Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days


a daily breath

  • Mondays are just young Fridays

    It is a substantial record: Clues.
       The 1980 album by Robert Palmer took new wave sensibilities of the late ‘70s and ushered in the magnitude of what would become standard ‘80s popular music.
       I listened to the record intently last week, twice in a row. It has been decades since I have done that, but I had to. I enjoyed listening to the music that much.
       Years ago, I used to do it often. As a teenager, I remember the excitement of buying a new LP and listening to it repeatedly for hours and days. These were the times when radio wasn’t playing a lot of rock and roll. I grew up in a city that had only one AM station for the longest time (until a country music station took to the airwaves), and it was more focused on news, current events, and mostly my mom’s kind of music. Evenings they would play to a younger generation, but only the more popular pop songs (there was also an FM station but it played only classical music.
       Records and Rolling Stone magazine were then my link to real music.
       Back then you would play new records repeatedly, learning the songs, studying the lyrics and cover art. Elton John’s Don’t Shoot Me comes to mind and, of course, Dark Side of the Moon.
       As my music collection grew over the years, as important as each record was, albums would be played less frequently; I had more albums to choose from. It had to be a damn good record to be played frequently.
       I know that changed when I owned my first car. The radio was still reliable, and I used to tape albums to play in the car’s cassette deck. Prior to that, listening to music was a stationary experience. Because of the limitations of the turntable, you had to stay in one place and listen, usually on headphones.
       I decided I wouldn’t buy any new albums this year, but instead listen to the music I already owned. I have a lot to select from, in all genres, on both vinyl and compact disc. I listen to music a lot, and in past years would frequently visit record stores to search out and both new releases and unfamiliar vintage albums by artists I was both familiar and unfamiliar with.
       I’ve now got a lot of alums that all need a good listening to.
       Clues was one of those albums.
       The album rocked a little harder than Secrets, his previous effort, but also dwelled in the synth-pop territory. One song, I Dream of Wires, written by new wave darling Gary New is sonically propulsive, a noticeable change of direction from the sophisticated strains of Palmer’s soulful, occasionally jazzy, sound. Palmer was the first artist I heard described as “blue-eyed soul”.
       This record captured the spirit of the times, without now seeming nostalgic. His albums that followed, both solo efforts and his work with The Power Station (an unlikely hook up with members of Duran Duran and Chic) continued in a similar groove, appealing to the Pepsi generation on MTV with his movie-star good looks and videos with the highly stylized back-up babes he became associated with.
       As I flip through my music collection, I am finding more and more albums worthy of re-discovering. All this music was purchased for a reason, and no doubt hasn’t been listened to with the intensity it deserves to be.

    02/19/2024                                                                                        j.g.l.

  • truth or dare

    Landscapes, like weather forecasts,
    altered daily. Attitudes of how
    we view our world, however,
    remain stagnant.

    Acid rain, climate change, dangers
    inconvenient as carbon footprints in
    freshly-fallen snow. We wait only
    for it all to wash away.

    Fossil fuels and solar flares, impotent
    political dialogue of truth or dare.
    Do we pay any heed past what
    remains of the day?

    Shame and blame living as we are.
    What we do, or what we can do?
    If only we would comprehend
    how we have devolved.

    Temperatures rising, though you
    couldn’t tell it now. Common sense
    approach far too common. We accept
    what we cannot know.

    We struggle, unknowingly, ignorant
    of our ways. Messages lack meaning.
    All talk. No action. Zero-sum gain
    if all we do is complain.

    02/16/2024                                                                                          j.g.l.

  • work in progress

    I need to remind myself, more often,
    who I am and what I have become.
    More so, I need to remind myself of
    what I am becoming.
    If I am truly a work in progress, how
    much progress have I made?
    How can I tell if I don’t remind myself
    or question myself?
    Only I can really know.

    02/15/2024                                                                              j.g.l.

  • cloud songs

          I am fairly certain
    the uncertainty will pass, that
    the anxiety masking my days
       will wash away when
       the time is right, or 
       my spirit will feel more
    than it does right now.
    We all live under the cloud
    of self-judgement. Some days 
       it is thicker than
          we ever imagined, while we
    wait for the day it will dissipate.
           We are not what
           we often feel.

    02/13/2024                                                                                j.g.l.

  • Mondays are just young Fridays

    It’s funny; I don’t really consider myself a planner.
       Often, I think, I prefer spontaneity when allowed. I seem to take advantage of spontaneity when it becomes available to me. Or, I suppose, that’s what I would like to think.
       I find ways, or have intentions, for how I fill my time, all the time.
       I’ve got a couple of manuscripts always at the “almost completed” stage.
       I know poetry month doesn’t happen until April, yet I’ve already begun collecting prompts, and I have notebooks and folders of words or ideas, perhaps even complete poems in need of a good edit.
       I also have sketches and photographs and notes for paintings, or styles of paintings, I wish to embark on (or attempt) when I have more time and space.
       I have lists, mental lists if nothing more, of things I want to do.
    It is something I do. I guess, or I say, I’ve always got something on the go.
    I’ve always, it seems, got something to complete or something I want to do.
    Poems, manuscripts, paintings; I have many plans for many artistic projects.
       And still, I don’t call myself a planner.
       I think ahead. I know I do that a lot. But I never refer to it as “planning”.
       If that’s not planning, it is creating intentions — perhaps, even expectations — for what I wish to accomplish.
       This is how I seem to fill my time.
       But why?
       Why is it necessary for me to fill my time, all the time?
       My dayplanner, for the next couple of days, has no appointments, no must dos or to-do lists, but it is not as if I don’t have plans.
       I have to have plans, for I am a planner, even if I won’t admit it to myself.

    02/12/2024                                                                                              j.g.l.