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Wednesday, November 9th, 2005
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9:58 AM
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I can't stand red tape. Say what you mean, mean what you say and cut the fat. Ridiculous... None of it has anything to do with teaching. Bah.
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(step aboard)
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| Monday, November 7th, 2005
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10:27 AM - An ember to long from the fire
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She says to simplify. He says they live beyond their means. To live below my means, how would that be? I think I'd enjoy that. Axe the cable, hello white rice and vegetables. Why aren't christians deeply spiritual people? Why did that strike me so strongly? There must be a reason. I'd like to think that asecticism isn't the only path to God, that the blessing of ownership isn't an evil unto itself. Or maybe I just like to think and I should stop.
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(step aboard)
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| Sunday, October 16th, 2005
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9:51 PM - dusting ::sneeze::
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A razor needs nothing but time to dull. I would say that time passes down, that experience must be heavier than air. With every exhalation, more so on sighs, something leaves and sets itself on the ground. When I am stressed I clean. I clean everything I can, not obsessivley, more on the compulsive. It is easier to see thoughts enter a vacuum or a dustpan than see them written down, to hear them spoken aloud. Mythbusters did this thing where they attempted to see if pyramids could keep razors from dulling. Maybe pyrimad power only works because the residents of most pyramids are dead, and consequently are rather dull.
Faith is out of style and that bothers me. It isn't fear of rejection, it is fear of inadequacy that complicates.
I need a plan... and I'm bad at planning. Maybe I should stop cleaning.
The first sentence is the hardest they say, and too often it simply states the problem. I want my first sentence to be the last sentence, or more accurately the last sentence to be the first sentence in a long book. But when? And how to show them that there is more than is seen.
mood: cranky
music: I wish there was
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(step aboard)
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| Thursday, January 13th, 2005
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10:55 PM - Nothing so productive as procrastination
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So here it is, back in space with thoughts and melancholy. Not that I haven't been thinking, it just hasn't been quiet enough to hear anything. But there is peace where I am now. Few sounds make it down the hall, and the dog only visits once a day. I've been drinking a lot of water and reading a lot of classroom management. They're both pretty bland but on the whole make me feel good. Its really a trip to think back to where I was the last few times I used this thing. So much life has transpired. As always the rock in the stream observes the passing of the water and changes little. I am now an engaged man. I have pledged my eternal love and life to one mortal woman. Its a wonder I haven't been rent asunder as half of me is 50 years older and the other half suddenly wants back in the womb. But as usual I can't reflect fully upon that since I can't fully reflect on reflection. Perhaps its all just an avoidance of responsibility. For at least the past year and a half I've been on auto pilot and have been rewarded by perhaps the longest and richest string of blessings that a single man has ever had. Now school has applied the brakes on my trip as I am suddenly in a new home with my soon to be new family and I have a chance to be alone with me. But now I look back and see the queue of experiences waiting not so patiently for their chance in the spotlight of thought.
I walked around the mall for about an hour tonight. It makes me ill. I can see the light in the eyes of the sales person. Not the light of themselves, but what they've been paid to put out. I see the eye of the jeweler who looks down on the youth knowing they can't afford it. I see them measuring love in carats. I see the pre-teen masses in their fuzzy boots galloping from store to store in search of what they think is true value. Yes we all have a right to choose, and yes morality is a struggle that the individual must face. We have all come through and have made our own choices, thought for ourselves. But these kids don't stand a chance. No one tells them no. No one cares enough or has the gall enough to stand up and say "You're wrong!!"
Alas my tirade was interrupted by my love. And that's a good thing. I hope that I'll have much more to think soon.
There was a swirling mass of water that lived in a quiet pond,
it asked permission from its master to visit the lands beyond,
and its master allowed it to fly,
so the wind swept the whirlpool across the sky...
Whirlpool...
Whirlpool...
mood: contemplative
music: They Might Be Giants-Whirlpool
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(1 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Monday, May 17th, 2004
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12:22 AM - A Midsummer Night's Sigh
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Funny how
Now comes a thought to such a forgotten place
When quiet ensues the mind fills the gap and shows
what its been missing
protests and ramblings flow out
now more formed by another year gone by
experience lends structure to masses of this
that and the other
must spend more time in wading pool of humanity
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(3 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Tuesday, February 3rd, 2004
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11:57 PM
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The weather is grey. That's "grey" not "gray", I feel that there's a distinct difference in the two. This grey weather has been going on for the past three days and shows no signs of going technicolor. Maintaining a warm heart is difficult in grey weather. Granite skies, dungeon air, and slimy sidewalks strewn with the remains of kamikaze earthworms spell disaster for a jovial spirit. Alas the sun has abandoned us. Each day the news promises change, but fails to deliver. Nevertheless I remain optimistic, and aware. I feel on the edge of some breakthrough. Perhaps awakened by the somberness of the Nymphs, or the sleepiness of Rosy Dawn, Muse has stepped into view. She still seems to be waiting on the sideline, but her presence is felt. With all kidding aside it has been a wonderful few days. Getting things right.
