Saturday, December 26, 2009

Friday, December 25, 2009

Friday, December 18, 2009

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Railcar & Mile Marker 17


Rusted out railcar
Discarded in winter's dawn
Harmony, discord

Mile Marker 17

At milepost 17
By the Lambertville Railcar
Amongst trees and vines

Saturday, November 28, 2009

A momentary sketch in time (POEKUAGERY)

Texture in structure
We create a flawed structure

Cracks, stains, transparent shadows
Nature sculpts, chisels, and perfects it with the tools, of weather, of time

Artistic design
Thus a work of art is sketched within a moment in time

Thursday, November 26, 2009

The Red Leaf

The Red Leaf

Dying amid death
withering amongst the dead

Amassed upon the forest floor
strewn upon a bed of leaves

Ah What Imagery
(ah something to wipe with)

This reddened foliage renews life again

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

The Bitterroot National Forest, Idaho


A river gurgles as it flows downstream
A riverbeds marbles create a pounding
Rumbling that permeates into the air
Though muffled 
by a layer of streaming water most everywhere

A river rumbling
Pebbles pounding
Sounds like marbles colliding under cold water in
My kitchen sink

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Monday, September 28, 2009

Saturday, September 19, 2009

TRUCK STOPS (unedited /journal entry from 2007 )


Upon exiting ones truck,
Opening a window,
Or returning from the tstop from a shower or meal
Ones abruptly inundated by the insidious sensation of
Sensory saturation by the rank smell of urine laced with diesel
Eyes may tear or burn from this aroma of diesel fumes and putrid old dry urine, blending into a concoction that stifles the lungs from taking in full or extended breaths.
This combines to create a tstop miasma, and creates the sensation of being in a steam room. Although not always visible this truck stop steam is no less potent being sensed as if ammonia sticks were broken under the nostrils, and the sensation of cottonmouth on the tongue and soft palette were present.
Then the tongue develops the sensation of tasting, then swallowing this aerosolized diesel-urine concoction created by the ceaseless dumping of gallon milk jugs filled with days old urine.
Imagine the smell of a urine laden subway where diesel substitutes for stale air and the musky miasma of sweat, perfume, cologne, and homeless body funk.
It’s akin to the sensation of a humid pre Katrina New Orleans afternoon. Where while strolling through the French Quarter the heat and humidity cakes onto ones body like a second skin.
Afterward one burps and the ever so slight after burp up choke after taste, tastes as if tinged with these ingredients and one has the tactile sensation of having wet talcum powder on the back of the tongue and roof of the mouth. Clothing also gathers the tell tale effect of having been in a smokey lounge.
Your lungs want to cough out this carcinogenic cocktail like a kid having completely inhaled their first puff of a cigarette.

After awhile ones body adapts and the drivers rarely identify these effects as anything more than benign tumorish like side effects.
We become as elderly men and woman nursing enlarged prostates and breast cysts. We tolerate these organically produced foreign masses of sensation as growths we are reluctant to address or disturb since we have formed a symbiotic interaction that dysfunctional-ly serves our denial of the situation.
Even so the idling diesel engines fill the air with what is for a driver a lullaby of loosely melodic charging of turbos and stroking of pistons on their shaft walls that culminate as they reach the peak of their upward thrusts. As each driver pulls into his parking slot, once set to idle her engine falls slowly into the loose rhythm of the others.
All of this allows truckers and trucks alike to gear down into the idling tempo set by the diesels white noise and maintain the stasis of a tstop’s stasis.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

On the Road Today

Below are images from a recent run from Oregon’s Rogue Valley to Pennsylvania’s Lehigh Valley. The run took me about 50 hours of driving time, from Saturday evening to Wednesday evening. Now the trip turned out to be 2,927 actual miles, yet I will be paid for the book miles. I get paid for only the miles it says in the book or zip code to zip code, which is the trucking industries very creative way of figuring miles or pay; which in this case comes out to be 2,650 miles, at $0.?0 per mile.