ZenZing

Thanking my unconscious mind for these permissive ideas.

Eating lunch with a  friend at 3:30 p.m. in Capers Courtyard on Fourth Avenue yesterday. Two pigeons strutted around the table and between our feet.  I noticed they had black toenails at the end of their red toes and legs.  This is very dramatic and beautiful. I feel I need coral red fingernails with jet black tips:  very Zen!!  Now here I think the next Fashion Movement will be a ‘Zen’ look. I could do one:  Paper, water blue, soft jade green, moonlight, horizontal planes, 7″ x 7″ proportions, whispers.  Nothingness, lightness, being (3 stages of birth)… I like my new concept.

What else comes from my Zen?  Bowls, trees, discs, flow, chromium yellow and wine-stain red, high altitudes/attitudes, thinness, sticks, stones, smoothness, waving, layers, reduction, balance, harmony zones:  The Zen Zone; how would that look?  How would I combine the colors?

One stroke on a brass gong: a single strike against a brass gong!

Tastes like pepperment:  Peppermint Zen.

Smells like cinnamon-sea air.

Feels like mountain (Whistler) wind.

The energy of a horse’s mane in the air as it gallops, the flames of a fire (fire flame), a bird wing fanned out (against) or into the wind.

I like these images.

My “imagineered” design style is a place where Zen and Clutter Meet.

"Zen by Nature"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets

Dog-Leggin’ Downtown

Early downtown,

people looked like they

were hugging the warmth of

their waking hours against them.

The sidewalks held damp and

chill

from overnight rain.

The sun can’t quite

make it out.

People are all over spitting,

the latest craze since

bums spit over our clean streets

in the fifties.

It’s all ages and genders now.

I duck into a warm booth at the back of

New Town Bakery.

Orange plastic upholstery

and

a wood-alike arborite tabletop.

The plastic glass containing amber tea

is room temperature.

I have it replaced with

a hot one

to warm my hards

from the cold gloves

I’ve worn.

I play with the dome

of steamed white dough

secreting black bean paste inside.

The bill is a dollar, fifty-eight.

How is this possible.

I leave three dollars and half the

hot refill of tea.

I will not have people working

for nothing.

"Claiming Unopened Packages of Junk Food Left on Shelf in Phone Booth"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets

The Everyday Under His Collar

I could see exhaustion under his collar,

the wear in the skin of his briefcase,

the trudge of his leather soles,

re-soled,

re-soiled.

I remember the first thing I noticed,

was the weight of his eyelids,

and

the neglectful way he shaved along the folds

in his face,

causing sores and redness to erupt

along

the surface of his skin.

I could hear the dialogues spewing;

the sales calls,

cold calls,

warm calls,

folding over each other in a pit

near his stomach.

The failed,

the miserable,

the promises;

always of tomorrow.

The tomorrows’ building

into becoming nothing,

not-a-thing,

no thing at all.

"The Rain Must Fall"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets