability that's haunting this place."

"We want you to leave."

"Good. I stayed up all night waiting for you to say that."

There was a long moment of bowed heads, silence,
and reverie.

"You're trying to stir up anger and it isn't working."

"I'm not angry. I want to leave. I like what you are trying to do here; I just don't think that you are doing it very well--- far less than optimal. Will you sell me some gas? The Topaz is empty."

"Sure," Carolyn said, "We think your intentions are good, just misguided."

"Don't worry. It's not your responsibility to guide my intentions. Can I go back to Dharma House? I really like it there. It's a totally different environment, and one I think is really healthy for me."

"My feeling is no," she said.

"Okay. Thanks for everything. Goodbye."

Then they rushed me out.

David escorted me and at the gate he gave me Amitabha.

He's a sweet generous man, more like what I imagined the place to be. I said,

"Oh, how wonderful! I don't deserve this."

"Well it's for you."

"Thanks, so much. I'll come back another time when I am not so angry," smirking,

and he said,

"Don't worry about that, Carolyn. She does that to everyone.
Have fun on your way out, wherever you go,
but don't wander too far away. . ."

He's a Renaissance Man, perfect peace.

"Oh, I'm coming back ---"

"Make it quick."

Excommunication and Heresy

After a short lived stint in the world of forced labor and incarceration in the name of religous zealotry, I am defrocked. Next time I get the bright idea to join a monastery three hundred miles from nowhere, someone please, please talk me out of it.

Just go,
"Hey, remember what happened last time?"

oh, yeah. hmmmph.

That's the way the cookie crumbles. . .


At least they gave me a tank of gas and two baskets full of fruit.
Now, I'm on the barter bonanza; see if I can turn them apples
into a few bottles of Napa valley wine. . .

Arrival

I am in Berkeley, finally.

I am staying in a room upstairs at the Nyingma Institute.
If you visit the web page, my window is the first one to the right of the flag pole, on the third floor.

It's a learning center. I am in the work-study program.

Today was my first day assembling books at the Dharma House.

My moldy mushroom stained clothes are soaking in a mop bucket of pure bleach.

For now, all my pants are turning white. Some t-shirts too.

Next week, after Star Fish is regenerated, I'll be going back up to Sonoma to put finishes on the temples at Odiyan.

Star Fish

well, I've been driving this car that I named star fish.

It's a mercury topaz, a smaller sized sedan, 4 cylinder engine.
It has one headlight.


Last night, while I was hunting for a place to camp,
a deer charged right out in front of me. My reflex reaction of course
was slam on the brakes, and I fish-tailed on impact, skidding around this very winding
very treacherous highway called 101, about six hundred feet above sea level but fifteen feet (more or less) east of the sea. Those are sheer cliffs.

Somehow, I remembered someone said to me, if you hit a deer, keep going.
A little birdie whispered in my ear, or the schizophrenic part(s) of me that has
another voice said out loud, floor it. It's all I could do.
The deer sommersaulted over the side of the hood and into the ditch.

It happened very very fast and I was terrified.

I stopped.

I took deep breaths.

I smoked a cigarette.
My entire body throbbed and shivvered.

I turned around.
I went to look for it.
It wasn't on the road.
I turned around again.

There was a man standing there with a flashlight.

"Did you see me hit it?"

"No, I heard it. I live right up the hill there. I just let the dogs out to chase it out of the yard.
I didn't think it could run this far that fast."

"Well, it ran right in front of my car. There's nothing I can do. Is it still alive?"
I slowly approached. "Oh, it's a buck."

"He's not breathing."

Rogue River

Last night was cozy next to the river in Myrtlegrove.

Today I am in Brookings and plan to stay here for the rest of the weekend, recovering and preparing.

Brookings is a lily valley -- 90% of the world's Easter lilies are grown here.
It is also the place of the first ever aerial bombing of the American mainland.

Only two bombs have ever been dropped on this continent.

On September 9, 1942 a Japanese submarine, the I-25, surfaced and crews assembled and launched a small sea plane. The pilot bombed the forest of Mt. Emily but caused no real or lasting damage. The other dropped September 29 never detonated. Both attacks were carried out by a Japanese pilot named Nobuo Fujita. The submarine returned safely to Japan.

