we must walk anyway

...change...  

i can feel it in the air....

...the sun is deceiving...

the clouds betray

an otherwise hidden sky

assumed blue

assured it shall not collapse

as it reddens

and the fallen branches of spring

are presumed dead

and the ground is not yet green

but all is. coming. alive.

and it is never clear

whether this season is to be feared

or welcomed...

despite the warmth in the wind

which is either luring or comforting

and which is never clear.

but we must walk anyway

holy

I ain’t sayin’ I’m like Jesus… But I got tired
like Him, an’ I got mixed up like Him,
an’ I went into the wilderness like Him, without campin’ stuff.
Nighttime I’d lay on my back an’ look up at the stars;
morning I’d see an’ watch the sun come up;
midday I’d look out from a hill at the rollin’ dry country;
evenin’ I’d foller the sun down. Sometimes, I’d pray like I
always done. On’y I couldn’t figure what I was
prayin’ to or for. There was the hills, an’ there was me,
an’ we wasn’t separate no more.
We was one thing. An’ that one thing was holy.

-- Jim Casy   Grapes of Wrath

[quote recently read on a blog i was pointed to named, "Fishing and Thinking"]

fractured self

[original art by shane oborn]

this is all of everything

last time i thought about it

i had at least four favorite memories

funneling into the valley

of my failing recollection.

what more could one ask for

than a handful of loved ones by his side?

where did it go,

days spent looking out the window?

wondering what life would bring

when i finally stepped out the door.

i can't hold onto all i've had

its too much for one to carry

but that doesn't mean i've given up

it just means i'm moving on

it just means life is moving on

back then i stepped into all sorts of things

today i just step into the river

life isn't any less confusing

but i'd say i'm less confused

as its all about what you're looking for

and sometimes about what you're not

but i'm sure i found what's worth holding on

and i'm holding on to what i've got

in this life we own nothing of value

for what we own is chaff in wind

and the things we'd want to own the most

are beyond such recklessness

what we've got is all around us

and there's no sense looking back

or forward, beneath, or the next street over

that's all just petty cash

death.

its around every corner.

we walk the streets with our purses

on one shoulder and our messenger bags

on another.

perhaps our cell phones rang just in time

to turn our glance from yet another

chance to wake up from this intentional

choice to glance away together.

and its here.

and its there.

and i know it.

and i have awoken.

and i know i'm falling asleep. someday.

and i began this way.

and i don't have to remain here.

and so i chose not to.

and so i choose not to.

because the moments i'll spend awake now

will be my finest.

they will be my finest, and are, and have been.

already.

and i'm not as distracted.

and i'm not as confused.

because i get it.

and i hold on now.

and i hold on gently and with grace and with tears.

and i hold on with my hands open

because i understand its not mine

and i do not own what i love.

and this, this is love.

and this, this is all of everything.

just breathe

dedicated to my wife and family.....

...I’m a lucky man to count on both hands
The ones I love..

Some folks just have one,
Others they got none..

Stay with me,..
Let’s just breathe....

slow down

....sometimes.... its out your back window....

From Winter (2010)

an omen

this last summer i began taking my first practical steps towards realizing a personal dream i've had for just over a decade: to become a fly fisherman. this goal, this admittedly ambiguous horizon, is at least in part a philosophical one (as i imagine it to be for anyone in similar waders). what does it mean to "become a fly fisherman"? at what point does one "become" a fly fisherman?

is it when the rod is purchased? or perhaps when your wading boots are tightened? is it the first time you enter the stream with trout on your mind?

the questions could go on forever. and if i know anything about myself.... they will. and if i know anything else about myself, its that in the process of asking myself the myriad of questions that i undoubtedly will, i'll likely frustrate any number who are unfortunate enough to be in the wake of my questions as they're asked, and who see the "common sense" answer to a rather "common sense" question.

sigh.

and so the circle of life continues.

but i don't want to get distracted. this particular reflection happens to be about another aspect to the goal of "becoming a fly fisherman." and that's the practical side to this goal. now, i can (and will) certainly make this element to the goal as complicated as it shouldn't be. but once again, i'll save those particular intricacies for some distant late night insomnia coupled with a plate of brownies and vanilla bean ice cream, or perhaps for one of those illuminative moments that can occur while sitting on the throne. (which reminds me, excuse me for one minute...)

here's some good advice, and you can take this to the bank: never talk with your mouth full, never eat with your stomach full, and never write with your bladder full. these are just simple truths that will help you in general. (but rarely in particular)

where was i?

oh yeah, "becoming a fly fisherman."

