Transmitting in the Blind

Old Blog New Blog

2010-01-31T00:21:00.003-09:00

Ok... i may be switching over to Tumblr...

alright... already have.
here it is:

http://ninetybelow.tumblr.com/

love
p

Temp at 10am. 55 minutes before sunrise.

2009-12-19T10:09:00.001-09:00

At least it's supposed to be sunny.

Single digits

2009-10-19T08:20:00.001-08:00

That's 9° F

Not C

So. Sometimes The Dude bowls

2009-10-10T21:38:00.001-08:00

197 people. Take note. This may be my peak. I may never again reach
this level in the game.

White

2009-09-28T12:21:00.000-08:00

September. Mid September. I took this a week ago.

The leaves have all fallen now, except for a few stubborn ones.

It isn't quite sticking though, but that won't last for long.

They don't call it winter here till it's ankle deep.

And the winner is...

2009-09-26T14:27:00.001-08:00

Honolulu: for the most freakishly consistent weather award. Although
it isn't a palindrome.

Although 88 IS a palindrome in itself. Damn. Hawaii is awesome. How
does it DO that?

Suck

2009-09-26T14:24:00.001-08:00

Aw... NYC has a palindrome day on thursday… now I don't feel very
special

AND it's way warmer there. Definitely not snowing in September.

Palindrome Wednesday

2009-09-26T14:22:00.002-08:00

So check it out:
on wednesday, the high is 42˚ and the low is 24˚

palindrome Wednesday!

new kicks

2009-07-30T23:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the only thing better than great new shoes is the long green
grass of summer.

Jalama Beach Cafe: Lompoc, CA

2009-07-01T10:06:00.000-08:00

currently 75 degrees and cloudless

currently digesting coffee, fries, and one Kobe beef and avocado burger.

Tokyo

2009-06-10T03:29:00.001-08:00

yes. Tokyo

ice

2009-06-02T06:55:00.000-08:00

the ship is was massive.
it was made to break passages where there were none. it's hull dense and reinforced to slide up on the sheet ice and cut through with it's own weight.

it was never taught how to feel sharpness because it was always the blade and never the butter. it's emotions are delayed. a masterful 30 second delay to separate a false positive from a real emergency... which means when the gauge reads low it is already too late.

[written April 17, 2007... found recently]

a hitchhiker told me i don't talk a lot... made me feel fine... made me quiet

2009-04-02T08:34:00.002-08:00

i recently found a band that i like: Blind Pilot

sometimes music just speaks to you, and sometimes it doesn't.

i won't go on to say that these musicians speak to my soul. i won't say that they found a voice to my inner monologue. i won't say that they capture the energy of my inner day, each and every day.

i won't say that i've listened to their album 4o times in the last week and a half

i imagine they are a few guys with a guitar and a simple drum. i imagine they feel good about the music they make. i imagine they like sharing it with the world and they would appreciate it if a few people sat down and listened to it.

i think there are moments in our lives when we are receptive to certain paths... when we want to see things presented to ourselves in a distinct way. i find it curious that the music that speaks to me comes from a band called Blind Pilot...

me being a pilot and all

not a bad image. a pilot being someone who is in control. who has possession of his world... someone who is skilled and trained to guide his being through all dimensions... but he's blind. flying on faith. or memory. or trust. or hope.

i've always been in control, or striving for it. i've always been driving, or at least i thought i have been. i suppose the first part of healing is admitting there is a problem

i'm not necessarily sure where i'm going. i'm not really sure what i'll find when i get there.

there... step one... now what?

Wax Poetic

2009-04-02T08:12:00.004-08:00

i wish i could remember what i was looking for.

it mustn't have been too large... smaller than a breadbox... and yet too big to put in my pocket. that's always how it is with important things... nebulous.

i think i felt it once in my hand. small and weighty, i could almost close my hands around it, two at a time, but not quite. i wish i had taken a better look, instead of just feeling it along my fingers and thinking i had it squared away... dicked... settled.

looking back, i never should have closed my eyes. i should have opened them, looked down, taken it all in. i should have held it up to my lips and breathed it in. i should have curled in a ball around it. i should have.

but i didn't, and i lost it

i must have put it down somewhere, thinking i'd come back for it... thinking i'd pick it up again... never figuring that it wouldn't be there when i finally reached for it...

you should have seen the look on my face... the fool... the sap... the imbecile.
the one who knew finally and too late

it is easy to forget sometimes... the value of what is in your hand. it is easy to look at what is on the horizon and forget that precious weight in your hand. i cannot explain what it feels like to have felt it and lost it... to have misplaced it... to have misprioritized... to have misfocused... to be awakened into your own personal incomplete reality.

time will heal. time always heals.
whatever that means

it means time helps you forget. time helps you move on. time helps you put distance between you and your mistakes. time makes it easier to distract yourself with the immediate pressing matters of the present and disremember the past... to let it fall out of focus.

so there it is, over my shoulder and out of focus... behind me.... possibly in front of me... but i can no longer remember the weight or shape in my hand. i can't even trust that i'd remember it if it's mass settled into my palm... or on my chest... or my heart... or my mind. so there is a trust, a blind faith, that it will all will be just fine...

surely i'll know. surely i'll recognize it.

surely i won't put it down on the piano, as i have before, and walk away to focus on other things. seemingly more pressing things. things on the horizon. things just beyond my grasp.

surely not.

truffula trees

2009-03-10T05:17:00.002-08:00

to reminisce

2009-02-02T04:42:00.006-09:00

this weekend i made gloriously soft homemade pretzels.
i made a spectacular curry from scratch.
i cooked a traditional hungarian goulash.
i created strawberry apple pancakes from thin air.
i pan-fried a steak medium rare and placed it on a bed of ginger sweet potatoes, green onions, red peppers, and asparagus.

and i washed it down with belgian beer

this weekend i cleaned my apartment... sort of.

this weekend i watched a vampire movie.

i watched the only football game that i've seen all year, i rooted for the underdog, and then didn't mind when they lost because i won the pot for the third and fourth quarters anyway.

this weekend i went looking for star anise, lemon grass, and galangal and came home sorely disappointed and empty handed... i had to substitute ginger for galangal, lime juice for lemongrass, and cinnimon for star anise... it's not the same people.

this weekend i ordered a 3-cup granite mortar and pestle and a 20-inch cast iron griddle.

this weekend i dropped off my car to get the suspension realigned after i kind of drove sideways into a curb on one particularly rambunctious day in the snow about three weeks ago.

this weekend i wore my flip flops even though it was 35 degrees outside.

this weekend i ordered an album called Push the Heart from a band called Devics because i stumbled across them and liked them.

this weekend i caught up with a handful of old friends on skype, that magical window into your loved one's homes halfway around the world.

this weekend i took a shower on saturday and on sunday but not today, because i had to get up right away to cook the pancakes.

this weekend i went with some friends who are about to get married to a lake in the nearby city and we walked around and i took pictures of the two of them looking oh-so-much in love.

this weekend i almost got guilted into playing pictionary.

this weekend will never happen again, but it was wonderful while it lasted.
love
p

trusted

2009-01-26T05:01:00.002-09:00

sometimes we find ourselves with a lack of trusted individuals... you know?