mood: happy
music: The curses my roommate is hurling at the X-Box, the rattle of the air conditioner, and silence
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(1 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Sunday, January 18th, 2004
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2:06 AM - Oh man
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Life moves to quickly around here. One minute your on cloud nine, the next in the dumps. No rhyme, no reason, just change. When we don't stop to think, things progress. We make mistakes we don't realize until to soon we are smack in the middle of the down. My problem comes from my denial of my own responsibility. I've been running without looking back or worrying about who was catching up with me, running from the same things I was. Now that I've stopped and turned back I realize how much commotion my passing has caused. Despite the fact that I've been slowing for a considerable time it took another quick burst of speed to show me that I'd finally come to rest. And just like the brakes on your car give a jolt when they finally lock into place, my stopping was not a smooth transition. Now I sit in a mild panic hoping that at least a few wrongs can be righted, and knowing that some really can't be. Though we have the freedom of choice, we really don't have much choice when we're being persuaded by one or more outside effects. When we become the persuasion for someone else we bring them, by there own "choice", to the world that we're in. A world that if we stopped and thought about it, we wouldn't want to remain the same. We really are a product of our past experiences, and our actions speak about who we are. As much as I would wish to turn back the clock I can't. I'm only thankful for those who have the courage to stand as a rock in the current and provide us shelter, should we decide to take it, before we take the plunge. Despite what society may label the rock, they are our saving grace. And so often in our throes of desperation we lash out and strike the very thing that wishes to save us. My prayer is that the rock remains...
Despite how far I've come,
I still have far to go,
the current is against me now,
as deep and strong I row.
Then I observe the fields,
and cast my eye about,
I hear the call of strong sure birds,
their voices deep and stout.
They worry not for winter,
they worry not for spring,
they worry not for pain or death,
or of the queen or king.
Straight and true their path goes out,
from door and den far gone,
They care not where the winds may lead,
from night till rosy dawn.
These birds have taught me how to live,
along with word and tome,
no matter where this river leads,
this world is not my home.
mood: guilty
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(1 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Friday, January 16th, 2004
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3:40 PM
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Why does trouble show up today? When the grass is most green and the sky is clear. Even the stinky bushes over by Presser hall are beginning to bloom. People are sitting shoeless in the quad and smiling at the weekend to come. Why today?
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(step aboard)
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1:07 AM - Its been awhile
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Lacking in style
walked more than a mile
had the chance to smile
and a few to frown
Not needing to write
no battles to fight
my burden quite light
only rarely bogging me down
Ignorance is bliss
So is a kiss
and sometimes we miss
the point
Now nothing has changed
perhaps rearranged
so that what was estranged
is now front and center
I stop and I think
undo all the kinks
reform all the links
and dive right in
to bed, where I belong. Bed is one of those sacred places that everyone belongs. Bed shouldn't be cluttered up with confusion, anger, tension, or starched collars. Bed is a place for mismatched socks, fish pillows, warmth, and peace. It won't talk, but it speaks volumes. It won't judge, condemn, offer advice, or punch you in the face. It sits there and smiles. You lay in it, you're comfy, that's it. That's all there should be. Simple. No gossip, just happy. I'm going there now. Goodnight.
mood: confused
music: first a bad recording of an episode of smallville, then the quiet that is thursday night
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(step aboard)
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| Thursday, April 17th, 2003
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12:49 AM - OAS AAS LLS, Let each man...
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It hurts to lose one of your own. It hurts more when its by your own hand. Things have changed, though not for good or bad. It seems strange to juxtapose the birth of new brothers so closely on a timeline to the exile of others. But when you cut a tree, new growth begins. The pain of loss is rekindling my desire again. I've learned so much thus far, and I'm barely half way through this beautiful mess. Half way through... 3 weeks till that is true. Now there are those I know and love coming to that path that I not so long ago/so long ago trod. I know that tomorrow night will ignite something in me, though I don't know what yet. Next year will be a new thing, great in the three. So many of us will be here, in many ways it will be like old times. But new in so many ways. What a great time to be alive. And with that turd of emotive thought expelled from the rectum of my psyche I will lay myself down for the e'en and make fine dreams.
