the stashe

how can something be as ridiculous as a mustache? it escapes me why anyone would want to sculpt their facial hair into a small hemisphere above their upper lip. kids find them somewhat scary. villains in westerns always had them. adolescent boys see them as a mark of manhood that they are yet unable to display.

 

and yet i have one. but not for long.

 

since christmas i have been growing this monstrosity. trimming it occasionally so that the tough little hairs don't curl under my upper lip. all the guys at work grew them. it was a common bond... kind of a *gag* fraternity thing. the spectrum of mustaches that grew over the first four months of this year was spectacular. everything from full-blown butcher's mustaches, to the borat-stache, to cat whiskers. one guy's is blonde and very fair haired, to the point that it is almost invisible in a photograph, but he perseveres.

 

the time has come to cast off these ego bearing follicles. to bare my upperlip to the world in all it's naked glory. to shave where no blade has shaved since christmas... the mustache must go.

 

i must say that i will miss it. over time, it has worked it's way into my life and even into my mannerisms. the mustache is stroked unconsciously when i cook up mischievous plans. the mustache filters and savors the most delectable soups and drinks. the mustache makes me look kind of angry, which at work is a most fantastic side effect... the best way to avoid line-of-sight taskings is to walk fast, seem busy, and look angry. with the mustache, all i have to do is walk fast and look busy, the rest is done automatically.

 

i'm actually afraid to shave it though. as if it has it's own life energy. what would happen if i shaved it off and all the little whiskerbits reassembled themselves in the drain into a sort of frankenstashe that would crawl up the drain at night in search of my upper lip?

 

that could be bad. maybe i'll shave it tomorrow instead

sun spots

when i was in school, i would lay on my back in the grass, close my eyes, and stare at the sun through my eyelids. it was a kind of mindless meditation. no breathing, no imaging, no relaxing, just the infinite shades of red orange yellow and black.

the colors were almost blinding. it hurt my eyes at first. it seemed too bright, as if i didn't trust my eyelids to hold out the fire. then i would settle down. my eyes would slow and focus on infinity. i would shrink inside a womb of skin and feel the heat radiate into me as the colors danced across my vision.

one by one, on the back of my neck, the blades of grass, that i had compressed as i laid down, started to push back.

press

i don't really feel like writing today, but i feel like i need to express.

 

express: to press out.

 

it makes me think of a swelling inside, under the skin, and pressing emotion out through the pores, like sweat that you can wipe away with the back of your hand.

 

i germinated an avocado seed months ago. i stuck three toothpicks into it's side and suspended it in a truncated water bottle bottom in my closet, so it would be dark and warm. for a long time there was no change. just the sense of pressure within; an intuition of potential. over weeks i have watched the case split as the taproot emerged and fumbled down around the bottom of its plastic home. i waited until the shoot stretched from the crown of the seed until i poured out the water and gave it soil.

 

by soil i mean mud. by mud i mean clay. there is no soil in this land. at least not within an arms reach beyond the fence. the clay is mud when wet and dust when dry. there are only a few wonderful days in between when it is just dirt.

 

the shoot stopped growing. it could be because it is adapting to its new medium. it could be because the soil is too wet. it could be because i waited too long to transplant it to dirt. it could be because it is only lit by a single 75 watt light bulb because if i left it outside, its little water bottle pot would dry out in the sun before i could get back from work. it could have given up.

 

i have to trust that it is using its energy to grab the earth with its roots. i have to trust that it is gaining strength and learning about it's new home. i have to trust that it still has that pressure inside that it needs to express... that its soul is still within... with purpose.

 

in the meantime i'll just sit and wait... and wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.