I know

now... i have to preface this... i have the kind of job where i need to be able to trust my LIFE with the person next to me... but that doesn't mean i need to trust my life with them... if you know what i mean...

quite literally, there are people that i would trust to defend me from those forces out in the world that would love to do me physical harm... and yet, i wouldn't share my personal life with them...

why is that? i mean... that's kind of fucked up... isn't it?

not really.

now, don't get me wrong, i love the guys i work with... i would even put myself in imminent danger on a regular basis if it meant that it would increase the chances that the guy next to me would get home safely...

but...

at the same time, i feel that my personal life is mine alone, and not one to be monitored or recorded or interpreted by any people other than those with whom i entrust it...

and that number is very small.

after all... we only NEED a small audience... above that and people are likely only looking for drama... for the most part, we only need a sounding board... above that and we lose control over what we wish to be out in the open.

strange though, isn't it? that i entrust those around me more with my cardiovascular and neurological state (read biological survival) than with my mental, cognitive, interpretive, and personal manifestations.

fucked up world it is sometimes.

i like to spend my time thinking about things sometimes

2009-01-02T20:54:00.001-09:00

my life sometimes feels a little bit... what's the word... amorphous.

nebulous... lacking clarity perhaps... for example: i like cottage cheese and wheat thins. i mean i really like it. i might even say that i love it, and those who know me might say, "yes, that is quite true, that guy loves his cottage cheese and wheat thins."

so, i thought, maybe that's a problem... MAYBE, i shouldn't like it so much. MAYBE i should vary my diet somewhat. MAYBE i shouldn't have two extra boxes of wheat thins my cabinet and two extra containers of cottage cheese in my fridge just to make sure i don't run out.

and so i went cold turkey.

this was a while ago, back when i lived in italia... about a year and a half ago.

i made a conscious decision to buy NEITHER cottage cheese NOR wheat thins (both of them being gateway foods you see... leading unwaveringly towards each other), and i survived. i varied my diet. i was happy.

and yet something happened and i can't quite explain it. something subtle and with a scheming laugh crawled through my mind and waited until just the right moment when i was walking down the cracker aisle... it waited until i was kind of distracted with some other tidbit of my life and it casually mentioned that maybe i might want to get a box of wheat thins for my self... just wheat thins. no harm in that really.

i mean, so what if i had a tub of cottage cheese already in my cart. it was purely a coincidence.

everyone knows that cottage cheese, when added to whisked eggs, makes the fluffiest scrambled eggs on earth... and i had been planning on eating the fluffiest scrambled eggs for a while. right?

"totally," said the subtle and scheming laugh

i'm not sure what happened afterwards, because it all seems like a blur now, but the next thing i remember is waking up on my floor with an empty box of wheat thins and a empty tub of cottage cheese with the realization that i was not as strong as i once believed.

friends complain that i don't call anymore. they say i never write them back.

when they come by i casually open my fridge and cabinets, in an offhand way, to reveal a total absence of wheat thins and cottage cheese... little do they know that the wheat thins are hidden in an unappetizing box of pancake mix and the cottage cheese is in an old yogurt tub.

some people may call it a problem, but i don't think i'm hurting anyone. i mean, i can handle myself.

but seriously... i was talking about amorphousness... nebulousness

pause

2008-12-28T00:55:00.003-09:00

once again, i haven't written in a while.

i suppose there is some kind of reason why it has fallen to the wayside. i was doing so well for a while. kind of like going to the gym... i'm not really that much of a gym-goer these days... ALTHOUGH, i did just get my new bike in the mail:

i replaced the white seat with a black leather Brooks saddle, but other than that, it's the same. i'm quite excited about it. it's a fixed gear, which means that there is only one gear and no derailers. the rear gear is fixed to the rear wheel so if the wheels turn, the pedals turn. there is no freewheeling on this guy.

when i first got him in the mail from the folks at Mission Bicycles in San Francisco, i put it together and jumped on to ride over to the bike store and doublecheck the tire pressure, which ended up being fine. on the way back to the dorms, i noticed i was riding right past the running/cycling track that runs around the perimeter of the base and couldn't resist taking it for a little spin...

so around the base i went, about 5-6 miles.

the first thing i noticed is what an entirely different experience riding a fixed gear bicycle is. because the legs are always moving, there is no period where one can rest one's legs, so i found myself getting into a groove with the motion. i also noticed quite quickly that i'm rather accustomed to coasting in a semi-standing position as i approach a bump... that doesn't quite work on this bike... you pedal over everything, whether you want to or not.

you also can't take corners quite as aggressively as you can on a freewheeling bike, as the pedal will hit the ground eventually.

i also noticed rather quickly how asymmetric my pedaling mechanics are. i've heard that fixed geared bikes were good at streamlining your pedaling form, but about mile 4, when my legs were a little fatigued, was when i really noticed how much i was favoring one leg. so strange.

the bottom line though: i forgot to wear gloves and it was below freezing, but even though my fingers were purple and felt like they were on fire for 20 minutes after i got home, i have been wearing a big smile on my face ever since.

hope you all had a happy holiday
happy new year

crastination

2008-11-02T10:00:00.003-09:00

it's only 4am.

i have two more hours to kill before i roll into bed... i'm on the night train and i like it.

there is something peaceful about being up in the middle of the night when everyone else is in bed. i preferred it when i was in school, and i think i still prefer it now. as much as i like to socialize, i like to have my time to myself as well. i'm not sure if everyone i work with could understand that. most of them seem addicted to peer attention and social interaction. i guess i'm just not as much of a social animal... as much.

i'll admit, i like company just as much as the next person, but i rarely crave it in the way that some people around here do.

i'm listening to Amon Tobin's album Permutation. i just bought it today... i think i may be officially addicted to iTunes. they should seriously have a mileage program (or something) with their accounts... i'd have a free round-trip ticket to anywhere in the continental United States by now... anyways, the album rocks. me gusta... as them native spanish speakers say.

and, as i said that, i just bought Venetian Snares' album Rossz Csillag Alatt Szuletatt... somebody stop me... no more iTunes.

i put some more photos up on Flickr today. it has also been a while since i had done that... since early September, right after i got back from Mongolia. i figure it was about time... besides, i am working on a little project that got me refocused again.

i LOVE projects... capital L

now it's 05:30am... time for sleep i suppose... lest the sun rise and throw my clock off.
good night.

As-Salāmu Aleykum

2008-11-02T08:45:00.007-09:00

myself: it has... once again... been awhile... welcome back me.

me: thanks, it's good to be back myself

myself: where have you been, i must ask?

me: apparently i have been waylaid by the distractions.

myself: the distractions, eh? do explain.

me: well, you see... the distractions are those little things that distract us... me, myself, and I... and depending on the current, the distractions can be more or less effective.

myself: what current might this be?

me: the current is the flow of daily life... it's tied into the larger flow of the week... and then again into the months and years that make up the current of our lives... it requires that there be a positive charge and a grounded element to create the motion, direction, and flow... IF one of those two elements is missing, the flow can slow, stop, or even reverse. THAT's when the distractions come in... they act as resistors to flow... they act to diffuse the current and to dilute it, creating a loss of focus and perspective.

myself: that sounds pretty cosmic amigo.

me: well, it is friend... quite cosmic indeed.

myself: so what has changed? i assume the current had stalled... and now it's flowing again?

me: good way to think of it i suppose... current can only go one way at a time. if it tries to go in to many directions at once, it'll stall every time, especially if there is no ground... and i had been missing a ground for quite some time.

myself: i would say so. it's been since July first, but better late than never i suppose. it's just good to see you writing again. it feels pretty cleansing doesn't it?

me: yes sir it does; quite cleansing. i can't even imagine at this point what would have made me put down the pen for so long... that's four long months.

myself: yeah, but you were pretty busy that whole time. you were getting ready to spend a month bouncing around between a week in Florida and two weeks in Mongolia... then you were back home for two weeks, then you were off again to Montgomery, Alabamba for five weeks. so now this is the longest you've been home in 4 months.

me: yeah, i suppose, AND i'm leaving again next weekend for Ubergirlelijah's wedding.

myself: TOTALLY looking forward to THAT!

me: indeed.

myself: so you're good? back in one piece?

me: i'm good. focusing on getting the current back on track... trying to keep it focused and not spread out in too many directions.

myself: Insha'allah.

me: indeed.

slightly watered down

2008-07-01T04:53:00.003-08:00

a dilution of sorts

where the thoughts in my mind are translucent but i still just can't grasp them

i'm listening to kate nash. it's tuesday night and my cider is almost empty. my stomach is poking me in the ribs and whining, but i have yet to make a move towards the fridge...

soon, dear stomach, soon

i've gotten into a bad habit lately of procrastinating with my feedings in the evening. i wait and wait instead of just sucking it up and cooking something. then, when i can't stand it anymore, i fix something quickly... or i eat chips and salsa... the dinner for last night.

it's not exactly the most fulfilling meal in the world, but it is spicy.

a friend recently pointed out that perhaps i am too passive in my approach to life. perhaps i allow other people to take the reigns too often, they said. perhaps i should stand up for what i would like to pursue. i am truly thankful for this flavor of insight.

this is a wonderful idea, all i have to do is figure out what exactly it is that i wish to pursue. that, however, is where all the complicated bits come into play:

i want it all. i want everything.

i want experiences that no one else has. i want security. i want a chance to test my mettle. i want to be recognized for my abilities. i want to be anonymous. i want to risk and be rewarded. i want a slower pace of life. i want to draw my friends closer. i want to excel. i want to blow it off. i want to inspire and be inspired. i want to chase down my fears at a full sprint and tackle them to the dirt, laughing and tugging at their hair. i want simplicity. i want minimalism. i want clarity. i want freedom to say what i think and stand behind my words.

i want to know what my words would mean if i said them aloud
and to the people they are meant for

......

i would agree with my friend: i am passive in many aspects of my life. i do go with the flow to see where it will take me. as much as people think i stand waist deep in the current and dig my heels in... as much as people think i swim upstream... i think most of the time i'm floating on my back with my toes in the air and my eyes closed.

i'm making it up as i go along. isn't everyone?

two hours

2008-06-29T04:33:00.003-08:00

the drive up north to where my friends live is two hours.

i don't have a lot of close friends up there... in fact, i could count them on less than one hand. some of them i've met recently, some of them i've known for years, but i trust them all.

the drive is a little long, but definitely worth it... especially now, and even in the heat with a car with a weak-sauce air conditioner.

it rained all the way up there, so i had the cool comfort of driving my warm and dry little bubble up through the deluge with windshield wipers furiously slapping the water away. instead of music, i listened to all my unlistened-to episodes of This American Life... the drive takes almost exactly two episodes.

usually, i listen to the episodes at home on my computer after work while i'm making dinner of some sort. this is the first time i've ever actually put my 'podcasts' on an ipod for use on the road, and i would consider it a success.

i found myself driving along and looking outside as i listened to ira glass' voice... listening to all the stories... i found myself looking at the endless sea of rice fields. every stalk looks like the exact same height as it's neighbor when witnessed at 60 miles an hour... every paddy looks like the rice paddy to the side. they are all stacked slightly so as to use the runoff of the rice paddy above it and so they cascade down to the sea around raised roads and ramshackle homes.

the sunset reflects in the water around each spike of green. the grey sky itself is reflected in the silver fields. i found myself remarking on the physical beauty of the place. i wanted to stop the car and walk about. i wanted to sit on a hillside and take it all in.

but i was in my little bubble rolling through the hills listening to ira glass' voice and contemplating the various stories of various lives... as well as my own.

and thinking about the sheer quantity of green that i was witnessing... and how as much as the country is now green, just 7 months ago it was that brown... with nothing green.

green to me is the color of freshness and rebirth. it is the color of both the struggle of life and the serenity that the struggle leaves behind in it's wake.

you can fit a lot of green in two hours

weird dream

2008-06-24T10:30:00.003-08:00

so i'm going to do something here that i haven't done in a while... since i was a kid actually.

i'll explain:

when i was a kid. if i had a bad dream, i would most likely wake up, be all scared, then go back to sleep to the very same dream. it was so frustrating. when i was about 14 or so, i thought maybe i should try writing them down as a way to get those dreams out of my head, so i kept a notebook beside my bed. if the same dream woke me up a couple of times, i'd just turn on my light, write down as much of the dream as i remembered, and go back to sleep... usually peacefully, and often i'd never have that dream again.