Out from harbors old as grey
Slide the sails of memory
deep keel gliding as swan
through gossamer roads
travel to beyond
mood: tired
music: its the silence that matters
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(step aboard)
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| Thursday, March 27th, 2003
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1:32 AM - When you find a piece of you, put it in yourself
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I found something today. Something ever-so-small and right. A glimmer of me from before I was this, before I lost whatever path it is I was following. There is a small chance that it was nothing, maybe just a by product of cough syrup, vitamin C, and generic nasal decongestant. But something was definitely spot on today. I saw people again in a light that made me smile. All the silly things that people cleave to with all their might, and knowing that someone sees me the same way. I stepped out of presser today after a good string class, a good lesson, and some solid practice time and felt alive. The world was beautiful right then. The sun was shining, the grass freshly cut, the trees had their own wayang kulit all over the quiet quad, and there was a small boy shouting gleefully as he watched the fountain spray into the air.
After lunch today I decided that it was about time to reacquaint myself with Tom Robbins. So I read on a bench passing the time until religion. Of course I couldn't put the book down for something as trivial as walking, so I set off to class, book in hand. As usual I had to wait a few minutes until the previous class got out, but I wasn't concerned since I a literary woodpecker to keep me amused. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the rather cute girl from the far corner of the room eyeing the cover of my book. I flashed her a smile and she came over. Ah-ha! Someone else who had experienced the freedom of Robbins. We didn't talk much about it, but I offered her a suggestion about what to read next. She'd already started it but had become distracted. Here conversation lagged and I returned to the page. She had very flexible ankles. That's just one of those things that a person notices when their head is facing down and someone has their legs crossed while leaning against a wall. Had I been more courageous I would've brought it up. There goes that. But at the very least I'll have to see if she got back into the book.
Brotherhood is a wonderful thing. And as I've been noticing in all areas of life lately, despite all the shortcomings that we may have and all the wrong decisions we make life is a beautiful thing. Things in sinfonia are far from perfect, the bickering, the laziness, the petty differences. But as time passes I am truly seeing the sum-greater- than-the-parts spirit of brotherhood that exists between us. I only hope that the events of the soon to come will open others eyes as well.
I actually have a lot more to say, but the roommate is probably still awake from my typing so I will stop here. Here's to tomorrow.
mood: grateful
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(4 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Tuesday, March 25th, 2003
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11:45 PM - When you type in qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm the top recommendation from the spell check is "petticoats". That's just silly.
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I have nothing to say to myself lately. This wouldn't be such an anomaly, if you could ignore the ridiculous amount of poo that I've waded through in the past month. Futurama's on right now. Its funny. See that's what I'm talking about. I've found the shallow end of the emotional pool and I've peed in it several times. The sky is still beautiful, and I cartoons still hold the meaning of the universe, but all of these things are behind a 1" sheet of transparent aluminum and no matter how hard I bang my hump against it I just don't have the power. Luckily I'm still happy with stuff, even though stuff probably isn't happy with me. But at least laughter remains.
Nothing like a good laugh. And nothing stifles like a mind already closed. When your head is filled with shit to begin with, the smell isn't going to get any better if you sit there and condemn any and all signs of innocence. This random bout of poorly articulated disdain brought to you by my too-mature-for-his-own-good roommate. Good guy, but he forgot how to let go. Too wrapped up in the things that can't possibly matter to real REAL life.
Back to me.
So, Despite slightly slacking grades, the threat of sophomore decision, upcoming recital, a totally whacked out lack-of-love life, and an overwhelming to-do list, I remain placid and slightly comatose. Something must spark me into existence. I need one of those obscure African deities to poop me out of their cosmic poop hole onto the plane of self awareness. Until then I'll remain on the plain of routine. That's the issue I think. Routine, knowing exactly what's going to happen when. Its gotten to the point where before I even get out of bed I can feel the day. I can predict its contours and colors to a stupefying degree... train of thought derailed right then. Felt the need to type that.
mood: empty, but happy
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(step aboard)
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10:50 PM
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| Monday, March 10th, 2003
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4:06 PM - Hello old friend, I haven't missed you much
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I never walk in a straight line. When I went places with my family in the younger years mom would always give me crap for crossing in front of her. I'd like to think that its because I'm too focused on some point far in the distance. In reality its because I'm not paying attention to anything at all. Sometimes the sky will grab my attention, other times a scrap of conversation, but most of the time there's nothing. Not that I don't think. Its that I don't seem to care what I'm thinking about. And slowly but steadily I've been picking up the pace. In religion today I think I finally tripped. It wasn't anything I said or did, just a overwhelming feeling that I had forgotten something big. I know that I did all my work, and I was on top of the school stuff, but there was just this frantic moment where something wasn't' right. There are three windows in the classroom, two facing the road, and one facing the main part of the building. Its probably the best lit classroom I've been in. The air looked fresh outside, the kind that, were I a bird, I would like the most. I was self conscious about weight I put on over spring break, and the normal carefree and resilient side of me couldn't conquer this. Essentially I lost some happiness. That increasingly important part of my life started to slip away. Not acceptable. I think I've found what I lost. Fascination with life, smiling at whatever, the feeling after a breath of fresh air. Between last weeks complete lack of productivity, internal or external, and the breakneck pace that I'm anticipating this week I feel like I'm about to snap. Normally I can ride the currents of stress, and go with the flow to the point where life seems a breeze. I like being able to do that.
