play me some of that sad, fiddlin’ music, mon-roe…

it’s the ass-tail of tuesday. i was supposed to finish this a day ago.
i’m running on necco power.
i learned on “wait, wait, don’t tell me,”(on NPR) that these candies predate the civil war. the north had the neccos.
i rediscovered the brown, green and pink ones.
they are deeelish.
i’m tired from this past weekend.
i will say that i’m grateful-tired.
i ain’t bitchin’ tired.
but in the end, tired is tired, i guess….
starting from friday, there were birthday celebrations, there was experimental music and image celebrations, plans for a family celebration here and even an “amazing awakening” celebration, elsewhere, in a very special place that’s borders on what might be considered electro-magnificent-divine, or some other hyphenated sense of extraordinary.
life sure can been a rollercoaster, you betcha.
but maybe i need to, before starting at the end which somehow became the plan here, to touch on the familiar;

i haven’t visited the glossary of mind and memory in quite a while.
so long in fact, some people might wonder what in blazes i’m talking about.
about two years ago, i found this list when i was looking for information about memory, or at least i think so.
it’s long ago enough that i don’t really remember.
it’s not important anymore.
as i use them, i number them. there’s thirty more of these if you were to backstep through these entries. i don’t know how many more there are to come. i read them as i use them.
this way i keep my life filled with adventure;

31 – Rote learning – Learning information primarily through verbatim repetition, without attaching any meaning to it.
Thank goodness i went through childhood religious instructions learning by rote, making the mindless exercise connected with it easier to purge later in life.
there, i used it in a sentence.

at fort tilden, the last thing i did today, while i was still able to call this “a day off,” was take this photo (below).
i was leaving the platform at the top of the cannon placement known as “battery harris east,” the same place i would visit seasonally and photograph.
you could find the photos i took during the snowstorm last winter here – i think it was one of the my better photo days in recent years.
i will be indebted to the elements for that.
but i digress…
i turned around, noticing maxx stopped following me after i jumped from the steps;

the words below maxx at first made me confused.
frankly, i’m still confused.
i believe this a chronic condition.
i wasn’t sure whether to acknowledge it as true or not.
it’s hours later and i’m still not sure.
before i took this photo, i was on the platform, looking out over the green and blue. this was the next-to-last photo i took.
whenever i’m up here, i take this same photo;

you gotta go back and find the snowstorm photos or look in the photobucket pics (under “earth reclamation project”). it was beautiful.
the trail at the left leads to the marsh where the great blue heron continues to elude my camera’s shutter.
before i was here taking this photo, i was down there hoping to have found it – the great blue heron – camera at the ready.
in between the marsh down there and the platform up here, i walked up the wooden stairway that plays a waltz with your steps because of the many three-step rises that land at each platform as you climb.
each platform acts as a pause, just like these commas, so the shuffling of feet, sand and the walked-step across the platform counts off as 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3.
just before i got to the summit, i think i was hearing james taylor singing “sweet baby james,” in my head.

before this waltz and just around the time i stood before the marsh where there was no great blue heron, i found myself examining seed-pods.

i took all sorts of photos and was attaching all kinds of significance them, almost frantically and after these clicks, the thoughts evaporated like they were never there, but i found tears in the corner of each eye as i walked away from this session.
i guess i’ll have to look at that later. like, really……

i was taking photos and couldn’t get what i wanted.
it was frustrating.
in retrospect, maybe i didn’t even know what i was looking for and it troubled me, way inside.
it was like the seemingly-errant sounds an orchestra would make as they tune-up, but i never found my note.
i began to climb those wooden steps and platforms that would take me to the top of “battery harris east,” where the chalk-written wisdom of an errant teen would become part of a photographic portrait of maxx seeming to exude more self-assurance than i have.
if only he could drive.

before the unsatisfying seed-pod photo session, i was skirting the law, holding court at a dune by the beach.

i greeted the young terns who scattered along the beach in their hurried little way. i was excited to see them.

as i watched them, i found myself asking the meaning of the word, “stoic.”
i had forgotten its meaning and have, at this late evening time, chosen not to google it.
i probably used to know what it meant.
it may have decided to escape me, or i, them.
words have been doing that to me as of late or maybe i decided to take detours around them.
i’ll look it up in the morning.