Twenty years later in 1962, Mr. Fujita returned to Brookings to attend the Azalea Festival and presented the city of Brookings a 400 year old Samurai sword he inherited and carried with him on his bombing missions. In 1992, fifty years after the attack, Mr Fujita returned again and planted a redwood seedling in the bomb crater as a token of everlasting peace. He died in 1997 and his daughter, Yoriko Asakura brought some of his ashes and buried them at the foot of this tree.

I am going to look at the tree right now.

Cape Perpetua

Named by Captain Cook for the Christian martyr Perpetua. Click the link and see for yourself.


Spent the night last night beside a babbling creek squeezed right between the Devil's Churn and Neptune. Nothing to report, unless getting growled at by a racoon counts as blog-worthy news.

SEASIDE TURNAROUND

There's a monument to Lewis & Clark right where Broadway meets the beach.

I'm making final preparations for my departure. As soon as I'm done, I'm leaving this place.

Next stop: Sonoma

The Magnet Mystery

"The moon governs the sex lives of many of the creatures and plants in the world. . . The moon exerts its influence on the seas twice each day in the form of tides. Many creatures therefore move in this twelve hour cycle. . .Porcupines, for example, feed for longer periods as the moon wanes. Birds, too, are influenced by the moon. Lapwings, which usually feed by day and roost by night, have nocturnal feeding orgies at full moon and consequently feed less during the day at that time. The influence of the moon manifests itself in other ways. Antlions, which build pits to trap insects, vary the size of their traps according to the phases of the moon. The volume of the pit is greater when the moon is full. No one understands exactly why -- or to what advantage --- antlions synchronize their hunting activities in this way with the phases of the moon. . . .

The list of living things that detect and respond to the earth's magnetic field is increasing daily. Scientists have discovered that many creatures, including bacteria, algae, primitive flatworms, limpets, termites, honeybees, salmon, tuna, sharks, toads, salamanders, sea turtles, birds, whales, dolphins, rodents, and higher mammals, including humans, can all sense and respond to the powerful pull of the earth's magnetic field. . ." p47

"In 1837, scientist Andrew Crosse attempted to create silica crystals by passing an acidic solution through a lump of iron oxide, causing a reaction that produces electricity. After two weeks, Crosse noticed tiny white protrusions on the surface of the electrified oxide. Accoding to his reports, over the next few weeks Crosse watched the protrusions increase in number, grow legs, and eventually detach from the iron and walk away.. ." p35

excerpts from "Secrets fo the Natural World: Quest for the Unknown" ISBN 0-89577-498-4

Strung Out --- looking for extra

I thought I might start trying to post an explanation for this wobbling planet project, something about electromagnetism, the tilt of the earth and how the north star, Polaris, drifts,superstring theory and bad astronomy
. . .but my batteries keep dying.

Instead of even bother to try and spell it out,
I'm just gonna post some more pictures for you to see
the place where I live. Try again tomorrow.

Maybe it gets a little easier to find the words later. . .





















all photos by bean

I am a shipwreck --- so there

Hanging out with Muriel's Ghost at Yaquina Bay Lighthouse

. I'm hiding with the shudders and she's looking through the window. There's another lighthouse a little further north at Yaquina Head. This where I am was rarely used: the passing ships couldn't see the light.





Tillamook Head

The top is the view of Tillamook Head from a place called The Cove,
and then there's me about halfway up, staring into the Pacific Ocean
sometimes feeling more like



The Wreck of the Peter Iredale

photos courtesy bean

(more soon)

haywire

It's been a busy month, and I have lots of things
to say and pictures for you to see, if only
I knew how to put them onto this web contraption
I like to call the monkey machine.

Coming soon!

Transformers

I watched the movie today and my review of it is,
I fell asleep in during the action sequences.
It's certainly not the best movie ever made, and really not even
a good movie. I have sentimental attachment to it though,
growing up with the toys and the saturday morning cartoon,
and also for my fondness of heavy machinery
and mechanical design.

I wouldn't be surprised if only boys younger than twelve
(and their dads) enjoy this movie, start to finish.
I thought it had some nice snippets
and a coupla funny jokes.