mood: good
music: Inspection 12-Photograph
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(1 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Monday, February 3rd, 2003
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1:27 PM - vivid dream
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The elevator was labeled "out of order" today. But as I stepped through the stairwell door Mike told me that it was actually working. He and I stepped inside and I was floored by the most intense vision I've ever had. Last night I had a dream and it wasn't until I stepped inside the elevator that I remembered it.
I had agreed to act a small part in a huge play. The stage was enormous, horizontal and vertical with rooms all over like nest holes in a cliff. My part was at the top. I ran back stage, I was late. There were gears over head and I thought my only chance of reaching the top was to grab them. Luckily an elevator opened up out of no where. On it were people I know and love, all looking somber. The elevator operator closed the door and we began to rise. Suddenly it began rocking back and forth. In my mind's mind's eye I could see the cable above the car breaking, there was darkness above that. I looked into the eyes of those around me and experienced the full range of emotions that one faces in such situations. Fear, acceptance, denial, all there in the most vivid form I've ever experienced. As we fell I went into a kneeling position in midair and prayed. My mind searched frantically for another solution. When it finally hit everyone was killed instantly. Yet somehow I pulled myself from the wreckage and I knew that I was utterly alone.
Things that stood out as more important in the dream:
Being late for the role
Accepting a role that I'm not cut out to perform
The length of the script
The gears backstage
The resemblance of the theater to an indoor stadium and a church at the same time
the length of fall compared to the size of the room
Shane's face
Steven abandons' disappearance from the elevator
My looking for alternatives, needing a way out, all the while praying
the futility of the situation
the way I crawled from the wreckage
the intense emotion of the people around me, it being almost tangible
the sudden end of that emotion at the crash
the feeling of loneliness right before the dream ended
mood: slightly afraid
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(step aboard)
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10:54 AM - Today
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This morning Rosy Dawn heralded the beginning of yet another week. Yet another track mark on my CD of opportunity. Another tick mark on the doorjamb of the then and now. Were I to color in Monday, I would need a big brown crayon. Monday is the day of the primary colors blended together indecisively. Monday is fuel for the bad mood, cooling draught of the newly turned leaf, the pious' chance to shine, the time clock's morning stretch, tai chi's muscle cramp, the day before Tuesday, and the harbinger of another Friday to come.
My cough is still in house, and has yet to pack up its phlegm and search for more hospitable hosts. Uninvited guests always stay longest. Subtle chemicals messages should eventually get the message through. Until then it will probably be Monday. I woke up in the bathroom this morning. More accurately I was wide awake in the bathroom this morning when I woke up. Quite a strange feeling. The space between my bed and there, and the space between asleep and awake were given the proverbial shaft.
That's all the thought I've put into my day thus far. Medicine is putting me back to that post asleep, pre awake period that I missed this morning. Happy Monday.
mood: medicated
music: Coldplay-Sparks
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(step aboard)
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| Friday, January 31st, 2003
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1:02 PM - Bizarre day
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So sleep was not as kind to me as I usually like it to be. On the other hand it was possibly the longest night's sleep I've ever had in 9 hours. Each hour lasted an eternity, as if my subconscious was on some sort of infinite journey. (yes I know that's cheesy) When I finally woke my fever was breaking and my head was clear. I stepped outside into the cool, crisp morning air and felt revitalized. My nose was still a bit drippy, and my cough still nagging, but I somehow felt better than I have in a long, long time. I sat in class and had the hardest time absorbing information. The view out of the third floor window is incredible. The sun was shining in at just the right angle and this finite world was more than conquering the infinite. I feel alive. I'm going to go live now.
mood: awake
music: coldplay
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(step aboard)
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| Tuesday, January 28th, 2003
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2:40 PM - sick and shallow
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I feel like crap. And I promised myself I wouldn't get sick. Don't know why I made such a flimsy promise, but what can you do? So here I sit, hacking and dripping all over the place. Tuesday is the best day to get sick though, by a long shot. Slept until 11, solid brother, then blanketed the campus with paraphernalia which will either get ignored or ripped down. As long as enough people show up to fill the cast things should go all right. Beyond that I have a rehearsal at 4, and formal interviews at 9. Time to relax and let my immune system go to work is in abundance.
