- Home > Archive: September, 2017
The storm came on quickly
into the valley.
You could see it 50 miles away
sputtering on the hill tops.
Home of the Ho-Made pies.
See, Ho-made was a design decision.
The sign was little,
so to save space, “Ho-Made”.
It wasn’t until years later
that people started to realize
that hos actually do make pies.
Everyone was mortified.
I mean just beside themselves.
Sat on a hard bench for hours.
Piano lessons and piano playing
were a special kind of psychological terror.
The drive to the piano teachers house
always seemed to degenerate
into a knock down drag out scream fest.
Once inside, Elizabeth just wanted
to find something to laugh about.
Escaping into the silliness
of the piano teacher
who smelled faintly of gin
and had the patience of a carnival barker.
Lovro had a ritual.
Laid the herbs meticulously on parchment paper,
weighed out each ingredient
and created perfectly arranged packages.
The process was meditative and it calmed his nerves.
Once assembled, he carefully folded each parcel
into a neat package and put them gingerly
into a brown paper bag.
Wrote the patent’s name
on the bag in meticulous print.
Now if he could only spend his life doing this,
everything would be alright.
For some the process
of coming to know the divine
is lightning fast.
For others it’s slow and arduous.
Little experiences and tiny inspirations
build a bridge to spirit.
Mickey experienced the latter.
His relationship to a higher power
was built in fits and starts.
But, over time he had no choice
but to believe.
The lower branches were trimmed off
so it was tough to climb.
But the upper branches were big
They reached out
over the roof of the house.
Jack was under house arrest,
but it was an easy lean and swing
onto the tree.
Then down into the yard
for a quiet escape.
Mikio looked up from his meditation and saw the landscape.
The distance from one hill to the next
was only discernible from
the contrast of one green
into the next.
“This is how time recedes”, he thought.
Slowly fading and melding into the past.
Looking back you can see
the years pale in the distance.
At the laundromat.
And the knuckleschmucks are doing bong hits in the back.
Like, straight up blowing smoke all over the planet.
And Eve just wants to do her laundry.
Who are these anarchist people?
Ok, it’s California, but do we all have to
breathe weed smoke all day long?
Some of us like oxygen.