The Alien Suggests Go camping. Go together. Share a tent, a fire. Build the campsite with one another, for one another. Wake up to the sounds of brooks and rivers nearby. Pause and listen. Walk in the forest together, or by yourself when the dawn appears. Climb the mountainside for kindling and a peak at the sunrise over the distant hills. When you face forward, spin, take in your 360s, your panoramas. The old metal coffee pot is on the…
Brains trick us. Not just those who use them, and use them carefully, creatively. Those who never use them are tricked too. We see things not as they are, but as our minds want us to see them. This provides a great deal of amusement for our brains, which is their sole reason for existing anyway. We seriously amuse them; they love this about us; and they tolerate us because of that. Take away our comedic efforts, and they’d shut…
Watch this video on YouTube Rod Stewart’s Mandolin Wind So, I’m up in the mountains again, and I’m reading Wallace Stevens – reading about him, reading his poems. I take music with me, listen to it before and after the readings. It’s very windy on the top of the mountain. Actually, the winds are ferocious at times. Merciless. And because I heard the Rod Stewart song in the car before I went to my place, my perfect spot, near…
Jaded Aesthetic Hand-Wringing too Soon The difference between Nature and nature I think is like Woods and woods Rivers and rivers Rocks and rocks It’s like the sun shining down on the green And making it more green not less Or the river looking back at you in sorrow or joy As if it’s given up and the day has not Begun yet Or it seems proud of its depth and its clarity Of thought and…
When I was very young, I didn’t see this. I didn’t see the heroism of color, or the way we make colors ourselves, in our eyes, in our mind’s eye, or the bravery of Nature’s way, or its tremendous courage in painting as it does. Yes, Nature paints, and that’s not just a Romantic notion. It’s not some pseudo-poetic way of describing the ineffable. It just paints. Nothing comes close to the skill set of Nature in regard to –…
I go to my spot. It’s my spot though it’s everyone’s. It’s everyone’s though it’s really just mine. Because I say so. Because I believe the rocks, the trees, the birds, the clouds all speak for me. They are my eyes and ears and voice. Voices. Plural times plural. So close to infinity, but not quite. Again, because that is my thinking and I don’t really want to take the easy way out. The easy way out would be to…
In the last several years, there has been a long over due spate of films with women as heroes. Two recent movies have told the tale of women, based on their memoirs, testing themselves against the harshest of elements, against nature, striving to go beyond their previously known levels of endurance. This has long been the staple of hero stories for men. But it seems that finally women are getting a chance to show what they can do, what they’ve…
The river is real and metaphorical at the same time. Or, perhaps, a shade or two off the instant. It is real only before and after the photograph. When I look through the lens, I’m already behind the times and separate from my river. When I look at the photograph, I am further removed in time and space – there and not there. Being as if. Not being as one. Such musings are more or less obvious. But what is…
We have new poetry from several excellent writers for our June issue. Donal Mahoney, Corey Mesler, Isaac Black, William Doreski, Ricky Garni and Steve F. Klepetar. They’ve each added a spark to Spinozablue and expand its history. * * * * * Pathways have always intrigued me. Especially deep pathways that go on forever, with tall thick woods all around that deepen as you go further in. They should scare you just a little bit and make you question why…
The Merger of the Two-Fields The trail unwinds To the left and the right Like a dream ride on A pendulum But nothing takes us there Except for strong legs And the desire to elevate The noise of the falls grows As we ascend left Fades as we go the other way Fades without a new increase In decibels The yellows the reds the whites Of the cascades burn – Trees branch out Touch one another Sing to…