I love walking around campus around lunch time. As I darted hither and thither on my trusted scooter-steed I saw lives being lived. Here a goodbye kiss, there a debate over bad food, round the corner a letter being read, on the grass a project unfolding, by the fountain a conversation stilled to watch the water fall. The sky is blue today, and the air is clear. Though my lungs are clogged with god-know's-what I can still taste the freshness of now.
Talked to mom after class. The first time in a week, it was short. Essentially I was whining because I'm sick. I'd go home but the house is still in shambles. Not a good feeling to go to your "home" and find it torn apart, barely recognizable as the place you laughed and played as a kid. Don't want to feel that again, she told me it should be done by the end of Feb. We'll just see about that.
I'm motivated to go do something productive. However because I feel like crap, there's no way I'm getting off my butt. Great. Just grrrreat.
mood: Cake-Nugget
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(step aboard)
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| Saturday, January 25th, 2003
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2:56 AM - Sitting
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No one is the master of the self, except for the owner of the self. Just as trained dancers are at all times aware of their bodies, the stretch, curve, form, all these are in constant measure. So it should be with the mind. After all the mind is still a part of the body. In eastern religions it is treated simply as another muscle or faculty that must be developed. Where then is this magic box that contains emotion? I think mine is malfunctioning. If I can control my mind and body, then why can't I control my feelings more accurately. Especially when the emotion is completely irrational and baseless.
Maybe its that I have a huge backup of romantic energy in me. I need to find some way to siphon off some of my affection. However the possible containers are either unwilling, unwanted, naive, or simply nonexistent.
There is something fundamentally flawed about this whole system, and I love it in a weird masochistic way. I guess these sort of things are just a friendly reminder of life.
Whoever coined, Ignorance is bliss, never took a 100 level religion course. 18 blank stares greet Sartre and satyagraha. (so yeah we aren't quite studying french existentialism or Ghandi's take on civil disobedience but its 230 in the morning and I couldn't pass up the alliteration). I don't mind stupidity in the sense of simply not knowing any better, but when you have individuals who have spent their lives in one of the best education systems in the world they should be expect to perform to a slightly higher degree. Basic logic questions leave them floundering on the industrial grade carpet, or face down with canvas imprints on their post-pubescent faces. Throughout the class Dr. Lee was constantly probing them. He pulled out the cheesy pop culture references, and dumbed himself down to court jester level, still to no avail. Finally he broke out the subtle sarcasm and poked fun at most of the class. Still blank faces. No bliss here. "In many eastern cultures wisdom and the mind are often represented by the sword. Wisdom is the knife that cuts through ignorance. I'll leave you with that" Couldn't help but smile at that one.
I realize that I am not mental giant of our time, but I can tackle most concepts with success. It worries me to see students at a somewhat prestigious private institution thinking like circus monkeys. In our discussion of atman versus brahman it hit me that most of my peers have spent little to now time exploring themselves. The soul is part of the infinite reality, and is its whole. One of the most beautiful, thought provoking concepts in the history of whatever, and they could care less.
Cliche rant... At this point we are doubling our knowledge of the world about once every couple of years, might be down to every year. Yet through all of this technology, biology, criminology, astronomy, hibbitydibbityology, were are doing a piss poor job of working on something that really matters. The state of the economy, politics or whatever has a miniscule effect on the true human position. Yet these are the things we fret about and spill blood over. Its about time that the philosophers of the world pulled their weight. Not that I care what they have to say but with a resurgence in philosophical debate would come a step towards the enlightenment of the masses. A neo-renaissance, redundant as that word is, is in order.
I'm beginning to see how much of a deathtrap this school can be. Spending four years in intimate contact with the same two thousand, scratch that, two hundred people, does little to maintain bridges. It paints a completely unrealistic picture. Must get breath of fresh, career oriented air. ::gasp:: not what I thought it could be. Ahh me. Wish I could get along with everyone. But if wishes were fishes the world would stink.
