tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59432574849205412122024-03-13T16:10:14.572-07:00Confessions of a Temporal LobeLife. Death and everything in between.Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-78460417379043504462014-01-17T12:03:00.000-08:002014-01-17T13:39:19.890-08:00The Dead Mountains
Manchester Peak of The Dead Mountains
Southern End of The Dead Mountains
Every night I watch in silence
as the sun turns
The Dead Mountains black
I think about the living
and I remember the dead
Sometimes I dream
of the Corona De Cristo trees
heavenly hued with purple flowers
in the heat of June
Sometimes I dream of elder desert tortoises
hole up nearConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-87201349544210791392013-07-23T22:03:00.002-07:002013-07-23T22:38:30.218-07:00Fruitful Living
Church of my Elders
I'm never
quite prepared
to wear
black attire
I'm never certain
how to mourn
a soul
once living
such an odd
and
sullen task
I find difficult
to abide by
I cannot mourn
that which loved
and nourished
my very being
I will not
make sullen
love cherished
beyond
measure of flesh
Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-4859110265837027362013-05-13T22:45:00.002-07:002013-05-13T22:58:45.562-07:00The Long Way Home
Tiny
desert realm
wind
rock
and plant
Singing songs
of rhapsody
for tortoises
crossing ancient
sun baked sands
Sea of mountains
swallow me whole
I am
willing
to go
Body
and soul
A Monday Drive Through
The Mojave Nation Preserve
and
The Joshua Tree Hwy
Please enjoy the earth responsibly
Link to History of TheConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-14255335433058776642013-05-03T12:54:00.002-07:002013-05-03T21:29:15.103-07:00Ever Changing Servant of Nouns
Wee Eliot
Jesse and Miley the guard. 2010
Big brother Jesse and wee Eliot 2013
My sons 1985
My eldest son and wee Jesse
My eldest daughter in law and my grandsons wee Eliot and Jesse 2013
My eldest sons wife
A daughter of The House of Chalfant
Has blessed my tiny realm with a second gentle son.
My blood-ties once more strengthened to France,
Spain, Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-88412254563560708282012-11-15T11:23:00.001-08:002013-05-03T21:39:19.019-07:00Oklahoma City 1982
Before I heard the band The Flaming Lips
There was another band called Hostages
out of Spencer Oklahoma.
I wore out the only cassette tape
I bought of their music.
So glad to have found them on you tube
I'd drive a day and a half to see them boys punk it up!
This little known anti Reagan
'Two Hundred Dollar Panties' punk song
still blisters my brain Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-31816835766024672652012-11-13T11:05:00.000-08:002012-11-13T11:05:07.898-08:00The Laundry Room
I am a breathing time machine.
I believe the words this man sings with his brother.
The Avett Brothers make me happy when they sing.
Raw, honest, emotional vocals fill me with the power of being alive.
This is one of my favorite songs.
Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-12117461634166863412012-10-20T11:00:00.001-07:002012-10-20T11:00:30.044-07:00The Lobe Goes Giddy
In my youth there were not many occasions that allowed for me to be outright giddy. When I turned seventeen I was granted full custody of myself in a court of law. I left the courthouse that day giddy as hell in a pair of wooden shoes. The clump of there weight echoed a giddy jig through the halls as I made my way towards the exit.
Exiting the courthouse my eyes filled with cloudless blue skiesConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-19497130638694548252012-10-20T11:00:00.000-07:002012-10-20T11:00:02.217-07:00Monsoon and Then Some
Monsoon is here.
With a sickly thick heat that’s threatening to pry wide open the dent in my head.
The dent you gave me all those years ago.
Your words were like fists to my mind.
You were always first in line to flick away my innocence like a pest on your shoulder.
I know you think I hate you more than I hate him.
Truth is I do not hate either of you.
