Tuesday, April 22, 2008

NIGHT MOON



Soft as a sigh gently exhaled,
Luna hoists her billowing sail.
Pursuing Sol's bright spoor until
Subsumed by horizon's veil.
Bringing respite from the toil of day,
Heralds the hour when lovers play.
Shadows slip silently over lip and sill,
Ghosts of clouds driven where they will.
Substance adheres to imagined form,
And furtive whispers swirl anon.

Quiescent after the clamorous fray,
The pulse of human commerce sleeps.
Only those stragglers on their way
To hearth and home, or tryst to keep.
Now the time of mouse and owl.
Of feline predators on the prowl.
While over all, the gleaming globe
Covers the earth in a shining robe.
A sea of hazy shimmering light,
Where mortal dreams slide through the night.


© Bryan Knower

Monday, April 21, 2008

Been feeling a bit tired lately, and I took to wondering whether the weather is related to whether I feel good on any particular day. If the temperature drops and the sun hides, does that trigger some synapse hiding in my brain, telling me "be sad?" Not to say that this is a new and original thought. People have been saying it for a long time. Must be some truth in it somewhere, kinda like 'old wives' tales or folk stories. Always a kernal of truth in that nucleus. I just remembered that in the Scandinavian countries, the rate of suicide is higher in the winter months when the sun disappears for months on end. So, does the sun feed the soul in some way? Why would a rational healthy person contemplate suicide just because its winter? After all, we are cognizent beings, and presumably all of those poor souls who actually carried through after contemplating must have know that the sun reappears after a time. A throwback to a more primitive age, when we didn't actually 'know' as much as we think we do now? I'm thinking that there must be something hiding in the collective subconscious, and it is darker than we would like to let on. But wait a minute, what about the eskimo people? They don't have such irrational thoughts, or do they. Who ever heard of an eskimo committing suicide because of the lack of sunlight during the arctic winter? Maybe they do, and I just don't know about it. Gotta research this sometime. Anyway, I'm feeling much better now that I know others are more irrational than I am. Cheers!

Thursday, April 17, 2008

And so it begins. I try not to look furtively over my shoulder as I do this. A blog? So what do I write in a blog? Doesn't matter at this point. I'm writing in it already. So now people can read the crap I write and laugh. See, I'm paranoid already. That's me, the paranoid scribbler, always looking at the dark side, and I don't mean the Darth Vader kind of dark side. More like the 'why the hell can't I do better than this' dark side. Maybe thats why most of what people write never sees the light of day? I am probably wrong with this. Wiki says there are millions of blogs out there, so tons of people are having their stuff exposed to the light of day. Then again, maybe not. Who reads this stuff anyway? Is this like an alternate universe where you can live vicariously as who you imagine yourself to be? What if others don't like your alternate persona? Can you be as paranoid in an alternate universe as in this one? I feel like a dog trying to catch his tail. So close but always just out of reach. But I'll catch that damn thing someday, even if I have to reach inside out and get it from within. If a blog goes unread does it exist? Does the simple act of writing on this page make it so? Maybe I should be the existential blogger, but I like paranoid better. I'm paranoid, (who would have guessed? ), and I'm paranoid that others are not as paranoid as I am. God, what a juvenile play on words. I should leave this before it gets worse, but I can't. Like scratching a wound that's scabbed over. You know its going to take longer to heal, but it feels sooooo good! Maybe tomorrow I'll have something saner to say. Don't follow me. I have no money and there is no computer in my car.