Light Like A Feather
The vegan lifestyle. What is inspired? The introduction to Carlos Santana's autobiography is. A plant-based diet. Someone said today, after I had described to her what I was eating, that this diet I have been partaking in has a lot of starches. This may be true. Perhaps I do need to incorporate more plain-old-vegetables into what I put in my mouth. Smoothies. This requires a blender which I don't have. So I eat a banana. I eat a banana. It is so easy. One just pulls it off the tree when it's ready. First it must be shipped and then I can go to the store and buy it! There's a lot to a banana. Bananas have a lot of starch too!
I swam today. Just enough to get a workout. I got my swim in. I swam, I swum. I pulled myself through the water from one end of the pool to the other. I don't do that neat flip and push I just grab the side of the pool and push off. Not fancy. The flip and push scares me. I need to overcome that fear and become a "real" pool swimmer. That way I can walk around the facility all cocky. I'm a bad-ass swimmer!
I drove an athlete home today. He plays for the Greensboro Swarm. It is a local professional basketball team. They are an NBA G team, an affiliate of the Charlotte Hornets. Pretty sweet. I think I'll go check out a game. Tickets start off at 12 bucks. Even sweeter. The sweetness just continues on and on. Sitting, driving this gentleman home was intimidating. He was intimidating to me because there was just an aura about him. Did I feel intimidated before I found out he was a professional basketball player? I am not sure. He acted humble and was very nice though. Thank you dude, Mr. basketball player.
Maybe I will go see a game with my bro. We are supposed to hang out Wednesday and there is a game that night. Boom!, as my friend used to say. I wonder if he still says that?
The plant-based diet. I am sure there is lots of research about it. I do not know if it is best for me. I am just doing it. I am deciding if I really feel good eating an all-plant diet. There is a diet where one lives solely on prana, energy from the universe. Perhaps I am working towards that.
A gentleman sets up his station here in the coffee house. He has his guitar, amp, stand, cds for sale, and a mike too. He is an older gentleman with one of the cool hats that snaps in the front. It's called an Ascot cap. Looks like his name is Tony Low. The last name is hard to read from where I am at but not on Facebook, it's Low.
Jazz twinkles in the background. Tony has not yet begun playing his guitar.
I think of the whales. They are such enormous creatures. They hold a magnificent energy here on Earth. They are amazing creatures diving to the depths, recorded up to 10,000 feet, and able to withstand such pressure, some say by fluid in their ears that hardens to wax when exposed to the cold.
Tony has a twelve-string guitar. Twelve-string guitars make an amazing sound. I have had a lot of surprises here at the tea house. Jazz, guitar, nice ambiance. Today I bought a slice of vegan chocolate cake. It has yet to make it into my mouth. I got it To-go.
Jazz is derived from other music forms such as blues, ragtime, classical and African music. It is American because it's an amalgam of sound and because it started right here in America, New Orleans it is said. It is improvised but it has structure. It is a melting pot of a variety of instruments. It has brought cultures together. It has transcended our differences. It speaks to our heart. When it's rhythms are played "in the pocket" there is only you and the music.
Edgar Allen Poe was a writer. He wrote scary stories. Some might say they are scary, some may say silly. Either way most of us read him in school, at least here in the United States of America. I remember that he was an alcoholic. Apparently he had a nemesis and upon his death his nemesis wrote false things about him. His nemesis, Rufus Griswold, even gained the rights to most of his work. Perhaps, this is why I assume he was an alcoholic because of Griswold's writing about him in his biography before all of his stories. Well, he married his cousin and he wrote The Raven. Those are two interesting statements in one sentence. His wife died of tuberculosis two years after The Raven's 1845 publication. Poe died at the age of 40, four years after The Raven's publication, in 1849. The Raven continues on. I would quoth it but you already know the story.
Light As A Feather
The raven sat outside my window
reminding me of the Other shore.
Solid and black and curious
large and stately.
Tired, I am, and weary and just barley writing
Wish I had a sweet Lenore by my side
But I am here preparing
I do not yet have a bedside table for thy sweet Lenore nor a lamp
I am still working on getting a shade for my beside lamp
I lifted the lamp to the raven
and it moved not away
In fact, it turned to me
and croaked,
"Hey there, what's up dude?"
"Nada."
"That's too bad. Would you like a ride? We can go aloft under the sun."
And we did.