anyway, this winter i have been graced with my first fly fishing experience in freezing temperatures. now if i'm honest, no, it was not freezing. not technically. everyone knows that freezing occurs at 32 degrees (water that is) (at sea level anyway) (and depending on degree of salinity) (and i don't know what i'm talking about)

it was actually 34 degrees last saturday (the day i went winter fly fishing). but it rained three-quarters of the day, and was slightly windy, so it felt like it was freezing. i love minnesota. the change of seasons. the water all around us. the very green forests. the diversity of our metropolitan cities. the vikin... errr..... the competitive spirit embedded in the souls of its people. (i made that last one up, it sounded documentary-ish) (but this is not a documentary, so what did i care?) (i have no idea) (in case that wasn't implied)

but yes... its' rivers. we're surrounded. its a blessing. i've traveled to many foreign countries in the world, and one thing that almost always strikes me about the things we so easily take for granted here, is how we fail to grasp how precious our clean water is. so many people in the world would literally (and DO literally) give their life for something as simple as water.

in minnesota, its abundant. i am grateful for its existence. and i'd like to think i am conscientious about it. when i step into a fresh water stream, i think about it almost every time. it humbles me.

even in 34 degree air temperatures, 26 degree wind chill, and a light to moderate rain i can be thankful for the stream i am stepping into. thankful for the life it sustains and thankful that i can share in that life.

making my way down to hay creek, just outside red wing, was a drive filled with anticipation and a child-like excitement. i could not wait to walk a river in the dead of winter for the first time in my life. and when i arrived and stepped out into the chilled but humid winter air, i'll never forget the encompassing quiet interrupted only by the sounds of birds who apparently share my love for the winter outdoors as well.

and soon.... the sound of the water. it could have been deafening for all i know, because as i post-holed my way to the modest banks of hay creek, my audible world was focused solely on the lovely sound of fresh winter-chilled water which was patiently spilling its way to the great mississippi.

it didn't take me long to find an inviting hole, just a couple dozen yards from the very bridge i had previously crossed not 20 minutes ago. and as much as i'd like to create some literative drama reminiscent of the better fly fishing blogs out there when it comes to explaining how i happened upon my first trout of the year, the truth is that on my second cast of the year (using my gorgeous new sage flight three weight rod) i felt a resistance on the end of my rod that only a fly fisherman can appreciate to its fullest. the lively, sporadic bounce in my tip told me i wasn't dealing with a snag (which is what i was expecting). suddenly, and once again, i was back to experiencing the freezing of time which has accompanied many of the trout i have pulled in to date.

all fades.... and its just you and the fish. the whole thing lasted perhaps 30 seconds today, but time means little in this moment. your first signs are touch, soon sight follows as the trout's colorful skin reflects sunlight through the water as its flight path ebbs and flows, followed by an explosion at the surface as he tries one of his numerous instinctual strategies to break free from the invisible hand guiding him to shore.

i wasn't sure if i'd catch anything my first time out winter fly fishing. my mentor had gone out two weeks prior and caught only two fish on the same stretch of water. admittedly, every day is its own, and the river is never the same twice, but i have yet to come close to catching as many fish as he when we go out together, so i thought my chances were perhaps small, especially without his help that day. so to catch a beautiful "brookie" (image below) within 10 minutes of entering the stream was a gift (in my mind). perhaps (i hope) an omen for the rest of the year.

i ended up not catching another that afternoon. this was alright with me. i thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon in the winter rain. i had a couple more chances, but i think its safe to say my inexperience blew those opportunities. this just means i need many more winter trips to come....

i have little idea where i was going with all of this. i know i started out entertaining the thought, what does it mean to "become a fly fisherman"? at this point, i honestly don't have anything real illuminative, nor intelligent with which to flavor this inquiry. but i do think its fair to say that however in the end its answered by the fly fishing gods and greats, it must at least involve fly fishing.

and i couldn't have been more thrilled to do just that on hay creek last saturday.

may another day on the stream come soon.....

From First Winter Fly Fishing

i cannot resolve

why is everything always slipping?
slipping through my hands.

why is everything always falling?
falling through my hands?

why does time never stop?
can't time be stopped?

what good would it do anyway? we are slaves.
we are born into this room of concrete of beams of impenetrable steel.

these four walls of madness.

this inescapable reminder that we'll never win.

what is more...... the concept makes no sense.


what's worse? the belief its possible? or the belief its not?


what do you believe? what do you believe?


every sip of wine a reminder of a mortality i'm sinking in..... sinking into.


if i bothered to count, every revolution of the fan above my head is literally counting down to my dying day. i long for a revolution that will unfortunately only remain a thought in my head beneath these revolutions. and i revolve around these thoughts i cannot resolve.

time revisited

"time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils"

-- Louis Hector Berlioz

time

"time wounds all heals."