so here i am. an adult, having a bad dream. granted, i know it's a bad dream, which i didn't necessarily know when i was six. it wasn't super scary, but it wasn't the most restful thing in the world either... i think bad dreams change as you get older... fewer monsters and more stressors.

but maybe that's just me... i can't say that's the case for everyone.

my dream took place in a variety of environments, and at the same time, in the usual temporally inconsistent dream fashion: out in the pitch black woods at night and in my old bedroom from when i was a kid, among other places that have now blurred away into the waking world.

in the woods i had the feeling that i was with a group of people who were hiding from something. i couldn't see the people i was with, but i knew we were all out there. it was some sort of game. we couldn't get caught. something... somethings were looking for us, and they were good. the had phenomenal hearing and smell. they could move around easily in the dark, but they couldn't see very well, so as long as you laid absolutely still they probably would find you.

but they would walk amongst you. i could feel their feet push off the ground next to where i was laying as one by one they stepped over me, and they were massive things. i could feel the earth displace with their steps. i was nervous they would crush me if by chance they accidentally stepped on me. but that was their game... that's how they got you to move. that's how they found you, because they could only smell you. they wanted you to make a sound.

meanwhile THEY would make sounds. kind of a humming moaning chant that sounded like a song.

there was nothing scary about their song except that it didn't have words.. and it was related to them, and that make it scary.

so then, in my dream, i woke up to find myself in the dark in my childhood room... in bed. i knew where i was because i could just make out the features. it was very quiet for a few minutes and i just laid there. then i heard the chanting/ moaning again... it was coming from the hallway outside the door, and i froze. i knew if i moved or made a sound that they would come in...

how did they find me in my old room? i don't know man, it's a dream.

suddenly the door opened, and my uncle mike walked in. he used to live with us growing up, and was like a second dad to me. he passed away ten years ago last february.

he was trying to say something to me, and he was obviously upset, so they words really weren't coming out very clearly. either that or i can't remember them anymore, but the jist of it is that 'why was i making all this noise'. at the same time, he wasn't blaming me. he knew i wasn't making it, because he could see me and still hear it at the same time. but he was a little upset... as was i. i couldn't explain it to him because i still couldn't make a sound.

like when you wake up from a dream when you're a kid and you try to scream but have no voice.

i couldn't talk, even though i wanted to.

so my uncle left, and i laid there for a few minutes until the sounds passed, then i got up and ran down the hall into his room since i could finally move, but he wasn't there.

my grandparents were in his bed, but i realized it too late, and had already roused my grandfather, who grabbed me in his sleep, sat up, and smacked me hard, thinking i was an intruder. then my grandmother woke up, and i tried to explain what was going on and they said to stop imagining things, and to go back to bed.

so i did, and the sounds came back... this time in my room.

then i woke up and found myself here. i thought it was perhaps time to revisit that old practice of mine, and write it down to let it go.

thank you for your help.
goodnight.

because

2008-06-05T06:24:00.004-08:00

about this time yesterday night
conditions seemed to be just right
to pick some words, to make them rhyme
in simple metronomic time

there are no patterns in these deeds
no metaphors or hidden seeds
just rhyming words all in a row
they come as fast as ink can flow

when i was young i wrote much more
i'd lay stretched out upon the floor
with pen in hand and words in head
and little thought to what i said

i have no reason why i write
it's not from sadness, fear, or spite
more likely 'cause i like the sound
of metered rhyming words around

shells

2008-06-03T07:09:00.003-08:00

there were some shells down by the sea
but they all looked the same to me
my feet were wet, my skin was burned
the sun had set, the whitecaps churned

then at my feet was one unique
and modest shell that seemed to speak
into my soul, into my ear
in one small voice that i could hear

i am like you, it said to me
i spend all day down by the sea
and i look up, while you look down
we both see sameness all around

but don't be sad with empty hands,
or pockets full of dripping sands,
for in the search it matters not
just what you find: it's how it's sought

bamboo

2008-06-01T06:10:00.001-08:00

jeonju

a few images of this past weekend

2008-05-28T06:30:00.003-08:00

return to Jikso Falls

Camping along the beach

more camping on the beach.

cinco de mayo: a 30 second history

2008-05-05T06:55:00.003-08:00

Have a wonderful time celebrating General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguin's victory over the French forces led by Charles de Lorencez on May 5th, 1862 in the Battle of Puebla.

Napoleon the third was owed money by mexico and sent a veritable grip of troops over to collect. The Brits and Spaniards were owed money as well, and they jumped on the band wagon. After they showed up in January of 1862 though, they realized that there wasn't much reason to be there and they made their apologies and went back home three months later.

Napoleon's forces, on the other hand, got their butts whipped in the Battle of Puebla on the 5th of May because they stuck around. This kind of pissed off ol' Nappy and he sent another 15000 troops. It took him 5 more years to conquer most of Mexico.

Now I'm not a genius, but i think it probably cost more to fight a 5 year war over the Atlantic Ocean than Mexico could have possibly owed them... also, given the fact that I've never heard a Mexican speak French, I think it is arguably one of the stupidest and most pointless military efforts that the French have ever undertaken.

i feel like a margarita.

viva

wanderer

2008-04-27T06:13:00.003-08:00

so i'm beginning to wonder...

what does it say about me that i usually spend a lot of time thinking about where i'll be going next?... besides the fact that i move often. i'm sensing a bit of overall restlessness in my lifestyle. it is a strange contradiction that a job with so much security might leave so much open to chance.

does the fact that i focus so much on where i'll be 8 months from now mean that i'm somehow not experiencing the present? am i living in the future? and if so, is that a bad thing? or does it crush my instinctive, seat-of-the-pants approach to life? or does it exacerbate it.

so many questions. all i know is that i spend a lot of time waiting for things to happen, instead of making them happen. i just hope i'm not solidifying a lifetimes worth of patterns here.

i suppose we shall see.

inspiration

2008-04-27T05:02:00.002-08:00

comes from breathing in.

it comes from opening your lungs and filling yourself. it comes from the tingling in your skin and the pulse in your stomach. it runs through your tearducts and leaps our across your cheeks. it comes from the stretch of your muscles and the way you lean forward into your being, leveraging your strength with your bones.

you have to take that energy inside you and you need to release it. you need to focus that breath and concentrate on it's form. you need to decide if it is going to be warm and soft or cold and directed. you have to share it. you have to risk something. you have to put a piece of yourself in every breath. you have to invest yourself.

for what good is breathing in, if you never breathe out again?

i can't wait for a chance. i can't wait to exhale. i have to make the conscious decision to make it happen everyday.

