thoughts

rocking my world

papa tom — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 04:40:59 GMT

http://www.last.fm/music/Scout+Niblett ...been busy as hell with my head spinning on life (thanks for the love y'all --praying for time to be more personal)

an unfitting end to a pleasant day

papa tom — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 09:24:53 GMT

Heroin, that evil shit, has taken another of my friends. I find it baffling that my circle of friends could generate the tragedy of an overdose, and not only once, but twice. Maybe it's just that charisma of an addict, spinning a believable excuse and preying on my deepest hopes that the words I'm hearing really are true. But deep down, I knew. I didn't buy the story. I could smell the stench of it before the words even spilled out of his mouth. Somehow, some part of me, maybe just needed to play along; pretend that everything was okay, let him own his life and make his own choices. What else could I do? I called him on his shit before. He said he heard me, and he promised he would never again do something stupid like stick a needle in his arm, inject something of unverifiable purity into his blood and slip away from his body, leaving countless friends to mourn in disbelief ...angry at his stupidity and lies, whilst awash in memories of his love, light and joy. But he did, and now he's gone. May he find in the next realm the peace that eluded him in this one. to all who may have known him, Ben-"jammin" Baker died today of a heroin overdose.

summer night

papa tom — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 11:10:01 GMT

The trains are rolling by again, and it's been rather hot as of late. In the afternoons I've taken to napping on the couch, lulled by the whispery hum of the ceiling fan spinning above; drenched in sweat and mind adrift. By the time I'm back to the shores of consciousness, evening has already begun fading into night, tugging half-heartedly at the oppressive heat left in its wake. But then the night takes hold. The air slowly cools and comes to life. I can sit in my silence and find a sense of place; my soundscape of depth and dimension Tiny moths and insects wander and dart about, drawn by the glow of my screen. One stops and remains still, perhaps having found something divine. "Beware the spiders out there," I dare say. And so what now? What will become of this palpable merging of the realms? Down what paths will I travel and explore this time? Indeed, what fate will befall me? In what wonderful new ways will I learn to express my love? Some days i feel like i'm but just one of many personalities of myself. Tonight, it's as if I have again woken up, risen to the surface and taken a long overdue breath, sensing intently, certain that magic is very much at hand.

i bear my soul

papa tom — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 04:58:23 GMT

in every moment I find real the truth can be painful and even overwhelming with ecstasy i wander about occasionally in oblivion tethered by my roots always seeking better soil discontent with trash and rubble but yet the polluted need love most of all ohhhh... to where do I stretch for the light and where do i cast my shadow if only simply the sun above and perfect Earth beneath my feet if only...

CORALINE!!

papa tom — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 01:29:19 GMT

...see it! ...seriously ...it's amazing!

happy man

papa tom — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 06:20:19 GMT

sauteéd shitaakes, leeks and mixed greens racked my cider valiantly battled the dust and lint my cold is mostly dissipated groovie new music on the speakers ahhhhh

home vacation

papa tom — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 02:21:07 GMT

oh what a treat waking up when my eyes open and not when some clock tells me to listening to music, lots of music ...LOUD... and singing from the depths of my soul finding every little kink and knot and giving it some love grooving every point in my bubble and finding new ways to get there warming my bones by the fire oh, and breathing, breathing, soooo much breathing in stillness and in motion eating light and hydrating like mad flushing out the toxins and pissing them goodbye love to my kidneys, my liver and lymph nodes my heart, my mind, my lungs, my belly and whole blessed body my home, my friends, my family this earth, this sky, this fire and water and all else that is, has been and will be blessed be

going home

papa tom — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 15:53:40 GMT

i woke up from hoping for an impossible dream deep sleep eluding me i took the usual way home sky brightening in the distance and that song playing the one that reminds me of someone else that one I never met but somehow loved her just the same the rain falls in tiny dew drops forms emerge from shadows to my home l soon arrive and into my empty bed wondering where I've been

