, , ,


Back to the proverbial drawing board.

That's the old floor pattern at the Omphalos Cafe

Years ago I published two issues of a crude forerunner of the Omphalos Cafe called The Germ. Not being technically savvy it involved writing the pieces, drawing the illustrations, lots of photo-copying and literal cutting and taping. It was a great deal of fun but too much work, and it cost money to produce a small and largely unread run.

Two issues were enough to convince me how much work I still had to do, how much reading and contemplation remained before I attained whatever it was I had set out to attain.

Writing? Except for in my weaker moments, I’ve never really given a damn about it. Let others worry about getting published, I always held, what is being a ‘writer’ anyways?

A ‘Liver,’ that was ever the aim, even when I was least aware.

Back then I spent a great deal of time at the Omphalos Cafe. But did I truly fathom its essence? Did I fully grasp what was involved?

I study that aging cover page of The Germ. It makes me laugh. April, 1997? Jesus, I was thirty-three years old back then and playing at rudimentary ‘zines! Some might say ‘pathetic.’ And they’re probably not far from the mark either.

The fool and his few possessions, standing on a pair of books (that’s something I added to the image I drew from) and staring up at a curiously shining composite of the sun and the moon. That was me alright. And it still is. Funny little tidbit of fact here: I just passed the forty-eight year mark on this wacky life course of ours (I’m taking the liberty of including you the reader in on my modest little personal arc). The date of passing? April Fool’s Day.

Following those initial two Germs fourteen years would elapse before I felt ready to publish The Omphalos Cafe. The blog form is definitely a step up from that early attempt, but of late I’ve been pondering yet more. Playing around with Apple’s iMovie has got me dreaming of video clips, films. And recently I’ve been looking into the possibility of doctoring up photos, poeticizing them.

Hence the hiatus. It’s like learning a musical instrument. At the outset the music is lost in learning the technical aspects. The ‘medium’ masks the message. Lesser minds might mistakenly infer that the medium is the message, but they would be wrong.

Technology can be overwhelming, but given time, and in some cases lots of it, the message—the music—if you listen attentively enough, might start making itself heard.

Perhaps, with enough work—and enough play—the instrument, the medium, will disappear entirely so to speak.

All that will shine forth will be the song.