All posts tagged: Reserve Blend


time travel in white snow records a fresh journey footprints, a story While looking out of my studio window last week, I noticed a few tracks of footprints snaking across my driveway and side yard, after a light but fresh overnight snowfall. I didn’t see imprints from boots or loafers but instead, paths…decisions…time, by the moment. Someone was there. They had a place to go, or someone to greet, or maybe just needed to eat. And they were probably thinking about something, although the subject of that thought is now lost to the ages. But it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that they had a story. © 2018 Joe Blend. All rights reserved.

An Extension of Waves and Time | Joe Blend | A 2-oz. Read


life, priceless purpose monuments to moments remind us always love each breath The artwork below was made using a black Sharpie marker, a Ranger white opaque pen, a Precise V5 Rolling Ball extra fine black pen, and a sheet of paper from a Moleskine journal. The piece was then copied in black and white using an HP copier. The artwork and haiku are inspired by “Beyond Waves & the Notion of Time,” my journal post about the importance of the journey. © 2018 Joe Blend. All rights reserved.


‘Tis a wondrous experience to listen to the soundtrack for Close Encounters of the Third Kind at 5:45 a.m. As it plays in the background, the windows—still dark panes of glass at that hour—beg one to ponder the vastness of the heavens. Each twinkling gem is an explosive ball of energy, but collectively they sit quietly like a connect-the-dots drawing waiting to live. But people have, in fact, connected the dots. They called their masterpieces Scorpio, Leo, Orion, et al., and without so much as incorporating, into the nomenclature, a nod to the fact that each of those dots—outside our perspective from Earth—is physically too far away from the others to form even the semblance of a horribly planned neighborhood. That fact, by itself, is telling. Yet there they are, together, in the night sky…personages bound by imagination and sheer will. Now consider creativity and all its artistic forms. Art—for personal or professional needs, from any discipline—doesn’t exist until it’s created. Constellations and art. Creativity. Sheer will…and imagination. Carl Sagan, with his billions and billions of …


Writing and drawing are practically twin siblings. They’re two peas in a pod, from the inception of a flickering notion. That’s because words are nothing but lines—curved, straight, connected, and otherwise—brought together to help us digest another person’s thoughts. And drawing helps us see those thoughts as if we could peek around the corners of someone’s mind and observe the still frames for each idea. I’ve always known how to draw. I took several formal drawing courses in college, and my graphic design background helped me determine how drawing could be used in my creative writing. But it goes beyond lines. Both writing and drawing require form and function, because a word that doesn’t make sense will tie our brain into a knot; and a thoughtless collection of scribbles will force our brain to discard the subject altogether. That means each word of a sentence must be strategically chosen, just as each line of a drawing must be applied with care. One serves the other, a back and forth between our mind’s eye and our mind’s heart. …


a constellation exploring something new to teach something’s story We explore the stars to narrate our origin and at times, to document our existence. Although science can explain the mechanics of the heavens, it’s our humanity that interprets the past and charts the future here on Earth. We are the ones who tell our story. Let’s illuminate our narratives. Through those discoveries, we can reveal the true scope of life. Blackout poem and writing © 2017 Joe Blend. All rights reserved.

The League of Librarians | 2-oz. Read | Blog


Deep in the nooks and crannies of society lives an organization, a dedicated movement, defined only by the unique ability of its members. I discovered the organization years ago and began to follow them, studying their every move. They have no handshake nor do they wear any sort of identifiable insignia. What’s most peculiar is they do not occupy a joint headquarters or secret lair but instead use their homes or public spaces as a base of operations. Despite that public presence, they operate in whispers and nudges, although they always use their abilities for the greater good. These extraordinary citizens—these devoted individuals—are known as the League of Librarians. The League of Librarians has been around for as long as stories have existed. It was formed in the distant past by the first person to ever tell a story. Regrettably, the League’s archives have no record of this person’s name or background so it appears that his or her identity is lost to the ages. Members of the League have a single magical ability: to …


Most of us will spend Thanksgiving evening enjoying semi-accidental food fatigue alongside desperate dreams of elastic. However, there will be, in fact, a specific group of individuals who are mentally bracing for the tempest to follow. That storm of materialistic proportions is what’s commonly referred to as Black Friday and as with any disaster, it too has its heroes. Go to any large retail store during Black Friday and you’ll see how the path of least resistance is a knee-jerk choice for the human mind; it’s in our nature to avoid obstacles and minimize struggle. That’s why the average customer—when given a choice between straightening their own mess or leaving it for a hardworking brand minion to fix—will often look the other way and keep on truckin’. Guess who is left to clean up aisle 7? Yep, that’s right, the retail employee. You see, retail employees are silent heroes. After John and Jane Customer plow through aisle after aisle, pawing at price tags and thug-handling random merch—thus treating the store like Times Square on New …

Fried Haiku and a Scrambled Brain | 2-oz. Read | Blog


Jack Kerouac once said, “an art dies when it describes itself instead of life.” It’s a paradox of sorts, like the chicken and the egg, but it makes me wonder whether a writer writes a poem or the lines create the poet? Does ink convey an idea or do readers place meaning on the words? If a typewriter reveals a story but no one is there to read it, do the words still exist? Life is full of mysteries: never stop discovering. a haiku about haiku is like a chicken and egg…food for thought © 2017 Joe Blend. All rights reserved.


The stage is quiet. Curtains are closed and lights are low. A sense of anticipation hangs in the air as the conductor takes his place. Behind the scenes, the musicians are assembled in rigid attention. Though always poised to create, the players know the first performance of the day is always the most important. The program lists both well-known and obscure participants but despite varied backgrounds, the conductor’s nerves are steady. The players have performed this piece countless times. It’s therefore expected that the aromatic melodies will be executed to perfection. This is, after all, a symphony. As the conductor surveys the scene one final time, the players occupy their usual locations; their sculpted forms appear somewhat disjointed in their proximity but are clearly bound to each other through their roles. Confidence holding in place, all activity ceases as a brief pause pays tribute to what is about to happen. And then it begins… The first calculated movement of the conductor’s arm summons the opening piece as the metal basket is brought to the front accompanied …