Raining Day

Today was one of those this never happens in LA kind of rainy days. Big fat rain drops steadily falling over everything. If you were out before it started you couldn't wait to get in doors. If you had to be out in it you wanted it to be a simple as possible. The kind of day where words of prose replaced thoughts and feelings of restlessness and restlessness in turn was trapped with stillness of inner self. Couldn't write from my window because there was little view of movement beyond the big fat heavy rain drops. Nothing much to see today, from the perspect of that which is coming but much left to ponder from that which this is now going to.

The longer I sat in this moment the longer I was left to wonder what all my thoughts ultimately meant. Everything is fine I honestly have no troubles aside from the pending war and what it does and doesn't mean what I do and don't want what will and won't come to pass either way and why. It's a crazy thing to "sit in" or be still with as it were.

Every thought beyond one of politics and social climates could be considered a romantic and fanciful one. Crazy enough to even realize that truth. This was all there was to really think about. This is all there is left every other road leads to this one place in the mind perhaps not in the immortal soul but certainly in the mind. The soul knows that life goes on. The mind however, is trapped by the environmental circumstance.

This war. What does it mean? Is world order in the midst or wake of one final disaster. Why so much ugly. Why can't the ugly of life finally die out, why is this not the target for gun toters? Is it possible to work on the problem from a realistic point of view that doesn't require behaving badly yet again? Why do people have a compulsive need to generate circumstances even they cannot find good in any more? This show of force is some much more. Such an exclaimation mark on history and on the future. This paradox so relevant in the science fiction of all our practical thinking and creative imagination. When does the alchemy of the two find a chance to mix so that all wishes are enabled and all realizations set us further into freedom?

What does it mean? What is really being said, what is really being heard? Why is it so difficult to do both to the point of total comprehension? Where do feelings and thoughts go when they don't arrive at their intended destination? Should they have a return address listed?

I find myself making apple martini's at home lately. It doesn't solve the problem but it makes one feel less "overwhelmed" with problems. The truth as they say is everywhere yet hard to define. For the definition becomes subjective and reminicent.

Dovestoyevsky and Nietzsche come to mind if only in theory..beyond good and evil, war and peace. Tolstoi is another and of course Anton Chekov who found the humor in the delimma of existing without power for self defense against ones time. Then of course there is the times. Always torn between the awarness of mortality and the romantic goal of immortality.

Eventually, left un attend ed the pan of boiling water disappates into gaseous vapors.