dark days of december

papa tom — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 05:48:03 GMT

I sit here knowing full well things are pretty good in my life. ...but somehow I'm unable to escape this penetrating sense of anxiety. Maybe it's the recent arrival of ice and snow to the valley. I grew up with the stuff, so I'd expect that it wouldn't bother me, yet it does. The cold creeps in and taunts my soul. Three days ago, I was completely content having my home at a pleasant 62 degrees ...and now? I shiver at anything under sixty six. In an effort to stave off an untimely frigid death, I have set upon stoking my fire to weather out these late winter days. A pot of chili stews upon my stove, and I am three steps off shutting off my petroleum and biodiesel furnace, starting a fire inside this steeled woodstove and then stoke the flames with my breath until it roars with life. The room will soon roast like summer, I will shed layers of clothing and warm my bones, paying tribute to the frosty sprites; in remembrance of their power in this domain. pardon me, i must set upon my task...

ancient herbman

papa tom — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 21:25:16 GMT

http://dsc.discovery.com/news/slideshows/marijuana-stash.html Nearly two pounds of still-green plant material found in a 2,700-year-old grave in the Gobi Desert has just been identified as the world's oldest marijuana stash, according to a paper in the latest issue of the Journal of Experimental Botany. A barrage of tests proves the marijuana possessed potent psychoactive properties and casts doubt on the theory that the ancients only grew the plant for hemp in order to make clothing, rope and other objects. They apparently were getting high too. Lead author Ethan Russo told Discovery News that the marijuana "is quite similar" to what's grown today. "We know from both the chemical analysis and genetics that it could produce THC (tetrahydrocannabinolic acid synthase, the main psychoactive chemical in the plant)," he explained, adding that no one could feel its effects today, due to decomposition over the millennia. Russo served as a visiting professor at the Chinese Academy of Sciences Institute of Botany while conducting the study. He and his international team analyzed the cannabis, which was excavated at the Yanghai Tombs near Turpan, China. It was found lightly pounded in a wooden bowl in a leather basket near the head of a blue-eyed Caucasian man who died when he was about 45. "This individual was buried with an unusual number of high value, rare items," Russo said, mentioning that the objects included a make-up bag, bridles, pots, archery equipment and a kongou harp. The researchers believe the individual was a shaman from the Gushi people, who spoke a now-extinct language called Tocharian that was similar to Celtic. Scientists originally thought the plant material in the grave was coriander, but microscopic botanical analysis of the bowl contents, along with genetic testing, revealed that it was cannabis. The size of seeds mixed in with the leaves, along with their color and other characteristics, indicate the marijuana came from a cultivated strain. Before the burial, someone had carefully picked out all of the male plant parts, which are less psychoactive, so Russo and his team believe there is little doubt as to why the cannabis was grown. What is in question, however, is how the marijuana was administered, since no pipes or other objects associated with smoking were found in the grave. "Perhaps it was ingested orally," Russo said. "It might also have been fumigated, as the Scythian tribes to the north did subsequently." Although other cultures in the area used hemp to make various goods as early as 7,000 years ago, additional tomb finds indicate the Gushi fabricated their clothing from wool and made their rope out of reed fibers. The scientists are unsure if the marijuana was grown for more spiritual or medical purposes, but it's evident that the blue-eyed man was buried with a lot of it.

outside my front window

papa tom — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 23:21:50 GMT

They're disassembling the old mill. Between a fire last summer and the state of the economy, it just didn't make sense for them to repair and rebuild. So now each day I see different pieces of machinery packed up and hauled away. I feel badly for those who've lost a job, but I certainly won't miss the noise or the thought of how many massive, beautiful trees passed through the production line; giant lathes peeling away layer after layer, year after year. I look forward to watching how things will change and evolve with the mill gone. What will happen to the land? And what of my little one acre shangri-la sitting just outside city limits? Will the land become developed, the town grow larger and me absorbed into the process? Will the trains just pass right on through, no longer stopping and idling their big diesels in the middle of the night? Will they build houses and hopefully a park? Or will it just sit there empty, waiting for better times? I hope I'm right in thinking this town is too small for a WalMart.