maybe this blog is my small way of doing this. maybe it is a place to focus my breath from time to time... perhaps it is a surrogate form... a shell to carry the air for a while. i'm not sure if it is enough, but at least it reminds me of what i want and what i need.

i don't really have a good reason why i write here. there is no message. there is no intended audience. there isn't really any focus... mostly it's just a way of talking out loud... and tossing a little bit of myself out into the world.

drinking and devising

2008-04-25T06:41:00.003-08:00

ah time for the drunken free write... oh so dangerous:

one never knows what one may reveal after a long week at work and a six pack of beers topped off with a white russian of the upmost caliber... if you don't know, i make a MEAN white russian... they taste more like vanilla ice cream than any sort of beverage. you should be so lucky as to taste one.

tonight was group movie night... unofficially... we watched 3:10 to Yuma, which is an interesting western... it left me feeling more for the 'villian' than for the main character... which is a little disappointing. it actually makes me rethink who the protagonist is in the first place.... more storytime and back plot is given to the 'good' guy, but the denoument seems to hinge more on the 'villian,' so there is a little bit of conflict there.

last night we watched Superbad... which was entertaining in it's own right... a little bit offensive perhaps, but entertaining nonetheless... definitely reminiscent of the shallowness and disconnectedness of high school.

a lot of people liked high school... they think of it as their wonder years... they have fond memories and continue to identify with their social status as it was formed in grade 9.

personally, i thought high school sucked. ever since i was a freshman, i couldn't wait to get to college. really i didn't care where that college was, as long as there were dorm pranks, since that is the 'college experience' that was introduced to me in freshman english by a substitute teacher, who thought that college was truly the time for a person to come into their own....

in the end... he was right... it was glorious.

wow... if any of that makes any sense... it is the result of pure luck.

peace

haiku for you

2008-04-24T06:38:00.003-08:00

a haiku dedicated to all of those who have spent too much time at work:

twas dark when i left

and fourteen hours later
dark when i returned

here is another one for your haiku-lovin:

eyelids are heavy
sacks of rice in outstretched hands
beginning to fall

why not one more... we're on a roll:

white kitchen trash can
you reek of wednesday chicken
it's only thursday

thank you... thank you... you're too kind...

kool-aid: here's to drinking it

2008-04-23T04:46:00.003-08:00

i find that in my profession (working for the man) there is often a feeling that one needs to forever strive to achieve a certain level that otherwise floats above the average person's head. not everyone will make it to that level, but they are expected to want that final goal just like everyone else. woe to the person who makes it known that they could care less about achieving that order of status, for they shall be smitten and cast aside in the 'lesser jobs.'

in layman's terms: drink the kool-aid... or else.

well, i don't know about you, but i don't really like the taste of kool-aid... it's too sugary... and it turns my lips pink. i'd rather have water, or tea, or coffee, or a beer... mmmmmmm... beer.

apparently though, kool-aid is the generally accepted and government endorsed beverage of choice.

MOST of the time, this isn't a factor... the kool-aid gets passed around and you smile and offer your cup, and after big brother passes on, you make a grand gesture with one hand as you fling the kool-aid behind you with the other.... for the most part, this is highly successful.

EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE though, big brother hands you a cup of kool-aid and waits for you to drink it right in front of him. these are the moments i fear. they are the moments when i wonder if my smile is faltering. when i wish i could control that insidious twitch in my left eye. when i hope i don't gag, or worse yet, vomit my kool-aid in a high arch for all to see.

lately though, i wonder if i shouldn't just look someone in the eye and tell the truth... 'no, i'm not interested in your silly kool-aid... that's great that you love it so much, but it's not for me... i prefer (insert favorite beverage here).'

but in the meantime, i don't... i drink it... i smile... i ask for another glass please and i lick my lips and rub my tummy and say, 'gee, isn't that the best kool-aid EVER! EVERYONE should want some.'

it is the little things like these, these little facades, that frustrate me... and somewhere deep inside of me, i wish i could just blow it off and say, 'hell if i care.'

the overall most confusing thing is.... i'm not sure if i don't.

long absence

2008-04-22T04:36:00.002-08:00

i suppose it's been a while.

i've had an ebb and flow of creative energy lately... more ebb than flow... mainly i just haven't felt like writing. i've been using my time doing other things after i get home from work... mostly listening to music and cooking, i suppose. i've lately achieved a sort of locally esteemed status as one-who-cooks-really-good food.

actually, i am proud to say that in the last month or so, i've managed to create a sort of informal salon environment. i framed a bunch of art and hung it on the walls... a few photos of my own, a few paintings and prints from friends, and a couple of prints by jordan crane. ('below the dark water,' 'light for dark,' and 'alone with the world')

then i started mixing drinks... informally at first. white russians, bloody mary's (for those saturday mornings), screwdrivers, and some delicious concoctions involving vodka, OJ, and mango juice. strangely enough, people started to gather. we would hang out. we would watch movies. we would shoot the shit.

and then eventually, the hunger would kick in and out would come the banana pancakes, and the stir fry, and the steaks, and the pizza, and the late-night spaghetti, and the breakfast burritos.

rinse lather repeat.

as time passed, my repertoire grew into a veritable menu.

however, by saying that i have become renown for my cooking ability, i fail to put the situation in the proper perspective... for there are not a whole lot of people who actually cook food in this building... mostly people heat things to a palatable temperature. the fact that i have a shelf full of spices, the fact that i have tomato paste and yeast in my refrigerator door, and the fact that i cut an avocado in its peel are about as much qualification as one needs to differentiate one's self as a 'cook.'

so what else have i been doin?

well, take last weekend for example: friday was a evening of festivities, starting around 7 and ending around 1am. there was much drunken buffoonery and social imbibing.

the next morning was a social breakfast... which meant that i opened my door, started cooking, and people walked in and ate. i made breakfast burritos with onions, asparagus, peppers, eggs, sundried tomatoes, black beans, extra-sharp cheddar, and avocados...

i wish i had taken a picture, but alas the only memory is in the lining of my stomach... they were pretty sexy burritos, if one can freely use such an adjective in that context.

afterwards we all put our walking shoes on and set out for a waterfall about an hours drive to the south. the only map that we have showed the waterfall on the southern side of an east-west penninsula... the coastal road seemed to pass a few miles to the south of the falls so we decided to make our hike from the south...

once we started our hike we discovered two things:

1) koreans do not believe in switchbacks... the trails go STRAIGHT UP the mountain.
2) the waterfall is most easily accessed from the north... because there is a large mountain just to the south of the falls.