-- john lennon

i just believe there's hope

i just believe there's hope

you take it as inevitable
that hope is the unattainable
but everything inside of me
quietly says you're wrong

you say its all unsolvable
your questions all unanswerable
but this is as much a matter of faith
as any other truth

i don't have the disposition
you should share my own position
i've walked too many miles
and respect you more than that

but i just don't like the silence
the choice to let the time pass
when i see you're slowly sinking in
to a place you may not return

you take it as inevitable
that love is the unattainable
but everything inside of me
screams for another side

who am i? i'm nobody
lost as much as anybody
but all that being said
i consider you a friend

i cannot speak with certainty
and i'm not immune to apathy
but how does that imply
i should leave it all alone?

it all could end tomorrow
the world drowned in its sorrow
but there is too much beauty here
to disregard as smoke

please just hear me out
i swear its not the end
but yes its true, i'm not sure
where all this should begin
perhaps a conversation
about life and how it goes
but what the hell do i know?
i just believe there's hope
i just believe there's hope
i just believe there's hope


poetry and photography copyright 2009.  shane oborn.

damien rice - delicate (live from basement)

kellie and i were listening to music before we fell asleep last night. one of the songs we listened to was a damien rice recording produced in his basement. he has put out numerous acoustic basement recordings that are all fantastic. here is one titled, "delicate"

fractured

[a poem written as an exercise in stream of consciousness while taking inspiration from the accompanying personal photograph]






fractured

we lay waste to what is fractured.
where will you meet me there?
the walls are crumbling around us. on what
shore will i find you when the wave has taken
us all away? what light will guide me there?
through what window should i look to see
your face when i have given up? what
glass must i break to be with you again?
its all there in front of me but no less
confusing. i was not prepared for this.
its dry, i'm tired, and silent.
i'm burning up and remember when i was
taken by the storm, and i would
take the salt on my tongue again as
i think back. its desperate here.
the empty space around me is both
desolate and heavy.
will it ever rain?

poetry and photography copyright 2009. shane oborn.

where photography meets illustration

this is a piece from a collection of illustrative works produced by dmitry utkin. this particular series was a fusion of real life photography with post-prod illustration work. amazing stuff. the collection was titled "where photography meets illustration". [pointed out to me by a friend]

miss peace

johnny cash - hurt

this is simply an amazing video/performance by cash. the stories buried in this man's face..... the pounding of the repeated chord towards the end of this song.... just strip you bare.

the great pacific garbage patch

i've heard/read about this garbage patch numerous times in the last year. it came across my path again this morning.....

....a garbage "soup" that has accumulated in the pacific and that basically extends from hawaii to japan!

part of me has simply not wanted to admit its possible or true. i have more than my fair share of cynicism tucked tightly into my psyche that would typically make me more than willing to entertain such a reality, but when this meets with one's inclination for illusion when it comes to matters that feel beyond your control, sometimes denial wins out.

i think i have been in denial.

having to face this reality feels heavy. and even if pessimistic, somewhat hopeless. what is more, this floating garbage heap in the pacific, with any insight, should lead us to a number of worse conclusions yet with regard to where and what garbage is doing globally.... both in water and on land. which is why this isn't really about the pacific garbage heap in particular, but just garbage specifically.... and the amount that we produce for our landfills everyday.

i have very little to say constructively this morning. at this point i'm simply venting. acknowledging. admitting to myself that there is a real problem here. i'm not sure what to do about it. my meager attempts to lessen the amount of plastic and other centuries-long-landfill-clogging refuse that i use feels so inadequate.

respect

respect

i am fragile

so don't hold back

i can't handle the truth

so please don't lie

i have all these problems

so don't try fix them

i need advice

so just stay silent

i am searching for something

so don't show me the way

i have finally arrived

so make sure i keep going

poetry and photography copyright 2009. shane oborn.

the desert way

taylor zimmerman dances in the rain

i have no idea who this young girl is. and no one needs me to re-report the news.

but this story sunk deep today.

taylor, a 14-year old girl from stillwater, goes outside in her swimsuit to dance in the rain yesterday (the same day my own boys stood outside feeling the raindrops in their little hands) and dies after being struck by lightning minutes later.

...

stunned is all i feel reading this.

...

tears for this little girl and her family. i am torn apart by this cruel universe and its apathy.

i grieve with you all today as a parent of three.

i'm so, so sorry.