Ah now I shall sleep, and dream of my Juliet, who shall remain nameless. Not because I'm hiding something, but because I have no idea who she might be. Make fine dreams will I. And awake refreshed if I have anything to say about it. Tomorrow shall be a new day, and I will refuse to acknowledge the fact that tomorrow is already today, for if I really tried to work that out my head would explode.
mood: just me
music: Jamiroquai-Picture of My Life
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(step aboard)
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| Wednesday, January 22nd, 2003
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7:44 AM - Sure
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The clouds did little to cover the sun that day
The grass had seldom appeared so green,
The water so cool and clear
Under me the bench was firm
And held my form in rapt attention
Keats provided the entertainment to divert me from diversion
Yet in retrospect I should have paid more heed to my environs
Beside me C.S. Lewis was criticized, and mulled over again
The flow of people gave me but a broken view of the fountain beyond
Smiles were passed, and few words mingled between my peers and myself
I looked up from Le Belle Dame Sans Merci,
And beheld Le Belle Dame, whose mercy I so desire
The smile that lit her face, lit my heart
And the ill-fated knight did not reenter my thoughts.
I held out my hand to her, in a comic gesture hoping to augment her mood
Yet in my heart hoping simply for a brush with her pale, soft skin
I fell deep into her eyes, swimming nude in the waters of her soul
Though not declaring my heart's desire, but for a checked look of longing
Her smile fled from my eyes as her feet from my presence
Promises of later meetings floated back on cherub's wings
And with her passing, I can swear the clouds parted
The sun shone through in blinding splendor
Myriad colors sparkled joyfully in the unrelenting fount
I let slip a loaded sigh and stilled my heart
Though Keats could do little to divert me from diversion
Now that nature had resounded my joy
And heralded a dawn after daybreak
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(1 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Wednesday, January 8th, 2003
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3:46 PM - Not very abstract
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| Sunday, December 22nd, 2002
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12:33 AM - I smell like a breadstick, still on a people kick, hope that I'm not getting sick
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I don't understand how people can make a life long career out of waiting tables. Day in and day out the same thing. People eat, pay, people leave. You get to know the regulars somewhat, and of course you know those you work with. But people come in go, both employees and regulars, and eventually you're where you started. No chance for advancement, little gain to justify the time spent. I've only been back a week and I'm already getting tired of the monotony. Luckily there are interesting faces to pass the time. Here's one...
Happy birthday. A figurine salesman/freelance musician with a cool Monty python hat over his black pony tail and star trek t-shirt. Mid thirties with his dad, no mom. Dad was already tipsy when he got to the table, had three more to boot. This guy stuck to hot tea. Plenty of jokes, good laughter that spread to surrounding tables. As usually their food took forever, its always the nice ones who get screwed. I showed interest in the Monty python hat, of course, and he gave me his card. We bantered about music, "Trumpet player huh? I tend to be a rock and roll kinda guy, but if you ever want to jam out to some Chicago, give me a call!" he offered. (note to self, go buy a Chicago CD) His dad tried to whisper to me to have a cake and all that at the end, but it was a drunken whisper (enough said). The son smiled patiently at his father and sipped his tea. It was hard to read the mood at the table. I was really scattered and things didn't go smoothly, but they seemed all right with things. I gave the dad his double espresso and the bill, and wished them a merry Christmas. They left quietly, great tip. I went on about my business, 5 or 6 more tables then I left. It wasn't until the ride home that I got to thinking about those guys and filling in the gaps with assumptions and what-ifs.
Here's what I came up with:
Mom is either dead or divorced. Dad is retired and has trouble coping with the situation so he drinks. The son is a "classically trained musician, composition and all that" turned online entrepreneur. The music business couldn't support him so he plays a few gigs a month, cover charts mostly, to keep the art alive I'm sure. He clings fervently to his childhood by working with figurines and plush toys. When his birthday rolls around its off to the O.G. with pops. Unfortunately pops had already popped a few before he rolled up. He misses mom, but lets dad go on with things as best he can. If booze helps, so be it. If a small chocolate cake with a candle and a cheesy song helps, so be it. Through all the "eat, drink, and be merry" at the table, a compound feeling leaks through. Guilt, remorse, depression, brotherhood, fatherhood, adulthood, humor, embarrassment, and tenacity all mixed in a pot o' love. Check Please.
random interlude:
Ok the line in "Lullabye" by Ben Fold's Five just played. "And the pilot, he gave me a blanket. And the tall, dark man/ sang to me in deep rich tones" Holy crap. Chills every time. I guess its because of the context, go listen to it.
Tomorrow is Sunday, or today is Sunday now. Short work day then off to Marc's for a cross pollination of the familial kind. I feel bad about missing church, but that's a story for a different day. Mom will be handing out a few gifts on my behalf to those I won't see. Hope they go over well. Maybe after work I'll have some reading time. Its amazing how much more time I have now compared to when school is in. I love it. Cut out the poopy part of work and it would be perfect. I need some more time to hide from the inevitable. To many questions left unanswered to go back to plodding on.