i soooooo want this on a t-shirt...

papa tom — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 06:20:00 GMT

grungy

papa tom — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 01:33:54 GMT

after a week of camping out at the Fair, i'm ready for a nice long quiet nap... zzzz..........

what happened to the fourth of july?

papa tom — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 00:08:27 GMT

it seemed really quiet this year no, it WAS quiet this year strangely quiet my sister wrote me an email yesterday, lamenting about that one fourth of july in our youth our parents told her that they were going to be separating. Curiously, I have absolutely no recollection of such an event. Allegedly, I was seven years old or so, and after "the talk" we all went to watch the fireworks. I pondered as to whether that may explain my disdain for the holiday, but concluded that that factoid of my personality is pretty much about how much i love lightning storms. Long ago in my youth, i witnessed a massive one dance around the sky, making every firework gazer in the northern front range and plains of colorado not only say oooooh and ahhhh but also ...whoa. No storms out here this year . ..or is it the quiet before? Get ready folks we may be in for quite a ride

didn't plan on this

papa tom — Sun, 25 May 2008 08:38:08 GMT

but here it is I guess it's been an out-of-the-ordinary evening, and just now I noticed how long it's been since I last offered a peek through this worded window into my life. So.... Earlier this evening I went to a concert ...first time in a long while. Sure, I've been to some shows, but not so much something big enough to call "a concert". It's not quite the same experience as it was in those yonder years of my pre-papahood youth ...which is not to imply anything bad, per se. It's just that life and living create new perspectives. I suppose I should qualify that sentiment, but... hmmm, there sure was a lot running through my head in the several hours I was there. It's simpler to just glaze over the top; provide some details here and there that will hopefully suffice in chronicling the evening in such a way as to later evoke memories of everything else unwritten here. Dancing was fun ...The Coup's beats and rhythms made me move in ways I never knew I could groove ...mighta scared a few young-un's, too, to see this old guy in the black hoodie get down like that . After which, Michael Franti brought forth too tight of a crowd for my comfort this time around. It made me long for an earlier show, back in the day at a small club in Portland. Packed in and sweaty, all in one groove ....a grand improvisation between dancers and musicians. But tonight, well, it just wasn't the same. Still, it's all good. I absolutely enjoyed myself and recognized how Michaels' music planted seeds in so many who were just there to check out the scene without much familiarity with his music. As well, it felt kinda weird being there without my kids whom were not at all convinced that the noise and crowds wouldn't be any big deal. Honestly, though, I think they made the right choice. It got a little cold and rainy, and it was indeed pretty loud. Anyway, in missing them and discontent with the pressing mass in front of the stage, I ventured to the back and met up with "my ex" ...a term that does not really serve her justice. She is family and so much a friend. We had a nice long conversation, just shooting the shit and recognizing how far we've come together (even as we are now "apart"). So, so, SO many others struggle and endure so much strife with their "exes". We are both so blessed to be in such an equitable and respectful space. I hope perhaps we are laying a trail for others to follow ...life is so much easier when working together for a common good. So, eventually I drove my as-of-yet unmentioned compadre back to his abode and I set out in search of eats. I found a bowl of soup, a pint of ale and another dear friend at Sam Bond's. Treated I was, to honest conversation, tight live bluegrass and a room full of substantially present souls. Oh, and the soup, as well as the bitter ale, were quite divine, too. After a spell, I bid my pal adieu and began the mellow drive home. In hindsight, I see I neglected to mention much of anything significant. No matter that, as long as you all can be comfortable in knowing there is so much more to the story than what is simply presented here. I welcome your creative endeavors to fill in the blanks for your own entertainment ...just try not to spread any rumors about me based on your sassy imagination. :-) Then again, maybe I should just let you have free rein ...these days, so I hear, my reputation has gotten a little humdrum. ...more calls coming my way from down south in costa rica ...too early to tell what's in the cards, but it is an enticing fantasy.

