Saturday, July 31, 2010

july in review, the tragic clark lyons, an exhibit of paintings approaching. . . .

julliet 26 2010. 9h21am. the bastille day bum.  i will write about this man further, but for now will introduce him as the aged man who, after yelling "i am the rainman," passed out on the front stoop of our downtown restaurant on bastille day, just as we expected our first guests for the very busy evening. . . a terminal alcoholic, rotting of sour mash, cigarettes, and decay, he slept in spurts, yelling at traffic and horses and the cape fear.  he wore a fatigue jacket with military patches, a pair of swimming trunks that were riding low on his midsection, and a pair of fine wire-rim glasses around which fell red shocks of hair. anyway—he is now dead, having drowned in greenfield lake (where I run twice a week). he decided to “go take a bath” in the lake. clark lyons.  by the grace of god there go i. . . . why our paths crossed strikes me as something to mine for meaning.  here is a story from the local news source. 

Instinct. Intuition. collective unconscious; the delirium of sleeplessness, of information overload, of self-ridicule and inelegant thought. flaccid half-sentences, fragments of awareness, splintered mindfulness. . . schubert’s piano sonata, opus 120. I think of rainy winter days in Wilmington. comforting, comfortable thoughts, vision. black oak cove road in candler nc. intuition should lead into paths of mind—delirium is insight without orientation: savor the ridiculous until it becomes graceful.

thursday july 29. ran 7m this morning and nearly lost a calf muscle to a black (what appeared to be a) pit bull on one of the narrow sand-gravel alleys downtown near the park. . . . behind the trucking company hq, near greenfield & 5th, i heard dogs barking, nothing unusual, and then heard the rhythmic tell-tale chi-chunk of running paws and turned around to see that dog coming right at me. . . . he wasn't slowing, so i didn't slow. then he was at me, and i jumped and yelled (at who? i dunno) 'AYH!" and the dog just stopped. no teeth. shocked. looking at me, he lunged, lazily or half-heartedly, and i turned around--'not supposed to look into an aggressive dog's eyes'—jogged into a run, continued running and the dog turned & went back home. next came, strangely, the quietest moment of the whole run. . . . a god moment for sure. and a fair run but my quads are very tired and my endurance lacks as my breath isn't strong in the wet air. . . what appeared to be dark clouds in distance was actually atmospheric perspective darkening the horizon, and it was hot and steaming.
fine storms now pound and beat, one hears stravinsky or webern, and the tomatoes and peppers will be very happy for this rain. the orchestra of nature drifts into silence.

saturday july 31 2010.   my shoes are being washed. once white, they are now a gruesome dark mud of sweat and soil. and they smell like a summer dog, running wild through fields of fetid ash, lion meat flossing canine-teeth. anyway. . . . end of the month and time for the numbers.
704 miles in 2010. 24 miles for the week (short run today, again due to stomach). 101 miles for the month. not great but satisfactory for an injury-recovery month. next week, trails in berryville va.

show at caprice bistro in 45 days. opening mid-september, the larger paintings begin. rendered as wet-drawings, Pennsylvania landscapes and frenetic dancers dominate the work. I am looking forward to the final results, but savor the abstracts of the process of painting, the medium’s joy and experience of itself.

still cannot believe I have my calf muscle. the dog incident haunts me as a weeping statue might. . . . a personal miracle, probably.