Speaking of machines, HyperLight is a champ.
The brake pads wear out real fast here, though,
and I'm a li'l sis on the downhill, riding 'em.

***

Here in Seaside Library, the internet is free for one hour.
You sign up at the circ desk for the next free slot.
While I wait my turn, I read books.

Today, I found these two:
[excerpts]


All day I think about it and then at night I say it.
Where did I come from and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul? I can not stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of answer, I could break
out of this prison for drunks. I didn't come here
of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

I never know what I am going to say.
I don't plan it. When I am outside
the saying of it, I get very quiet
and rarely speak at all.

From books and words come fantasy, and
sometimes, from fantasy comes union.

Rumi

***

You ask why I've settled in these emerald mountains,
and so I smile, mind at ease of itself, and say nothing.

Peach blossoms drift streamwater away deep in mystery:
it's another heaven and earth, nowhere among people.

Li Po

Protect or Destroy?

I start my new job on Monday. My first project is block sanding a '67 Mustang.
I got myself a real job, finally, like a real man, make my momma proud.

I work in a body shop now called River's Edge.


For the first time in about eight months, I'm taking myself to the movies.

Head Land

I take it back, getting to the top of Tillamook Head is not as easy as I thought.
It's where I've been living for the past three nights, in the thick of the rain forest with a view of the ocean about a thousand feet straight down out the front flap of my tent. In my new forest home I've spotted three elk, countless spiders, gnats, mosquitoes, a couple snakes, and a real live Bald Eagle. I can see now why they're so special. I've never seen a real one before. I am filthy, muddy, and unwashed, standing in the Visitor's Center at Seaside, about six miles away from my tent, with a big wad of butterscotch saltwater taffy in my teeth.



I can't think of a better way to spend a holiday.

Okay. I'm going back outside now. I'm starting to get curious looks from all the retirees in here,
probably wondering to themsleves, "What's that smell?"

To the Lighthouse

The most physically exhausting part of the trip (the bike ride through the mountains) is over now. It was emotionally draining too. My friend, Bean says our emotions are stored in our muscles, that's why so many people like to do Yoga to stretch them all out. Okay. Maybe so. It is true that the toxins we put into our bodies get trapped in our tissues and excercise, massage, sex, etc releases them. So if both are true, this last week must've been my Three Mile Island.


I am in Seaside, now, trying to take it easy for a change. I'm on my way out to a place called Tillamook Head. There's an off-shore lighthouse called "Terrible Tilly" sorta like Alcatraz, but not really. There's also Cannon Beach and Haystack Rock, the famous places photographed so much and used in so many advertisements. It's raining out, so I'm sorta waylayed, anyway.

Here are some interesting things I discovered so far:

The LED bike headlight clips right onto the collar of my tshirt just under my chin for hands-free night vision. It also clips on my belt, if I am working on something in my lap, carving a wooden spoon, for example.
It can be dropped into the nalgene water bottle for cool blue lantern.
When it's on strobe and spun like a top, impromptu dance party of one.

Hyper Light can sing.
There are no end caps on the handlebars so when the wind hits it just right, the whole bike resonates, like when you blow over the top of a beer bottle but neater.

If you can see St Helen, she can see you. You are probably standing too close. Same goes for Mt Hood, Mt Baker, Mt Adams, Mt Rainier, and all the other dormant time-bombs.

My camera is not so good. To upload photos (when I have them) I first have to install the software. Since none of these computers I am using belong to me, I can not do this. Anyway, the batteries are already dead
so I lost all of the photos I took yesterday of the logging trails where they
deflorate the mountain in a way so horrifying, it is almost beautiful.

If you find a piece of drift wood covered in pitch with iron nails sticking out of it, it's probably from a long ago shipwreck. If you put this piece of wood in your fire, something is about to explode.

End of the Trail

I arrived in Astoria one day early and I am waxed.
100 miles on a bicycle with a backpack full of gear is a long four days of ______________,
I can't think of the word.

No accidents, no injuries, and no tragedies to speak of, except, I just checked my camera and somehow, sometime today, while it was in my pocket, something must've bumped up against it pressing the delete all photos button.