Can I tell you about my day?

papa tom — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 04:44:42 GMT

That there is a good question. At some point prior to this I had all sorts of ideas about how this could go, but I didn't have the outlet at hand to make it tangible such that I am here now with this glowing bi-fold of technology set beneath my erratically dancing fingers. And, of course, the time and thus perspective have changed, too. Now, I sit here, cleansed of the novelty of my experiences, going back to my core and soothing my breath. hmmm, now.... where did all these unusual vibes, rhythms and memories come from? ahhh, yes... there it began ...the beginning ...the magnificent morning, so clear and sunny (such a rarity in these neck of the woods lately ...alas, spring truly will return again this year). It was so full of promise. I slept in... then... eeegads, do I really want to rehash all that? ...my suddenly, and sadly, dead ipod, and the many realizations of how much I value music in my day ....oh, I had so many thoughts on that during the silent drive home ...but where are they now? ...lost to the madness that provoked me to try and tune my engine with the stumbling precision of the drone I generate in my throat? Yeah, it was a comical instance ...(as certain as it was disturbing, too) ...but it passed the time ...which reminds me of days long ago when I worked graveyard shifts at a hotel, content to be making just enough to get by and enjoying the ride. I taught myself to become quite a proficient mouth trumpeteer (inspired by the absence of a working car stereo and weary drives home at 7am ...not too dissimilar to my current situation (well, the stereo part ...not so much the 7am part). This vintage ol' van has many such neglected projects, of which the stereo has surprisingly been a lesser priority. Actually, I had a mental diatribe going this morning about my van ...thought I might remember to write about it later, which for a period I had completely forgot, but now here it is again. Regrettably, the verbatim recollection has never been a natural skill for me, but the good thing is that buddhism isn't such a struggle to grasp ...no problem being mindful and in the moment ...except in that on some level this all just one great connected giant moment, which then challenges one to be cognizant of all lesser moments within the lower dimensions of time ...western-zen-mind-scrambled-eggs anyone? Hmmm, breakfast... my mind tells me I'm hungry, that I've rambled and pretended to be entertaining long enough, and that my obscure and tangential trails are a potent indication of my low blood sugar and having had spent entirely too much time today crawling and working in dusty, cramped spaces ...in the crawlspace, between layers of a dropped ceiling and in the attic ...and if I start in all that ...?? ...could make for a long night of crazy, crazy rambling ...i gots more fun to do tomorrow ...70+ degrees in the forecast and I'm pretty much done with the shnasty stages of resurrecting that old house ...soon, it will again glow anew and be called again, home. ....ahhh, be well to one and all ...especially to those who made it all the way to here without giving up (pardon any typos ...i'm too tired to edit, tonight) ---papa oh, and if you're aren't doing so already, swirl some really, really good golden vibes to China and Tibet ...may they magically manifest some profound and symbiotic communication ...the world really needs to see a big, happy ending right now ...doncha think? blessed be blessed be blessed be

reflections

papa tom — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 09:17:06 GMT

from the time I spend alone better then I see when I'm surrounded by everyone each timeless portraits of being the joyous, the drunk and the pensive oh, if I could tame the dim light and hide a camera in my eye i'd show you all the magic and mystery hiding in the mundane the secrets of our being revealed unbeknownst in a passing stranger's eye "it's so hard to go into the city because you want to say hello, i love you to everybody" on the way home i see images glowing from the shadows landmarks to guide me ghosts of dying dreams that stand as monuments against a time of forgetting