good morning!
stoic – One who is seemingly indifferent to or unaffected by joy, grief, pleasure, or pain.
i’ll use it in a sentence.
there is nothing stoic about me.
i thought about the terns who were busy, busy, busy yesterday and decided that there was nothing stoic about them either.
i just glanced down at maxx.
no, he isn’t what i’d call “stoic,” either.
then again, there are certain aspects of the word that i might attach myself and my dog and the terns to.
there’s a lot of other information in the link above because there’s an entire “-ism” attached to it.

that means it could be a philosophy or an illness.

maybe i’ll backpedal further and get off this beach and talk about the night before when we were having a weekend of sound and images, though before getting to that particular memory, i’d like to share a moment from the time the show ended and when i slept the sound, restful sleep of exhaustion blended with hope and dreams.

i sat on the bench in front of the store with my friend adam.
maxx had decided to join us on the bench.
he delights in sitting in between people, so our conversation was punctuated with leaning out and around a big dog who wants adoration heaped upon him.
while we talk, we pet, otherwise maxx would be offended.
we were talking about the conversation i had with his father and the plans that we’re putting together for a show here on august 24th.
his dad is david amram.
he’ll be turning “80 years brilliant” this year and before the manhattan hubbub celebration at symphony space, he chose goodbye blue monday to have a casual, more intimate family/roots show.
this came about because of an interview that sejan yun did here with me a month or so back.
she chose to recall my first encounter with mister amram, about four years ago, out of the two hours of chatting we did before the camera. thank you, sejan!!!
you know i sent it to him and his family.
walking backwards in words here has me pressing my rewind.
it seems the tape has spun the reel.
before this conversation with adam but after my conversation with his dad, this happened;

this is a small taste (13 minutes of “small taste”) of manburger surgical. there were people filming, recording and streaming this show all weekend. we even have pretty much everything at our streaming station – the gbmcam. there were about 25 acts and a relentless light by “big brother on acid” show that looked great in the room.
special thanks to PAS, zilmrah, lambic, vampire squid, abstract artimus and everyone else who graced our stage. the vibe was great, the food was good and we know it’ll only get better. i’m already looking forward to next year and that’s not generally my style.

somewhere in the mid-life of this weekend, i needed to hide, so i took maxx and went for a walk.
maxx peed, we walked a little more, i decided it was still pretty hot, so we walked to the car, started the engine and made a phone call to david amram as i turned on the air conditioner.
this is when we firmed up the date for the family show and spoke about what mattered. we believe a lot of the same things matter and we’ll probably mention these things at the show.
since i went on and on later in the story here (which, incidentally, happens earlier because of the structure of here), this will be a casual aside where i mention to mister amram that we had common friends in ray rizzo and his wife tracie who live right near by who’d like to join in on the party on the 24th.
look up ray’s mooselamp manifesto or trace back a ways to this year’s motherlodge where david, tracie and ray first met.

i’ll wind this to end at this beginning;
walking it back to a time before this, to friday, i was driving to the beer distributor, making sure i had enough of whatever i was going to need for this weekend.
i just put in the order and was fumbling for the cash to pay for it that lay in smatterings and foldings in various pockets when my phone rang.
i saw my friend’s name on the screen but felt sure it was her friend who was going to give me an update of some sort as to her lengthy slumber.
my friend was unconscious for a fortnight. if you don’t know what that is, look it up. it will astound you.
putting the phone to my ear, i heard such beautiful music.
we hadn’t spoken in over two weeks.
it would be sort of a cosmically-natural ballet that takes into account such mathematical equations as concern and worry and hope and the howlings into the sky, divided by the width of the time and space curvature out over there, near “Persius X-235-B-Quadrant-X714, multiplied by the distance to “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension,”.
the math worked out to a weak, but gruff little voice.
this math might total out to be the chalk-scrawled message that maxx posed so professionally above, much earlier, in the latest part of this note.
i like to believe i learned the answer to the statement.

……and the sad, fiddlin’ music?
i don’t know.
i was listening to hillbilly music when i began writing this and the beginning of the end that was the beginning of what i was talking about.
i love sad fiddlin’ music and i was “hankerin’ to use the name “mon-roe” in a sentence.

About stephen trimboli

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