I had a weird dream last night. I don't think my body wanted me to remember it. But it forgot that I had to get up early. So when the alarm went off I was standing in a room. It was some strange combination of school and work. The grounds were gorgeous, kind of like a giant ranch or farm with lots of trees. I knew that the room I was standing in belonged to Krissy the sax player from school. I was watching a screen saver on her computer that was the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It was a compilation of pictures from around the work/school/whacked out place that my dream took place in. Just then Scott from work walked around the corner and asked what a word meant. The word didn't exist yet somehow I knew that he had pronounced it incorrectly. It had a silent "S". It started with a "B". Other than that I can't remember what it was. When I woke up I couldn't get it out of my head. I keep repeating it to myself over and over. But by the time I had breakfast I had forgotten it somehow. Ridiculous. Funny how I don't usually remember my dreams. I guess that means that I stick pretty well to my sleep cycle.
Speaking of sleep its to dang-burned late to be sitting up typing. Shower and sleep time. Goodnight moon.
mood: peaceful
music: Bjork-Gloomy Sunday
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(3 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Saturday, December 21st, 2002
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3:58 PM - I didn't see the ships come sailing in
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I don't know his name, or where he comes from. But he's about 5'6", rotund, and has the most amazing voice I've ever heard. Not a singing voice, and might not even work for radio, but there is something about it. A presence that is completely unexpected given outward appearances. His wife is about the same size, and extremely homely. They have an ugly, yappy little dog that hangs out in the back of their teal station wagon. There is a stoic sadness in their eyes that doesn't disappear when they smile. In terms of material, its safe to say they have little. And I've had no occasion to speak to them about anything social or religious, mostly just passing small talk, each word of which was captivating in some strange way. Deep, clear, and smooth he speaks. Not commanding, not passionate, just the simple speech of a real person.
(bear with me on this next one, read the whole thing, I'm not a bastard I promise)
Later on I was buying a hat (a pretty cool hat if I do say so myself), and the line was Christmas-time long. Luckily I had a lot of time to spare so I had a good look at those around me. Unfortunately my, and everyone within a block's, attention was quickly claimed by the tattooed Hernado Desoto in the name of white trash. His speech was crass and his manners brash. He began his conquest with a tirade on the bathing habits of his roommate. PAparantley he hadn't had a shower in a week and was stinking up the house. So they were on their way to the dollar store to buy him some soap and "shit". Tiny tots with their ears all aglow surrounded him and more than one face flushed with embarrassment. Luckily another register opened and the lines all thinned out. However this left me directly behind the not-so-gentleman in question. I tried to ignore him and stare at everything else around me, possibly the most conspicuous thing I could've done. "Find everything you're looking for?" he asked staring at my fashionable new head gear. "Not really, I needed some shorts but I guess it isn't the right season for that." I replied. From there he made several comments about his girlfriend's spending habits and the prowess of the cashier. I smiled politely and made small talk about the consumer state this Christmas. In this I mentioned working in a restaurant, he countered with a story about how he ran over his lunch with his tractor. At this point he had stopped thundering so the whole store could hear him and was becoming more and more amicable. "Geez" he chimed in, "these people shouldn't bitch so much, isn't Christmas about getting out here and talking to people." A knife of guilt pierced my cold heart. Here I was complaining about this guy, having to listen to him jabber on and on about his "redneck" life, and I never stopped to realize what was going on. He was a person like any other. A real person who lives and breathes and drives a tractor, occasionally over his own lunch. As he walked out of the store he wished me a merry Christmas, and I returned the gesture. There was a genuine happiness about him that few can match, and I couldn't appreciate that. I walked out of the store, donned my new hat, and drove home with a small smile on my face, my guilt somewhat abated.
There's more to tell but I must go to work. I'm sure there'll be more stories to tell when I come back. Farewell.
mood: chipper
music: Ben Folds Five- Half Asleep
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(2 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Friday, December 20th, 2002
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1:06 AM - Yes massa, toby get back to work, work real good now
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There's nothing like the smell of burnt garlic bread and cheaply made Italian sauces to bring one into a days consciousness. Its good to know that in a ever-shifting world, there is at least one rock to cling to. Though Dan has turned into Nick, and Missy into Tina, there will always be Al's and Chris-Ann's, and the balance will remain. After the crash-course of college life, work is a zephyr of simplicity. One task to see to, and my mind is free to wander. Unfortunately my mind likes to feign ignorance around others. Maybe it feels that by putting up a vacancy sign in my eye sockets that less will be expected of it. The sometimes I think that perhaps I just don't want to invest emotion into something I only work at a few months out of the year. Ahh well. It lines the pockets nicely an provides much needed human interaction.