3:30 am --cold toes, warm heart

papa tom — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 10:39:13 GMT

Far too long I've sat in seclusion, words let out to play every now and again to pay tribute to some such film or another. For what reason exactly I write in this dark time we still call morning, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps it's to clear out my plumbing, let something flow through with no real agenda other than to just be a conduit for something. Or perhaps it's for some other reason hidden like so many other truths in this world and this life. Maybe too I feel the urge to contribute something to cover my rent on this space and time I inhabit, day to day, birth to death, and in memory beyond. And yet already I come to this, a lull without any thought, profound or profane ...just feeling and inspiration a driving yearning to live, seek and love. To desert, beach and forest, around campfires with long-forgotten ancient friendships, reacquainted through serendipity, wearing new skins with lifetimes of tales to recall and tell ...beyond war and poverty, pretense and pomp, ignorance and greed, cynicism and anger. ...just truth and sincerity, love and joy, peace and harmony. Sometime soon the sun will rise and hopefully shine on us all

bloggo

papa tom — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 11:01:02 GMT

Breaking just barely from this new tradition of pointing out some profound films that cross my way, I present to you an extended smattering of thoughts and other such vignettes of my life. ok now, what was it again that I was going to say? ah yes, tonight's film... My Kid Could Paint That Well, I walked into this one expecting a rosy, and perhaps even profound or inspiring, documentary about kids and art. Through some intention the filmmaker delivered more than that in documenting a harsher side of the story. As a film, I'm inclined to almost dislike it for the blatant gaps it fails to explore, yet even in its failures it does provoke thought and encourage dialog. So what makes good art? That is pretty much what this film is asking. Is it simply the creation and nothing more, regardless of who specifically created what or how? Or is it about the story of the artist, the technique, the medium and the intention? I'm being purposely vague in presenting these questions so as to not let the details tarnish you should you decide to watch the film for yourself (if you have not already). For me, I'm a practical purist. I realize art is often a commodity. Artists must eat afterall. Yet, that is simply an aside to the deeper essence of what art is and why it has value to begin with. Ultimately, art is about the connection between the one experiencing the creation and the creation itself. There is no absolute standard for how to quantify that connection, nor a means to predict it. "Good art" is defined only on a personal level. Conversely, then (which utterly grates on those who insist there be a single standard for what defines good and bad), even "bad art" is art in its ability to invoke a connection of antipathy in its detractor. So, again, to me, I care not whether or not this piece was painted by a four-year-old. I feel something good when I look at it. Beyond that, the suggestion of it being created by someone so young does not phase me. I have witnessed similar such miracles seeing what my own daughter has created. Indeed art can be about education, skills and discipline, but it's also about soul and becoming a conduit of the divine. Who better than a child to let that brilliance shine through? Bravo, Marla Olmstead!! (the above piece is titled "Zane", but I personally nickname it "Duckie Watusi")

the real dirt on farmer john

papa tom — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 09:00:55 GMT

i shit you not, tears of joy from this one ...anyone wanna buy me some land? :-)

michael gondry is absolutely brilliant

papa tom — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 08:25:38 GMT

it's time for something new

papa tom — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 11:40:20 GMT

Bring it on with the light Arise ye potent green shoots from sleepy earthen roots Blow forth stout winds dispell the stagnant and the stale May pure rains fall to cleanse and purify all Soon come the sun to warm and dry the Earth Her children will then gather to sow seeds and sing songs spin magic for better a year to guide and protect all through joys and tribulations, for the journey in all its many dressings is always filled with blessings ...get up offa that thing, and dance 'till you feel better!!! I love y'all ...despite my silence and all the unrequited well wishes, I am fully appreciative of all the charms being sent my way ...reminding me that it's not about how we shine when all is well, but how we shine when the world crashes down around and upon us. As long as I'm breathing, I have choices about how I use that breath, ya know? ...and from there, all kinds of shit is possible. keep spinning it pure peace papa t