we made the first discovery rather quickly, but the second discovery was much more heartbreaking... we had barely made it up the 1200' altitude gain in 1.2km... the last thing we wanted to do was descend ANY AMOUNT AT ALL to get to the falls if it meant we would have to climb up again to get back to our car... it was quite a dilemma for a few minutes... we stood at the top of the peak looking down the path that curved over the edge and out of sight... no one wanted to say, 'let's go back' because we were already invested... no one wanted to say 'onward' because we had no idea how far down we would have to descend to the falls... finally we figured we had come this far already... and down we went.

the falls themselves were... well... pretty nice. the walk itself was beautiful... the last of the cherry blossoms are still clinging to the branches in the valley above the falls. it would have been nice to jump into the pool at the bottom, but apparently there are some fairly significant health related reasons not to.... so we didn't.

this is Colt as we emerged from the far side of the peak and got our first glimpse of the valley where our car was parked.

there was much rejoicing.

sunday is for SNDC, which is sunday night dinner club... this week, i cooked... usually we switch off, or it is potluck style... but this week i just cranked out four pizzas and a bunch of focaccia bread. someone else made a wicked sangria and yet another mustered a fierce salad.

good eats all around.
c'est la vie

creation

2008-03-30T04:40:00.004-08:00

i am at a loss. i’m not sure where my creative juices have flown off to recently. possibly into my work... but it is more likely that they have simply evaporated into thin air, like sweat.

if i could watch the process very closely through a microscope, i would be able to see the crystals left behind on my skin as the small beads of creativity precipitate through the skin and glitter upon the surface before they shimmer away into the air.

if i licked my skin, it would taste like an idea, and flow across my tongue with energy and focus. the nerve endings below the capillaries would transcribe the message with their chemical binary charges and send it on the first train to my brain, which would reverberate the signal among the lesser avenues and boulevards to the low rent district where the artist nerves dwell.

and there would be a commotion. there would be a buzz of excitement as lights came on and voices assembled. one by one, a consensus would be reached about a direction and a message would be built to travel down to the arm and hand and fingers.

it would be a sort of symphony. there would be pages of dictation. there would be volumes of carefully orchestrated patterns of contractions and relaxions that would allow each muscle fibre to follow the plan... each fiber, each tendon, would be standing by, eager to sightread the directions at first opportunity... instruments tuned... synapses bristling.

and then it would happen... the first instructions would arrive... the dance would begin, with every instrument carefully measuring every motion, giving feedback to the composers up top with every fraction of resistance and friction.

and so it would go for as long as it needed to... those low rent tenants up top would organize and speak their mind, for all the world to hear.

wheels and pledges

2008-03-02T04:57:00.003-09:00

i've been looking for a car for two months, and i finally got one on friday.

finally.

it is a piece of crap, rusted through to the core, to the point that the body and frame are more likely rusted together than bolted together... but it has style... possibly even a bit of soul.

it has been neglected at least for the last six years that it has been in korea. it has been abused. it has been taken for granted. in a way, that makes me love it all the more. originally i had plans to bring it back to life, to put some time and money into it, and to fulfill it's destiny as a great automobile.

but i think now that might be too large a task for me. i think there are many horse trainers who have hoped beyond hope to nurse a horse back from a terrible break into the winner's circle, and few, if any, have succeeded.

actually, i'm not even sure if it will make it through the year. but even so, i will not abandon it. i will not neglect it further. i will not drive it into the dirt until it crumbles. i will attempt to give it back some of it's dignity. i will attempt to let it wear, once again, with pride... it's name:

JEEP

necessary pause

2008-02-23T07:56:00.005-09:00

sometimes you need a break.
sometimes you need someone to pat you on the back and say:
"well done... good job"

and sometimes you just need to take a moment and hold the walls up

sometimes you can just feel the rhythm.
sometimes you can be dancing and it feels like you are moving at a different pace than anyone else in the world.
you feel time crawling across your being, and you like it

sometimes you have to give props.
sometimes you feel it in your chest.
sometimes, on the dance floor, you have to flex your muscles

sometimes you have to show your friends that you feel the same way

and sometimes, you have to count to eight

twas a good evening tonight

wash

2008-02-19T06:25:00.003-09:00

i think i need a new shampoo.

first of all. i think they could have could have come up with a better name for something you use to wash your hair... sham poo

in layman's terms: something that is purported to be poo, but is not.

i would argue that this is not a good name. likely that it was invented by the same guy that thought the Chevy Nova had a good enough name to market in latin america... never realizing that 'No va' means... does no go. i'm not even sure what is worse: the fact that it is purported to be poo in the first place? or that it is falsely advertised as poo, when it isnt?

i'm losing you here. i can tell.

but i digress... back to my sham poo and why i need to switch brands: i'm dissatisfied with the product. i believe that it is defective, because it doesn't seem to work.

why? because i see the commercials. i know what it is supposed to look like when you wash your hair. you're supposed to have a huge smile on your face. you're supposed to be standing underneath a showerhead that most definitely is not limited to 2.5 gallons per minute, and you are supposed to lather your head into a rich crown of bubbles as your eyes close, and the water decelerates to slow motion as it effortlessly rinses every remnant of the poo away. it's not supposed to get in your eyes... and you should never have to lather, rinse, and repeat. i mean, have you seen the size of the lather on TV? that should be good enough the first time around.

although, i'd have to say, if taking a shower was really that much fun... i would probably lather all day long.

but it isn't... and i don't... it has to be faulty sham poo.

checkers

2008-02-17T06:18:00.004-09:00

the album of the day is The Digital Chronicles by Trentemoller.

it's what is going through my ears as i write this... not a bad little mesh of inner head sounds to rattle around. i came across it today in my meanderings and i thought i'd check it out. it is kind of an electronic version of Japancakes... sort of... but not really... ok, they don't resemble each other at all.

and for something completely unrelated, there is www.themoth.org

it is a gathering place of sorts, probably more correctly referred to as a venue, for storytelling. normal people with their stories... of the varieties made famous by campfires, and salons. you can check out the website as easily as i can explain it. there is an option to listen to a cross-section of them, and i would recommend it, assuming you have a few minutes and assuming you enjoy that kind of thing. perhaps you don't.

it is a cleaning day today. i've lived in a state of clutter for too long in this place, and since a low drag life was my resolution, i decided i had lived with drag for quite long enough.

i put away laundry. i cleaned dishes. i went though mail and filed papers. i went back over my taxes to make sure i didn't forget anything. i cleaned off my desk and actually threw things away instead of just shoving them into a drawer. i feel like i squeezed a whole can of shaving cream into my hands, rubbed it over my entire apartment, and shaved it smooth with a razor.

