|Blogs > twoandmemake3 > Temporary Transcendence|
good ole daze
good ole daze
was it? i had enjoyed myself more often than not thus far, some notable exceptions might be working 9 months in alaska without touching shore, getting mugged near seattle, discovering that my wife had been sleeping with a few of my friends during the two years i was trying to open up our relationship but was staying faithful until she agreed, standing on deck in my lifejacket waiting for the captain to give the word on heaving the raft. the christmass thank-you card from my daughter, years ago---i recognize you as my biological father but wish to have nothing to do with you, thanks for the money.
i could keep going for awhile, but whats the point in following a downward spiral that lead to depths i've already plumbed
i can also remember my first grade teacher, my first kiss, i still know the woman, my first job, age 14, my first apartment, 16, my first child, who i delivered while waiting for the mid-wife to get across the snowed in pass(age21), laying in a hammock in the crows nest of a tug crossing the caribbean, drinking rum thinking that i'm getting paid for this(age 38 ), wandering the late night dark alleys of islands that spoke little english, trusting my bottle of rum and yankee dollars to gain me passage, seeing the northern lights up close and personal, drunken fishermen waveing 100$ bills around at 8 am, saying it was their turn to buy, the olympic hot springs shrouded in fog under a winter full moon, sitting in circle with a thousand or more naked people on july fourth at the rainbow gathering and praying for peace(age19), the beaches, the bars, the boats, the energy of it.
the hitch across country with ten cents in my pocket days, catch a freight train from L.A. to eugene, hitch to anchorage, stay at a couples house i met in mexico, before standing on a runway hitching planes out the aluetians, years later past kamchaka into the sea of ohkotsk, the mississippi from the mouth to baton rouge(252miles), the french quarter, jamacia, puerto rico,curacoa, cuba, the panama canal, and the panama sailor bars, where one must wait 72 hours for a pilot through the canal. the monkeys screeching along the banks within liquid mist.
the ivory towers of academia, the feeling of potential, solving the trig problem no one else could, the look in her eyes when she finally gets the algrebra i've been trying to tutor her in, taking salmon eggs from the fish, sperm from her partner, mixing them in a zip-lock and growing them in a bath tub before releasing into the eel.
wide eyes, soft thighs, blue skies
many fond memories to last
until we make some more