Peace.

when i believe

[a poem dedicated to the past struggles i've encountered to find myself and my strength in the midst of chaos and destructive patterns..... a struggle that's always with us in one sense, but one that takes intensified form at some points. my own journey with this struggle has looked very different over time, but i'm always grateful to look back and see how i've grown when choosing to believe in the best in myself]

when will i stop being surprised
when your choices become your lies?
when will i let myself see
that this has absolutely nothing to do with me?
when will i leave your shoes
and understand that i have nothing to prove?
when will i breathe some fresh air
and free myself from this needless despair?
when will i decide to climb out
and admit to myself what this is all about?
when will i use my two feet
and stop this fucking cycle of dependency?

when i believe.
when i believe.
when i believe.
when i believe.

in me.

poetry and photography copyright 2009. shane oborn.

the valley of every little thing

the valley of every little thing

lay it down. lay it all down.
have to lay it all down.

at the foot of the mountain of all things and every little thing
every little long-forsaken thing

time will tell. all the time will tell so much.
have to give time the time to tell it all.

the choices on these slopes of everything and all things
every choice weighs on these slopes

let it go. let it pour.
let it all pour into the valley of all things.
the valley of every little thing.

all things and everything.
its all so little.
its all just so little from here.

time says forsaken and just another thing
forsaken and just some other thing

just some other little soon forsaken thing
falling into the same obscurity of all things of that valley

anything here above all things
is just another thing
and i cry


poetry and photography copyright 2009. shane oborn.

more like me

...a post dedicated to the damned voices in our head that continue to beat us down....

[THE ROAD THROUGH MYSELF]

I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface
I don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow
Every step that I take is another mistake to you

I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this.... and all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

Can't you see that you're smothering me?
Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control
Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you...

(Excerpt from "Numb" performed by Linkin Park)

radiohead - idioteque (live)

i've been revisiting radiohead lately. in my experience, there are few in this world who somehow manage to hover just beneath the horizon of "sanity" (above/below.... hard to tell) without completely nose-diving.

thom yorke physically manifests a tenuous balance in this regard as he dives under, above, and around the subjective line of psychosis while performing his music on stage.

its the balance that strikes me..... compels me to listen, to observe, to disappear along with him into their music. radiohead speak in so many ways that go beyond lyrics (as one would expect to be the case for a band who composed a good portion of their lyrics while recording Kid A by pulling random phrases from a hat).

idioteque is a perfect example. this is a piece of musical genius. and the passion with which thom performs for this song has become widely adored about across the globe.

idioteque often brings me to tears. its a purportedly apocalyptic amalgam, that in terms of the composition itself, reflects the tension created by the concrete horrors encountered in this life juxtaposed with the ways in which we try to make sense of it all through abstraction.

its angry. its sad. its confused. its melancholic. and at the core an expression, an indignant account, a cry, a scream.

all very human.... but some feel it deeper than others. and it is souls like yorke's that for whatever reason, i seem to connect with intimately, and musically is no exception......


radiohead is at the top of my list of bands that i have not seen, but will make sure i do so when they come close to town again. i can't help but think of what i will have missed out on if i were to fail to take advantage of seeing this band live at least once while they are still touring together.

it seems a little too giddy to say "i look forward to it"....... but that's in the ballpark of how i feel all the while knowing its likely going to be a concert bringing out a full range of emotions for me......

present tense

do you see the way that tree bends?
does it inspire?
leaning out to catch the sun's rays
a lesson to be applied....

i've refrained for so long.

but its time. two-thousand and nine begins a new chapter in my life in so many ways, and i've been on a hiatus from writing..... a break which for all practical purposes extends back to my "myspace" days when i was writing (mostly poetry) two to three times a week.

choosing a title for my blog was not a trivial choice for me, but i've settled upon "present tense." this connotes a number of things meaningful to me in one simple phrase..... first of all, it pays homage to a long-standing staple for any music collection i've maintained over the years (whether LPs, cassettes, CDs, or now, MP3s) -- that being pearl jam and its singer/songwriter, eddie veddar. it also reflects one essential, even if too obvious to see, element to a "blog".... and that is its irreducible connection to time..... particularly the present. even when reminiscing on the past, you cannot escape the fact that your consciousness' own awareness of itself will always intersect with time in the mode of the present. and the last thing worth pointing out for now would be its play on words when it comes to "tense." for whatever reason, i tend to write/think/process within the crucible of tension. tension is a pivotal concept to me given its intrinsic explanatory power when engaging a wholly interconnected "world." it is within the push and pull of all things finite that we attempt to make sense of our lives, the world, and all that we experience.... .....a fitting allusion for a blog title it seems.

i am pretty stoked about this newfound outlet for recording some of my thoughts, poetry, and experiences. i have a daughter who is only about 2 weeks from being born. this will bring my immediate family to five. with two sons under the wing at ages 5 and 4, things are going to change drastically soon. and it feels like a great time to be writing again....... so much to come.....

Peace.