I had shrunken myself down with my magical powers.
Its feathers so black
like the skies
That night the sky burst with stars and moon
The sun shone bright
The next day
There was a raven feather on the pillow next to me when I woke
The raven quoth,
"Here I am, where are you?
Are you here fully?"
Be light like my feather, is what I thought.
I swam today. Just enough to get a workout. I got my swim in. I swam, I swum. I pulled myself through the water from one end of the pool to the other. I don't do that neat flip and push I just grab the side of the pool and push off. Not fancy. The flip and push scares me. I need to overcome that fear and become a "real" pool swimmer. That way I can walk around the facility all cocky. I'm a bad-ass swimmer!
I drove an athlete home today. He plays for the Greensboro Swarm. It is a local professional basketball team. They are an NBA G team, an affiliate of the Charlotte Hornets. Pretty sweet. I think I'll go check out a game. Tickets start off at 12 bucks. Even sweeter. The sweetness just continues on and on. Sitting, driving this gentleman home was intimidating. He was intimidating to me because there was just an aura about him. Did I feel intimidated before I found out he was a professional basketball player? I am not sure. He acted humble and was very nice though. Thank you dude, Mr. basketball player.
Maybe I will go see a game with my bro. We are supposed to hang out Wednesday and there is a game that night. Boom!, as my friend used to say. I wonder if he still says that?
The plant-based diet. I am sure there is lots of research about it. I do not know if it is best for me. I am just doing it. I am deciding if I really feel good eating an all-plant diet. There is a diet where one lives solely on prana, energy from the universe. Perhaps I am working towards that.
A gentleman sets up his station here in the coffee house. He has his guitar, amp, stand, cds for sale, and a mike too. He is an older gentleman with one of the cool hats that snaps in the front. It's called an Ascot cap. Looks like his name is Tony Low. The last name is hard to read from where I am at but not on Facebook, it's Low.
Jazz twinkles in the background. Tony has not yet begun playing his guitar.
I think of the whales. They are such enormous creatures. They hold a magnificent energy here on Earth. They are amazing creatures diving to the depths, recorded up to 10,000 feet, and able to withstand such pressure, some say by fluid in their ears that hardens to wax when exposed to the cold.
Tony has a twelve-string guitar. Twelve-string guitars make an amazing sound. I have had a lot of surprises here at the tea house. Jazz, guitar, nice ambiance. Today I bought a slice of vegan chocolate cake. It has yet to make it into my mouth. I got it To-go.
Jazz is derived from other music forms such as blues, ragtime, classical and African music. It is American because it's an amalgam of sound and because it started right here in America, New Orleans it is said. It is improvised but it has structure. It is a melting pot of a variety of instruments. It has brought cultures together. It has transcended our differences. It speaks to our heart. When it's rhythms are played "in the pocket" there is only you and the music.
Edgar Allen Poe was a writer. He wrote scary stories. Some might say they are scary, some may say silly. Either way most of us read him in school, at least here in the United States of America. I remember that he was an alcoholic. Apparently he had a nemesis and upon his death his nemesis wrote false things about him. His nemesis, Rufus Griswold, even gained the rights to most of his work. Perhaps, this is why I assume he was an alcoholic because of Griswold's writing about him in his biography before all of his stories. Well, he married his cousin and he wrote The Raven. Those are two interesting statements in one sentence. His wife died of tuberculosis two years after The Raven's 1845 publication. Poe died at the age of 40, four years after The Raven's publication, in 1849. The Raven continues on. I would quoth it but you already know the story.
Light As A Feather
The raven sat outside my window
reminding me of the Other shore.
Solid and black and curious
large and stately.
Tired, I am, and weary and just barley writing
Wish I had a sweet Lenore by my side
But I am here preparing
I do not yet have a bedside table for thy sweet Lenore nor a lamp
I am still working on getting a shade for my beside lamp
I lifted the lamp to the raven
and it moved not away
In fact, it turned to me
and croaked,
"Hey there, what's up dude?"
"Nada."
"That's too bad. Would you like a ride? We can go aloft under the sun."
And we did.
I had shrunken myself down with my magical powers.
Its feathers so black
like the skies
That night the sky burst with stars and moon
The sun shone bright
The next day
There was a raven feather on the pillow next to me when I woke
The raven quoth,
"Here I am, where are you?
Are you here fully?"
Be light like my feather, is what I thought.
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