gratitude

papa tom — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 18:14:37 GMT

...thanks so much to all you shining souls. I deeply appreciate the love, support and perspective. The winter holidays are always such an awkward time for me, torn between my loathing of manic capitalism, my yearning to focus solely on my ancestral celebration of Yule and my children's desire to get all that Christmas promises. Honestly, I earned my cynicism, having spent years in retail, driven to the brink of insanity each year by the nauseating repetition of holiday musak. Once I became a papa, though, I learned to lighten up on my Scroogitude. But this year my efforts to stave off my grumbling were hampered by my mother's perpetual health drama. It's become impossible to disguise my ambivalence; I love her, yet I cannot bear to witness what her life has become. I no longer hope for her miraculous transformation, but instead pray for a graceful end. Somehow she manages to live long after each doctor has written her off. Some days I just wonder if she's trying to get the most out of her health insurance. Life truly is a mystery. I'm off to go play with my kids. blessed be

twinkles in the shadows

papa tom — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 10:44:44 GMT

I fell asleep on the couch last night, thinking about it all. It makes for a rough night of doing any effective dreaming. Today's stage was set before I even woke up. Life is just an exhausting chore these days. It tests the stamina of my optimism. But then I stumble upon a long string of gems my kids made of themselves when I was apparently doing something else. And for a moment I could really smile and mean it. Mom survived the surgery, so I am told. And is yet again reciting, between mouthfuls of food, the same old litany of how God really woke her up this time and now she will... . ..sigh, I've heard that one before. Some days I swear I'm living in the movie Groundhog Day ...thankfully I have yet to try walking in front of a truck to see if I will wake up again to the same old morning routine. But I am starting to wonder if she is perhaps a mutant vampire or zombie that can tolerate daylight and a brain-free diet. sorry ...gallows humor

talkin' heavy...

papa tom — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 07:12:32 GMT

dare risk dream that's what my pint glass said to do so I did I dribbled a tablespoon or two into the bowl with the eggs eggs from my chickens (whom are laying in the middle of winter... ???) and then with that kick ass thrift store silver fork, I twirled and twirled it nearly into a froth on to the heat of the cast iron griddle it bubbled and hissed over the olive oil slick a few magic moments later... (and a few signature fork/spatula moves later ---i'd say it's top secret, but in reality I just don't know how to describe it in words) ...onto my plate slides the oddly fish-shaped omelet a sprinkle of course salt (oh yeah, it's also inside ...along with herbed salt, too) and a dusting of chili powder a dab of maple barbeque on the left and in a nod to family tradition ...ketchup on the right (organic, of course... traditions evolve) and then the bite the luscious bite... ehhhcssss----taaah--seeee i even laughed at myself for being so cliche in my initial response (can anyone tell me how to easily pitch un accent agu onto the end of my "cliche" --please, please, I wanna know!) oh, beer... nay.... oh, chocolate stout... is there anything you can't make better? I'd do any number of many, many zany things to have a bag of that beer brownie mix from '91 ...mmmmmm. how can something so wonderful kill so ruthlessly? ...food the substance of my mother's addiction after years of abuse, her body is running out of options to remain alive the remaining unfused vertebrae in her neck have narrowed upon her spinal cord to such a point that she must face either: -surgery or -quadriplegia ...at best so, surgery, right? not so easy she is currently on coumadin for severe clotting issues for which she was admitted several weeks ago she has burned out most all of her personal and familial relationships she's scared and delirious and looking to me like I have answers i ran out of them long ago she never has cared much to listen i'm angry it's come to this that I should have to feel this much compassion for a life and what it's become i hate having to watch so much misery over and over and over and over and never getting to do much about it especially now three other mouths to feed and the other full time job of keeping myself healthy so that I can handle working part-time Jesus and Buddah would have been so much more impressive had they been single dads so I recognize this irony and others I haven't even hinted at i toss down a swig of the divine give her a toast and pray she's able to pass with grace tonight I sleep tomorrow I work