i even went back once more and went against the grain, lightly, and rubbed it over with my fingertips to see if i had missed any spots.

then there was the steaming hot washcloth to pull everything out and wash it all away.

my space feels clean again; soft and comfortable.

so my apartment gets a little stubbly from time to time... it happens. it is the breathing in and out of my space. it is the yin and the yang. it is the ebb and the flow. nevertheless, it is probably no surprise that i absolutely loved the bar where we ended up last night.

for one, it was down a dark alley:

EVERY good bar belongs on a dark alley, away from the hustle and bustle, and known only to the unassumingly hip.

second of all, it was full of stacks of old CDs... mixes and albums, both store-bought and burned. it seemed like a forgotten cemetary of mix tapes, left over from middle school crushes... once lost behind the couch or discarded, they slowly began the endless march around the world towards this bar... DeepIn. one by one they have arrived over the course of decades.

one might wonder what it is that calls to me in that place. it is simply my favorite kind of bar: small, dark, lots of wood, and filled with the handmarks of patrons past. the bar itself wasn't polished to a glossy sheen, it had the matte worn grain of wood that has held up ten thousand pints, hundreds of games of cribbage, and the occasional game of solitaire.

soft conversations were going on at each table and people took their time. there was no raging dance party. there were no waitresses on roller skates. there was no meat market.

there were people leaning into each other, with a beer in one hand, and a story in the other... like moths lean into the flame.

green door

2008-02-10T04:42:00.001-09:00

apparently i haven’t been much of a writer lately.

so what have i been up to, you might ask? good question. both lots and little.

i am reminded of family dinners long past... the seven or eight of us gathered around the dinner table... dad had just come home from a trip... all he wanted was to catch up on the current events of the household. there was the inevitable question. it wasn’t a difficult one, and yet for some reason, i could never really think of a suitable answer:

‘so patrick, what did you learn in school today?’

‘nothin’

this was of course a source of endless frustration for my father, because ‘nothing’ was not an acceptable answer. it did not even come close to the intent of the question. of course, at the time, my mind was truly obscured with the fog of puberty, and my world extended approximately to my fingertips in all directions around me. i did not realize that a more suitable answer would have been:

‘you know dad? at my current phase of development, i am mostly overwhelmed by the unstable social foundations inherent in the hormone-saturated environment of my high school, and that tends to take the majority of my daily focus. instead of daily homework and class discussions, my concentration floats more around whether or not it is too revealing to sit next to a certain girl that i may (or may not) be interested in. then, if i do decide to sit next to her, i have to try to use my highest order of problem solving skills and non-verbal cue recognition to determine whether or not she thinks i’m making an ass of myself and whether i should be more overt or more covert in my emotionally charged yet highly directionless undertaking. so while you are most likely referring to what stage of modern world history my test is on tomorrow, realistically, i have no clue... because i gave her a note after lunch and have yet to receive a reply.’

instead... i would say:

‘nothin’

and focus dilligently on my mashed potatoes and chicken breast... hoping the question would go away or be passed on to the next person down the line. it never worked.

but WHY? you might ask... WHY did you just sit there when all of that was running through your head?

like i said; fog and friction. those were confusing days, and besides, those battlefield decisions were such an everyday fact of life that they seemed trivial... both unworthy of discussion and embarrasingly raw at the same time.

which brings us to today. what have i been up to?

nothin

appetite

2008-01-21T05:40:00.000-09:00

i ate seven hundred and fifty five of them today... in handfuls.

sometimes i eat macaroni and cheese in that fashion almost swallowing without chewing, and i chide myself... for one should chew. i've been trying to chew more lately, but somewhere along the path i started a habit of inhaling, like a jet engine inlet... more of a rush to fill an area of low pressure within me.

sometimes it sweeps in bugs and pebbles... at the worst, small children and mammals.

today there was apparently quite an area of low pressure, because i inhaled seven hundred and fifty five pages... two books...

in one sitting... well, not one sitting exactly.

i got up a few times to pee and once i had to leave the house for 20 minutes to walk down the street, since i'm out of food, but then i was back to the inhaling.

which books? i thought you might ask... over christmas my revered and beautifully amazing cousin elijah presented me with the dark materials trilogy by phillip pullman. i read the golden compass on the flight over the pacific, but then i hadn't yet touched the second book until this morning... when i awoke, turned on the lamp, and reached for it next to my bed without even adjusting the pillow.

i constantly hunger for a good series, and i'm always a little sad when i come to the end. i wish perhaps that i had chewed a little more.

but it isn't really a conscious choice, is it? because once the images start flowing in your mind and the words blur off the page into faces and landscape, the story itself choses the pace.

here is a photo that i took on the flight from frankfurt to L.A.

i share it because it is of the ice floes east of greenland, north of the arctic circle. the sun is on the horizon at noon because we are so far north. i had wondered if the route would take us north of the sun. i sat by the window and watched in wonder for hours as we drove from the sun until it fell to the horizion and seemingly grappled with the earth with every color in it's power to regain it's footing... which it did, slowly and surely.

a four hour sunset followed by a four hour sunrise.

it reminded me of the landscape of the book, in the beginning, in the north. in the land of Iorek Byrnison and beautiful lights.

it's no wonder i couldn't slow to chew.

2008

2008-01-19T09:07:00.000-09:00

something for the new year:

for one, my resolution. everyone makes resolutions. even if you don't sit down and hold up a drink on new years eve and say, 'this year i resolve to...', you still make them.

my resolution this year is a new one. it encompasses many different facets of my life. it was suggested to me by a close friend and i have chosen to take it up as my own..

this year i resolve to reduce drag... to live a low drag life.

by that i mean that i want to reduce things that stick out in my life. i want to lay aside those things that weigh me down: if there are dishes, they will be cleaned instead of just laid on the counter. if there is laundry, it will be washed often. if there is clutter, it will be tidied. if there is a lack of energy, i will go to the gym. if there is something on my plate, it will be taken care of early, instead of being steeped in the guilty stress of procrastination. if something needs to be done, i will do it.

in addition, this means that i will not play games. scrabble and parcheesi, yes... social political games no. i will be clear in what i want, so that i do not confuse myself by striving for what someone else wants for me just because it seems like it would keep doors open. i will focus on the path that is mine and not be apologetic. i will own it. i will live out of purpose instead of fear. i will live in action instead of reaction.

if i was an arrow, and i was to find my target and pierce it... i would have to point at it. i would have to shut out distractions. i would have to calm my breathing. i would have to steady my pulse. i would have to extend my very point out across space to the place where i wished to be... before i ever even left the string of the bow.

i will strive to live freely in a streamlined and conscious manner.

i resolve to live a low drag life.