I waited on a great old couple today. You could tell that they delighted in life. She ordered hot chocolate, he ordered a sprite. They scarfed down bread sticks and alfredo, and went at the salad and soup with gusto. They finished that up so quickly that I had to tell them they're food would take longer than they might think. That was ok, in fact they were getting full. "When the food is ready just box it up. Bring us a piece of cake and two forks. Why fill up on dinner when you can go straight to dessert?!" The old man chuckled and looked fondly at his wife, "She's worth it." he said wistfully. That's what I want. I don't ever want to forget the little things. I don't want to be jaded by etiquette and formality. I want to dwell in the garden of spontaneity. They really made my day. I hope they come in again.
Christmas shopping is done. There is a pile of poorly wrapped gifts waiting under the tree. Waiting for me to get off my butt and deliver them. I hope things go well. Shopping for others is a difficult task for me sometimes. I want to give gifts that mean something. I don't understand people who give useless baubles and trinkets. Of course I'd try to accept any such gift graciously, I wouldn't appreciate it as much as a good book. If you can't think of anything, don't go out an buy a stuffed frog, just give me a hug or something. That would mean a lot more anyway.
So I've taken far to many pictures since I got the camera. I just don't want to forget my life. Hopefully it will be therapeutic and not detrimental. At least questions about the soon-to-past will eventually have visual aid to develop an answer. I wish the darn thing was easier to carry though. It gets to be a pain having to take it in and out of the case every time I see something picture worthy. Its amazing how many more things you notice when you think like a photographer. Things like how the trash can in the movie theater wall looks really cool from a certain angle, and ends up making a perfect background. Or things like how black men in the back seat react to a bright orange light at 3 o'clock in the morning, after a three hour long movie. To quote a friend "Its the special times..." To many special times have been lost. No more I say. Its time to record life. Who's up for a slide show???
By the way, Some body needs to come up with a decent name for my camera. All good things need identity.
It was good to spend time with her tonight (not talking about the camera anymore). My hopes are being realized. The feelings are dwindling to a more comfortable, manageable level. It does sadden me a bit that an end is upon me at last, but its heartening to know that, apparently, I'll survive. I realize that all of this is trite and childish but its mine. I can only live in the way that I know how to live, so Self please shut up.
Went to the public library yesterday for the first time in a long time. Had a 45 cent fee from 2001, at least that's 45 cents being put to good use. Checked out 5 books. Poetry by Frost, Dickinson, and Ginsberg (needed a change) passed the afternoon. Visual encyclopedia of musical instruments was an impulse grab, and entertained me for a bit. Grabbed "Fierce Invalids from Hot Climates". Tom Robbins, what can I say? The man is incredible. Everyone needs to read "Jitterbug Perfume" at least once in their lifetime. The title does it no justice, at least until after you've read the book. Amazing stuff. I'm not very far into this new one but it is quite promising. Much longer than any of his other stuff. Should give me something to do at work when people decide they don't need food to survive.
Santa Claus 2 turned out better than expected, many many laughs. My company helped greatly with this, but a good flick to be sure. Many pictures of the occasion but I can't get the dangblasted Stetson website to link correctly. Maybe later.
Alas it late still, and now the bed has taken up its irrestible call. I will ignore a bit longer so I can shower up (I'm sure the bed will appreciate that) after that it'll be hello dreamtime. Goodnight world.
mood: sleepy
music: Jamiroquai-Emergency on Planet Earth (great freaking album, just bought it today)
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(1 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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| Monday, December 16th, 2002
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12:49 AM - Just back from 8 mile, sorry for this
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Though I try to put up a front that I don't appreciate some of modern society's more popular points, I must admit that this movie was pretty intense. The car ride was amusing, three pasty white guys trying to freestyle, and the black guy sitting there chuckling. Let me sling my style....
Seven dollars (pause) fifty cents
To marc's house, I left the 'rents
we were sitting in the room with nothing to do
playing with my camera, shiny and new
took a couple of pictures of things that didn't matter
kevin's soup in a bowl, never in a platter
jumped into the hoopty, the olds-mo-bile
crusing down 7th street, full from my meal
turned into the theater, with money in hand
bought myself a ticket to "middle earth" land
looked up at the marquis, what-to-do?
I said "How about 8 mile?", they all said "true"
several hours later we shimmied out of there
beats inside my brain, popcorn in my hair
now I'm back at home with a license to ill,
but I'm sounding stupid, so I'll just chill.
Word to your mother.
mood: thugged-out
music: some ill beats my friend
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(3 chosen by the river | step aboard)
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