Seattle Walking – 12/1/18

where am i

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heavenly tangle
Above at Freeway Park.
christmas crows
Spooks of Christmas.
into the steel jungle
Into the concrete jungle.
soviet lotus
Bloc art.
out of focus
Helios 40-2. Short tempered and fast as hell on focus.
pike place sign
The one picture most people get. But this one’s mine.
no drones allowed
No fly zone on the boardwalk.
ferris wheel reflection
Reflections are a misery.
5th ave theater
5th Avenue Theater. Loud and proud.
fantastic geometry
The waterfalls have been off every time I’ve been.
freeway park dec 2018
Freeway Park. Better when it’s brighter out.
where am i
“Where am I?”



Olympia October
Puyallup in April

It’s all senseless

We’re both passengers
In a seasonal vehicle

Each sidewalk step
Kicks up loose pieces
Of eroded concrete gravel

Skittering down sparsely
Crowded stalking streets

Oly is fearless except
When she’s not

Vulnerability is a constant

Olympia might be corroding
But she’s also consumed

By things exhumed beneath
The asphalt and grass
Thoughts permeating through
The nightlife

Moons burning to black
Ashes in our mouths
And the smoke billows
To a cloudless sky

While we speak we lie
That we’re both not
Hiding ulterior

Ambivalent mist
Floats thick, miles away

Nighttime Hours

Did you feel the noise
Did you watch with poise
All the girls and boys walking down
The lake paths lit by light on spikes
Being stabbed by pikes
Making waves in the lengths of the lake’s still water
There’s so much to see that we wish we were taller
But we can drive down freeways and see what signs say
30 miles away
20 miles away
Then 10, then 2, then
One away from being able to be part of the hour
Can feel the rush
Can drink the power
Full of chemicals that taste like copper
When you’re heart’s pounding so fast it could never falter
Like the pulse of your chest keeps you standing
And lets you recover from each footstep landing harsh
On the back of gravel trails that wail with a crunch
With each passing moment without fail
Dispersed aside like a dispelled lie of conspiracies
That the moon can see tracks from astronauts
Still it’s so easy to trust in words
Even when they come from different worlds
So overwhelming intended messaging
Drowning in the meanings of consequences
Back to the lakeside path
Not much has changed but it’s only been a second
That lasted longer than it had the right to
Perception is a thing that lends its might to
As the energy in a cup of coffee empty
On the floor of the backseats ignored
Now passed through your veins and talks
To your heart to show you its ways
Without even knowing what a soul feels like
You make an illusion to make loud the quiet
It could be a trick but you’d never know
You have to play your part and trust in the show


Bad air hangs over Olympia.

Be it from the lake,
the waterfront,
the alleys,
or on the hill
where law claims capitol.

There lives a wraith somewhere.

It manifests to infect newbloods
with its promise of risk, how it
renders silent the cacophonous mist
that is each participant in the
mysticism and illusion of this
such wonderous existence.

The spirit of the city.

How free it flies.
How it wears no guise.
How it clouds and drowns
the weak exposed to it.
How it galvanizes and uplifts
the fortunate, moonlit.
Eidolon hidden among
throngs of crowds,
sights and sounds
Even in a new age
its specter
the same old way.

Still possesses everything
in a fog of smoke and words
that murmur as you pass by
with silhouette’s eyes fixed,
each narrow iris, like spies
staring through space and time.

You enter downtown to leave,
but its air never ceases to be
as you continue to breathe it in
many realities after leaving.

Miasmata like incense in your
plague mask.

Olympia Sunshine Life

I wore monochrome
Since it was grey outside
Until I found red sunglasses

Breaking down the walls
That cast long shadows
Through the streets
And down the beat
Paths struck by shoes
That cracked at the arch

Eating bagels and having
Breve before Bower’s Books
Comes into view
Around another corner
A vertical horizon cutting
Through past and present

Each new concrete building
Wrapped in festive paper
To be violently torn asunder
As you might pry open a
Christmas present

With the eagerness of anticipation
Destroying the aesthetic
To get to the present below

Which is the past in a new bow

Something dirty and dangerous
Stuck in the mud, degenerate
But beautiful as the days
Ago by half a decade
As we read novels of novelty
And sing songs of this victory

It was the tearing of the paper
That shattered the morning calm

The birds sat upon telecom lines
Scattered and flew idyllic as doves
When disturbed by thunder
Or the threat of a predator
And knowing that the genuis was in
Living to fly another day

Flocks of doves cast shadows on asphalt

Past the homeless man with his head
Between his knees, rocking back and forth
And very deliberately breathing

We walk past him and into a thrift store
That is built from the goodwill of
Those who grow out of clothing or
Associate with favorite shirts
Now-awful memories, laundered of stains
Before arriving in black garbage bags

Sunshine dashes through the lake
And onwards to the marble buildings
Each a hundred years old
And each has a strong hold
On the law of man and each obey
What they have laid

Sunlights cut through marble
So that we can rewrite rules

And so that we can window shop
Over all the wonderful jewels
Money can buy in downtown Olympia

Yet what it can’t hold a candle
Is the experience of being
Out with three friends with a city
For the seemingly taking from the
Temple of justice to the water front

So I thank the three friends
Who invited me along
And the woman who asked if we
Were looking for a vacant booth
When all that was on mind
Was a dusty, dank pizza parlor

Somewhere off of Franklin and 4th,
Though about locations we weren’t
Really sure about much apart
From where we had all parked

There, I worried quietly about
Who offerred to cover half
A shift for me,
For today,
All in the good name
Of making memories

And the hookah set passed
Early in the day at
Vendetta Vape

That was after noon
After we brought light to
Rainy Day Records
And read the covers
From rock to rap
And pop in between

There was a spectre vanquished
That no one had seen
Something dreadful
That had hung over me
But it was only a spectre,
Now maybe a dream

Digital film strips
On SD cards that only I
Know how to develop

We look from hoods, beanies,
And extravagant sunhats,
Dresses, tights, jeans,
And red sunglasses at a place
Aswathe in sun
Yet same as the realm
I saw some nights
Long ago

It was that day
In sunshine, bathed
That we punched new meanings
In marble
And made one day in the city
Give way

Empire of Stars

Every which way
All cardinal sins
And directions
Lit to horizon

With networks
Grids, webs
Of light points
All actioning

Some static
Some twinkle
And some move
As red or white

They’re all miles away
And void
Where the mountains
Become steep

Hazy as nebulae
And as they become
Further away
They grow smaller