So the memories are mine, and no photograph (especially one taken by my camera) could capture the majesty and beauty my eyes have seen. If you ever wanna come out to Oregon, I can be your guide (for a nominal fee).

See you then!

Cargo

After I got the tent, I got the bike.
It's a Raleigh M-400. It's a chameleon. It has this reflective metallic paint that changes colors.
Sometimes it's bronze, sometimes it's blue, sometimes it's orange. Weird.
I named it Hyperlight, well, someone else did and it stuck.
A printed decal on the handlebars says:

A N S W E R
H Y P E R L I T E

Like that. I'm not sure why or what it means,
except that it's made from anodized aluminum.
It's the best bike I've ever had.
It has a bell, and I found a helmet for two bucks.
It says Maui and sons and has a couple sharks on both sides.
It came with a cable and a lock.

Backpack Contents:
one pair khakis, one pair synthetic cargo pants, three 1/2 pairs shorts (the cargo pants have zip off legs), five changes boxers, five pair socks, four short sleeve tshirts, two long sleeve tshirts,
one pullover, one hoodie, one windbreaker, two pairs gloves (one for warm hands, one for rough working/blackberry harvests), one pocket knife, one multi-tool, one litre naglene water bottle,
one litre Mt Dew, 8 oz Ronsonol, length of rope, utility blade, extra shoelaces, toiletries kit, first aid kit, sewing kit, Gravis flip-flops, converse shoes, coffee, chocolate, tea, dried fruit and nuts

straped on to pack:
Shasta (the tent), wool blanket, sleeping bag

knapsack contents:
Portland Map, Oregon Map, Moon Handbook Oregon Coast, memologue, moleskine datebook, sharpie, uniball vision, two bic pencils, discman, full 24 cd folder, lip balm, hand salve, one bike multi-tool, needle nose pliers, monkey wrench, hex head wrench, Philips digital camera (+ USB cable), lighters + matches, two pairs sunglasses, head and tail lamps for bike (double as flashlights), wine opener, mostly used roll of red vinyl tape

I'm ready to go.
Just need some apple juice, sunscreen, bugspray. . .

I'll be in the wilderness for a few days.
If I don't post again by Wednesday, something's wrong with me.

Okay, bye.

Inventory

I didn't mean to startle you with another accident story,
but falling twelve feet down is a scary experience. If nothing else,
it makes your heart beat faster. My injuries were fairly minor,
just a little roof rash on my palm and elbow and an achey knee.
It might have been much, much worse. I got lucky. Again.

***


I've spent the past couple days making preparations, planning the route,
deciding how to organize my cargo so the weight is evenly distributed,
determining what is necessary and what I need to discard, or donate, I should say, to one of the many charities in this town.

I still need to collect a few things, like head and tail lights, a helmet, extra tubes,
air pump, water, sunscreen, bug spray.

I intend to spend at least a couple days crossing the mountains,
and I know there's internet in Astoria, but I just don't know how
accessible it will be for someone like me. I'll post when I can.

In the meantime, if you want to see video of parts of my five day trip
from Chicago to here, there's high-lights selected by my friend Tom Grimley.
I recommend this one and this other one. But there's also this.

Falling Fast & Falling Free

Mount Hood

I've been using the barter section of craigslist a lot lately. Today, I exchanged my gutter cleaning services for the new tent I'll be sleeping in for the next few weeks. On the way down from the roof, the extension ladder slipped out and I fell, catching shingles with my elbow and teeth.

When the crashing stopped, I was hanging on with one hand (the one that wasn't bleeding), until I got a grip and gently let myself down. Later, after I washed my wounds and readjusted the ladder's feet, I climbed back up and shot this photo.

There's the mountain, just to the right of the lamp post,
one hundred miles away from where I stand.

I'm moving away from that death trap, that sleeping thunderhead, away and back into the sea.

City of Roses

South Park Blocks.

There's adventure before this post and there will be more to come. For now, I am in Portland.
This public park was outside the door from where I worked at the Historical Society.



I will try to post as often as I can, but in the next few days, I'm headed out to Astoria, the official End of the Lewis & Clark Trail.