I fight hard everyday Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-15005744147640105112012-10-20T10:59:00.001-07:002012-10-20T10:59:40.492-07:00Mucking Up The Tweed
The boat builder settles next to me in the sand. Stars are falling in clusters across the sky. He’s been furthering my limited education with a short lecture on meteor rite showers. I’d seen a few before, but could never fully grasp what was happening. The boat builder is not vain or cocky. For the most part he’s quiet like me.
His words when spoken, never prod my insides like a sharp stick. IConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-11610355917675372002012-10-20T10:59:00.000-07:002013-05-03T21:46:56.623-07:00Bohemian Sundays
On Sunday afternoons
I crank the Victrola
To perfection
Sergi Rachmaninoffs
Dark whispers
Fill the room.
Into my body flows
Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No.2
Gentle are the fingers
That bring my toes
To point
I must concede
To the music’s full need
Of my passion
My grandmother yells
In broken English
“You should not valtz on your toes that vay”!
I pay no heed
To her words
Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-32601595618814701242012-10-20T10:57:00.002-07:002013-05-05T19:29:43.010-07:00The Boat Builders Party
The boat builder has the hips of a woman.
Gentle slopes that curve, waist to thigh.
On top of his head spring fine tuned curls.
From a lush green corner I watch the boat builder being read, a riot act of some sort, by a petite brunette. I watch as the pressure of her words, land blow after blow, on the boat builder’s chin.
Suddenly, I feel a strong urge to take the mounting pressure offConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-38645311659647354892012-10-15T18:07:00.000-07:002012-10-20T11:54:48.740-07:00The Ghost Stories of Another man.I loves these songs.
Hurtling Towards Death
Til The Stars Burn Out
Ghetto Chicken
Me Versus You
http://www.shootistmusic.com/music1.html
Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-13212125539970137562012-04-12T17:19:00.006-07:002012-04-12T17:25:18.890-07:00Desert Cloud WranglingConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-41450117225664643332011-09-11T12:30:00.000-07:002011-09-11T12:31:40.170-07:00YawnEvil has no Country of origin.Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-5605993172473646682009-08-09T13:55:00.000-07:002012-10-20T10:58:13.677-07:00Diamond Lotus
You
are the
lotus
my
broken diamond
*
your prism
vitality
shines
from you
*
though
no sunlight
finds you
here
in
the depths
of
this forgotten mire
*
How crystal transparent
that heart
of you
fragile diamond
*
a flowering beauty
in this
swamped slough
of misery
*
You shine alone
in this
unjeweled night
*
and you
shame
the stars
*
Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-11223230752608666442009-03-07T16:41:00.001-08:002012-01-20T10:37:26.751-08:00Floating Flowers My Great GrandmotherFrench Indian Border ReiverBare feetCarry restless legsThrough darkest back wood nightWhere stripped bare treesBid stars to shine on high so brightSweat laden chestCauses cross to cling on breastWhile white breathOn winter windIn panic comes to restMother straps sleepless babeOver mad pounding of heart in chestClosing her eyesShe floats down streamPast empty burning nestsIn Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-47249575780701390862009-03-07T14:31:00.000-08:002012-01-20T10:38:29.632-08:00Rutting Bull DanceGolden brown hairworn in a loose braidtickles my backMy eyesare bohemian blueI am 5 foot 7 inchesand weigh 150 poundsof solid lean muscleI am built like a manwith large teenage breastsMy nails grow long like stonefrom the tips of my fingersMy hands are callousedfrom swinging a double edge axewith deadly forceI wear a size 9 work bootcovered in red mudI smell like leatherrolled corn and oatsmixed Confessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943257484920541212.post-53920110487252646752009-02-17T23:03:00.001-08:002012-01-20T10:11:10.132-08:00She SaidShe saidI believe that for every bus missedsomewhere out there a train gets caughtand it isn't what you are not orwhat you think you haven't gotShe saidI might breathe out this breath that I'm breathin' in but its only in an effort to resurrect this life I'm livin'She said nothing outside my front or back doorshocks or appallsmy mind any moreor at least that’s what I tell myselfas I drag my heartConfessions of a Temporal Lobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07363039533678460526noreply@blogger.com0