Posts Tagged ‘fog


all roads lead to rome

aren’t we all empire builders?

1. it was eerily still this morning, the fog close, but without the dampness, like pushing the blanket down from your chin in the morning as you start to wake in those moments before the alarm rings.

2. shit does not happen in “threes” or any other numerical combination. it happens when it happens and poor us, we try to make sense of it all by assigning some kind of reason to it, an excuse really, a prayer that it will have been the third, the final shitty thing to happen, when any rational person (are there any?) would tell you that more shit was on its way.

3. the mealy bugs have come to visit the indoor orchids and m. is in a fit of pique. (i use ‘fit of pique’ even though it does not adequately describe his mood upon the discovery of said mealy bugs, but only because there is rarely enough opportunity to use the phrase, “fit of pique,” a phrase i have come to love for its sound and its prissy nature, pursed lips, and disapproving tone.)

4. billy had diarrhea yesterday, but is better today. shit happens (see section 2 above.)

5.  where do your roads lead?


blooming succulents on a foggy morning and bleeding hearts (wysiwyg)

i’ll let the photographs do all the talking today.


a week of self-portraits: tuesday


the palms in fog (literally)

not an allegory

this weekend

has been shrouded in fog as if this corner of the earth were being filmed in noir.

two days of misconceptions, wrong turns, mistaken identities, hitchcockian, beautiful blond women, unshaven men, silk, trenchcoats, trains pulling out of the station, blood seeping from a fatal wound, missed connections, naivete, cunning, cigarette smoke, red lipstick (“you do know how to whistle, don’t you?”)


the thrill of the new (not a list of resolutions)


when the fog pulls back, and the new year is revealed, it’s a splendid opportunity to make a list or two.

i tease you, of course.  i would no more make a list of resolutions than you would dangle from the top of the burj khalifa a la tom cruise in “ghost protocol”.  [p.s. to tom cruise: darling, we get it.  you’re a man.  stop trying so hard, you’ll be happier. –rp]

you won’t find a top ten list here nor will there be a ‘best of’.  i loathe those kind of lists (but secretly use certain lists published in certain, uh, periodicals, as reading guides for the coming year, shhh!)

i will admit to making lists for work, organizational skills being what they are in 2012, a good to-do list is irreplaceable and frankly, je suis un homme d’un certain âge, and so a to-do list goes without saying, otherwise some little detail will be left behind, the dust of the highway coating its suitcase as it watches the backside of my car disappear in the setting sun.   (i shudder with the thought.)

there is the possibility that i will try to make a more concerted effort and tend the garden with a little more love this year than i did in 2011.  it is also possible that i will try to lose those few extra pounds that are hanging around my waist like so much excess baggage (i could take a tip from the airlines and charge myself for the extra weight, could i not?)  which, of course, means that i will have to eat less and exercise more.  dammit.

i could try to be a little less curmudgeonly and smile more around the neighborhood–although i may find that quite impossible all things considered–if you’ve never lived in an association — don’t.  take my advice and run in the opposite direction should you ever think it “can’t be that bad.”  it can and it will.

would it be too much to ask myself to stop laying on the horn when some idiot cuts in front of me without using their signal?  perhaps, i could first stop thinking of them as self-entitled idiots and more like myself, perfect in almost every way.  [he said without the slightest hint of irony.]

this is beginning to sound a bit like a list and as you know, i loathe lists.  so adieu, mes amis, and let’s all welcome 2012 with compassion for those less fortunate, a smile on our lips, a kind word for a stranger, a hand stretched out to those in need, and a little bit more love in our hearts.

i will if you will.


a ghost story (of infinite flatness)

do you want to believe in ghosts?

it’s never been the fear of the unknown (or the undead) that has frightened me the most.  no, not at all.  it is the fear of what i know, tangible things (snakes, for instance) that strike deep and make my knees wobble and my heart race (accompanied by the occasional skip-a-beat). at one time walking through a cobweb at night would make me shudder with creepy distaste, but now they’re just irritating and sticky and hard to wipe away, their lingering gossamer threads trailing behind me, an ethereal, other-worldly scarf flapping in the thrumming darkness.

deep fog gives me pause, a time to consider my mortality as i cross a street with the dogs (what wild thing will be standing unexpectedly in front of us) or in the car turning a corner into what i imagine is the unlighted mega-tonnage of a silver (the color of fog) s.u.v. barreling forward without a care (as they do.)

a long flight of stairs now gives me pause–actually any set of stairs composed of more than a riser or two i consider a long flight–due in part to my bifocal lenses, and the fear of falling down stairs, which i know from experience hurts like hell (btw, eternal damnation and the ‘fear of god’ are laughable scare tactics, even when i was enthrall to the lord jesus, those threats always seemed impossibly arcane–not in the mysterious way, just old and stale, day-old bread.  a side note: when i was growing up we used to have on our kitchen table a little plastic holder shaped like a loaf of bread, maybe 6″ long by 2″ wide and inside it lined up were a multitude of colored stiff paper sheets, about the size of a stick of gum and on each one was printed a biblical homily, a psalm, a beatitude, a verse of scripture meant to be uplifting and enlightening and every morning my mother and i would pull one out at random and read it out loud while we ate our oatmeal, cream-of-wheat or later when i was older, a pop-tart–which were the ne plus ultra of breakfast foods when they first made their appearance on the market’s shelves. )

sometimes i confuse worry with fear.  they commingle so seamlessly that to separate one from the other would be an impossible task, so dependent on each other are they (the co-joined twins of nightmares).  and often, as it happens, i use the word worry when i mean fear;  i worry that i won’t be able to go on should m. die before me, when in fact, that is a fear and one that i find impossible to tamp down to worry level in spite of trying to gloss over it as nothing more than just that, a worry.

ghosts haunt me, but i do not fear them–they do not give me a fright, nor am i surprised when they drop by for a chinwag or a cup of tea (although i haven’t had a cup of tea in eons it seems, but when i was a more regular tea drinker it seemed a thing a ghost might indulge in as well.   perhaps in today’s market, ghosts, when they visit you, are sipping from their pomegranate juice or mineral water bottles instead. idk.)  many posts of mine are ghosts stories, as, over the last few years, i’ve dug around in the graveyard of my past (and a fertile ground it’s been.)

i cannot call up ghosts, nor demand their presence or even bid them adieu.  they come and go as they please and i must just accept the fact that they are here to stay.  it seems to me that they enjoy what little notoriety i might be able to afford them, and what better thing can one do than that?


the effects of leafshine on your sunrise

this is what happens when you’re fogged in and sunrise is postponed (it’s realizing that your lover will not be making it to your rendezvous in spite of their assurances to the contrary and there you are, primped and pouffed — in the fluffy sense of the word, not in the anglo-derogatory sense, unless of course, you decide to ‘own’ it which seems to me counter-intuitive should you find yourself in the company of non-pouffers; it possibly has some use amongst your intimates, but never outside that circle–why would you perpetuate its use, i ask you?  the only time you can accept it, is when someone calls you that and you look them straight -lol- in the eye and say, “your point is?”), but i was talking about leafshine and although my spellcheck informs me that is not a word, i find it a perfectly acceptable portmanteau, a word that conveys exactly what i was thinking when i was squatting next to fallen leaves scattered on the driveway, the dogs wondering why we were stopped there — they do let me take me my photos without too much fuss — and i set the camera settings to 6 MP, turned off the flash, pushed the self-timer and waited for the exposure to absorb all of that color, just like the sunrise we were denied this morning due to the heavy layer of fog, and one that made me just as happy,  all things considered.



Twitter Updates

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

Copyright notice

© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

%d bloggers like this: