Last night, I waited to find some inspiration.
I waded into YouTube,
The algorithm provided with nothing,
Nothing except for a good meditation
Which is usually good for some inspiration.
Not last night.
So I deep dove into Netflix,
Setting for a long-timer in My List,
Thunderbolt and Lightfoot,
A movie I must have seen with my parents
Or on cable at some point.
I could not remember anything about the movie,
Not even this morning
Just after watching it last night
Which is either a commentary on the movie
Or where my attention span is at this point.
There are only a few days left of this
Vacation within a vacation.
I at the perfect level of peacefulness
Realizing the lack of need for most of what the
Routinized life has to offer.
Soon, I’ll be back in there,
Toiling in the mundane,
Jelly headed from reality
And whatever 1970s action flick I watch next.
Watching videos on YouTube,
The newest version of self-help books.
I’ve been gravitating towards Goggins,
But tonight, I’ll watch that biker guy,
The one who came in second, twice.
Today, I replayed his video over and over,
Just a mental rerun, a motivational loop,
Because this dude had every reason to be pissed off,
But somehow he was able to go positive and
Find inspiration after two tough losses.
“Feed the dog!”
That’s the attitude of The Seal,
That’s the attitude of the biker guy,
That’s the attitude I want to cultivate,
He walked down the beach
Nothing but cool.
Who wears a straw hat,
Shoulders pulled back,
Ribs still showing
At seventy something.
He had a strut,
The kind of confidence,
The kind that said,
“I’m not a person to be trifled with.”
His face was a smile,
The kind that is more eff you
Than I’m happy,
But he could pull it off
Because his aura was just the cool.
I thought gangster or cop.
He could have been walking a beat,
But he had too much glide in his stride,
Had he been a cop,
He would have been more burly,
More begging for something to happen.
This old guy looked as if he had been looking
For his whole life,
He barely moved his head and saw everything
Then I noticed his hands,
The left looked as if it had been tucked in a pocket,
Fingers only on the inside, thumb out,
A sign his cronies would have known.
His right hand was cocked, looking like a gun,
Thumb as the hammer, index finger the barrel,
Middle finger keeping time with his stride
Tapping an imaginary trigger, ready to apply some heat.
He just smiled as he walked.
Taking in all in.
Cool as could be.
Hell, he was probably a teacher or something.
“Is it the ocean flowing in our veins?” from The Wedge, by Phish.
Just before the latest cosmic collision
I was tying my biking shoes
In the Jersey Shore Mecca of gyms
And experiencing my own variation
Of being a human netty pot
As water that had pooled in my sinuses
After a wonderful swim in the ocean
Started cascading from my left nostril
Like water from a hose in the garage.
After blowing out most of what was left,
I started riding, indoors,
The sun had beaten me down,
I just wanted to sweat a little.
Opting for my music instead of the gym’s
Allowed for some Phish instead of Disturbed,
Which put me into a meditation zone,
Which let the thoughts flow,
Acknowledged one by one,
Let go just as they came
Until I got stuck on a thought about breathing
And wedges, as The Wedge blared in my headphones,
As the ocean that I swam in started dripping, again.
There it was, the latest cosmic collision,
Something about the oceans, wedges, and
The implication that the salty water is so important
An elixir, a cleaner of sinuses, a test of our bravery.
Again, these collisions are coincidental,
Yet they happen, and by the way, I wrote about swimming,
Yes, in the ocean, for a new project I’ve just started,
Could it be that I am finding connections just because,
Or maybe the ocean does talk to us or runs in our veins.
According to Frederick Lenz,
Said that there are places
Of great energy
On our planet.
It is there where
Innovation becomes reality, and
Motivation becomes effortless.
I’m not there right now.
The words are not flowing,
The ideas are not coming,
Only the desire to exercise is booming.
I love this place
For it is not the geography making me stale,
It is this place where the energy is building,
The frustration is percolating, and soon,
The flow will come.
I’ll be ready when it does.
I woke this morning tired,
Sun weary, just beaten down
By a non-stop week of family,
With two more to go,
Sitting this morning out
Became a real option,
I’ll exercise later,
Set up the beach stuff,
Maybe even swim a very little,
But today I’m about restoration,
A little break from the grind
Before getting back at it tomorrow.
I don’t really get the whole fireworks thing,
But I understand the need for independence
Which makes me question people judging
If I decide to sit the fireworks out.
I think they are cool,
A big oomph to our county’s independence.
I’m just not into them that way.
I prefer freedom for all without bombastic representations,
Independence from the lunacy of conformity
And the hypocrisy of politicians.
Give me July 4th with family,
That same band that does the block party each year,
And if I choose, fireworks from Daugherty’s deck,
The view should be good.
Thought I saw a shark fin today,
Turned out that it was nothing,
But good for the laughs.
Walked a mile in blazing afternoon sun,
Only to turn around and do it again,
But it was good for the muscles and hanging time.
Talked about schools in the blazing evening sun,
Finishing up with reminiscing about my new hometown,
But it seemed important to do.
Had a hot shot of coffee flavored tequila,
Followed up by an ocean cold shower,
It doesn’t take much.
When new places go old school
I’ve got to say that I’m all in.
Don’t call things retro,
Simple is better,
Like going Rocky and Apollo
Sprinting down the beach,
Gulls confused and
Yoga posers unsure.
Only old school souls who feel primal urges
Know how great it feels to bang out a run
Over sand and crashing
Jersey Shore waves,
Especially before sunrise.
Then, after a few hours
Of contemplating the summer of ’61
When balls flew out at a record pace,
It’s time to test the muscles
Against gravity and father time.
Luckily, the Jersey Shore Mecca
Is just a twenty minute walk away
With real iron,
A sweat smell,
A crooked ass water cooler,
Pictures of Arnold everywhere,
And a vibe put down by heavy metal.
Old school, not an effing health club or fitness center,
A gym full of all the couldn’t give a crap
About wellness, warm up sets, or whiny ass soccer moms
Because this is a joint
Where “pick them up and put them down”
Rings true with each rep, each set,
Each appropriately expressive grunt
And all that heavy work.
Best fifty I’ve dropped in a long time…