Walking, Caffienated, Into G. Stein, Found Art & Musical (Three Easy Pieces)

Today I walked before sunset and drank coffee and looked at outdoor books on Verbeke. I wanted, my dream was/is to walk in the sun but, alas, it was cloudy, or overcast, some say. I try not to say that unless an emergency dictates. Cloudy, I believe, conjures as well-- well, better than overcast, or overcoat. But not better than "Over the Mountain", an r&b tune from the 50s. It's a weak man that cries, I think Chuck Willis said that, but I digress. Back to the coffee cup. I sat that down while I looked at some Kafka, and read a paragraph, ostensibly a landscape riff, in which G. Stein would sit on a folding chair and write words on paper whilst Alice B. stirred cattle to motion in Stein's peripheral vision. This was done by arrangement, not in a spirit of perturbation, if that is a word. & Hey! a Moby Dick sculpted in wood was on a shelf at the Shining Light Thrift store.

Now, we know it didn't happen like that because I'm reading outside, in fading light, and five loud motorcycles went by during my coffee cup-down-moment. But think of it as a spirit-of-the -moment narrative. Two days before the solstice too. Sorry, dear reader, but I'm very permissive when it comes to narrative flow. I remember in jumbles & flash. & hey, I calls 'em like I sees 'em. I went inside the bookstore looked at Facebook pix on a Nook-- I got me a send-out-verse- deadline-by-tomorrow-thang going & this is typical behavior for yrs-truly facing a deadline. The poems are done & all that/ but, I still have to find the e-addy and-- y'know-- other stressful technical things.

On my way home, west, down Verbeke, left on green-- stopped to snap pix of a Viva Las Verbeke window-- later I found a musical instrument by a tree, in three easy pieces. Okay, two were sharp and one was tiny, nonetheless an easy and valuable pick up. Tomorrow I'm going to wire-up the smallest piece so it can clang more sweetly on the larger instrument-shards.

Before I went into my place for the dreaded e-mailing of poems, I put my musical find down on my stoop and played a tribute-to-Kafka's-Vienna Angelus. Sounded not too bad for all the extemporaniety-ness. (The longer the words... the farther away my mail-out-reckoning... *sigh*.) And I vowed, then and there (6:36 est) to play the angelus every day at the same time for the rest of this late autumn. And i rlly, rilly shall-- I mean they don't call me Mr Responsible for nothing!