*whoosh*

rootless

2008-01-16T07:37:00.000-09:00

it is a pretty good description of how i've felt lately, and for many reasons.

for one, i've been essentially living out of a suitcase since the 5th of december... it is the 17th of january now people... and i have another week from today until i'll be able to move into my new home.

since 1995, when i graduated from high school, i have moved 18 times. that is an average of one move every 36 weeks. while most of those moves have been back and forth between northern california and southern california (or colorado) during school, a great deal of them have been to overseas... switzerland, italy, korea... and a great deal of them have been in the south... georgia, alabama, texas.

one could say that i have fostered a lifestyle of mobility, and one would think that i'd have it down by now. perhaps all of my furniture is collapsable, or better yet, inflatable. or perhaps i don't own any, preferring the sparse interior design of an art gallery. but no...

i have tons of shit.

heaps. veritable boatloads... perhaps a small boat, but a boat nonetheless.

i have drawers full of projects to be completed. i have tools for every opportunity. i have every type of art supply. i have boxes of pictures to be scanned and restored. i have boxes of books i have read. i have rooms full of furniture that totally doesn't go with anything else i have.

and this is AFTER the great purge... the great burning... where i tried to minimize my clutter and streamline my possessions. i sold the recliner couch and the oversized armchairs with matching ottomen... (ottomen? ottomans?). i put things in storage. i gave things away.

molto. that's italian for 'a lot.'

i have molto.

soon i will move into my dorm room. that will help. i will unpack my bags. i will set up my computer. i will turn on some music. perhaps some little roots will form.

golden bricks and purpose

2007-11-25T12:03:00.000-09:00

i am returned to a memory where i was maybe 17.

there was a camping trip. a backpacking trip actually, starting at the trailhead at the top of the tram above palm springs. we got a late start, so we ended up catching the LAST tram up to the trailhead, and we would be hiking after sunset... in the dark.

in general, this is not a good idea.

i was with friends, and i had made the trip before, albeit during the day, so i was the local expert. it was about an hour and 15 minute hike up to a small campsite in a clearing next to a creek.

it was night time. it was only a matter of time. it took us all of 30 minutes to lose the trail.

before i knew it, we were standing on what was most definitely NOT the trail between the sound of two rivers. the forest was illuminated by moonlight between the branches. everything was either silver or black; a glittering and obscure amsel adams photograph.

honestly, i had no clue where we were anymore.

but i figured we were probably CLOSE to the trail, and we should probably head towards the sound of water... to... the.. right. yes, definitely the creek to our right.

and so we went onward, floundering, charging, tripping, laughing, cursing, stumbling through the woods in the middle of the night. every shadow behind every tree was a bear, or a crazy axe wielding woodsman. any moment now we were going to happen upon that creek that sounded so DAMN close and yet constantly eluded us, laughing the whole time.

then suddenly, i felt it.

it was a subtle change, but it was there.

the path. the trail. the golden brick road.

and just as soon as we found it, i saw the small wooden footbridge that we needed to cross, and we found ourselves at our campsite. it was one in the morning. we had walked for three hours. we had scrambled over tree trunks. we had crawled through crevices. we had doubted. we had believed. we had not turned back... not that we knew which direction 'back' was.

and yet, at the end... we were where we needed to be.

that's all. just a memory.

finished

2007-11-24T07:47:00.000-09:00

the clouds are still breathing, and with the sunset the interminable raindrops seem to have washed all the light out of the sky.

i finished the last page of Middlesex. i recommend it... i was planning on saving it for monday while the movers packed and shuffled furniture into crates, but the inertia was too powerful to overcome. i couldn't put it down. i was thirsty but i didn't stop to grab a glass of water. i was hungry but i didn't stir towards the kitchen.

it's not that i couldn't have if i had wanted to... i just didn't want to. reading is SO much better than packing.

and it's saturday. so there.

but now i have no excuse. i put some marley on the speakers... bob and i go way back.

off to work.

people vs. the rain

2007-11-24T04:28:00.000-09:00

it is still raining.

occasionally the water slows from it's torrent into a drizzle and then perhaps an actual pause. it is the wearied inhale as the skies catch their breath between gross exhalations of pent up weight.

i woke up this morning again to the sound of water running off the roof and across the window panes, blurring the obscured monochromatic world of wet leaves and roosting birds.

my goal was to be productive. i intended to embody an whirlwhind of efficiency, but alas i have been anything but.

i checked my mail. i went out and bought spackle to repair the myriad of injuries that i have afflicted upon my walls over the last few years. i ate a burrito. i perused a magazine. i read 40 pages of Middlesex. i had german beer that i cannot identify because of the completely illegible script on the label... it was pretty good. i have listened to at least 5 different albums all the way through... kruder and dorfmeister... iron and wine... frou frou... japancakes... hooverphonic.

i have not packed a damn thing.

part of me would like to blame the rain... blame it on the rain, the song goes. but alas, i cannot. it is only my genetic predisposition for severe procrastination and nothing else.

the rain is not to blame.

migration

2007-11-23T06:56:00.000-09:00

it has been raining a long time... for days even. i woke up this morning at 7am and the sky never got brighter. the heavens have alternated between night and dusk, skipping day entirely since tuesday. if i didn't turn on a light, every room in my house would remain black and obscured.

but lights have been on, in every room, and i've been working. i've been separating my things, my belongings, into those-that-will-accompany-me and those-that-will-not. with the vast majority belonging to the latter.

i am saying my own little goodbyes to books that i won't read for a year... to furniture... to surfboards... to a very lovable couch. i am segregating the inhabitants of my kitchen into two groups... half the glasses to go with me... half to go into storage. all the knives. all the pots and pans. all the spoons... i couldn't manage without spoons.

it is challenging to pack your things while you still want to live with them. there is a small tear of separation when you unplug something you use everyday and you know it'll be two months before you plug it in again. it is a guilty and dependent kind of sensation, because you know there is no reason why you NEED that particular thing every day... but you do not welcome the daily pattern change with open arms.

how much easier it would be if i could just put it all aside and read a book until the movers come. oh but i can, and that is what will happen, but for now there is the slow and procrastinated measure of steps downstairs with each armload of sundries that will find it's way either into my new home, or else the cold purgatory of storage.

wish i didn't have to sell my car

2007-11-19T08:33:00.000-09:00

perhaps i should start off with a little background:

i like my car. i would rather not sell it. i lovingly refer to it as a 1996 VW POS... because it is.

my car is red. my car gets 30 mpg. the air conditioner will give you frostbite.

i bought my little red POS three years ago for $2500. there were some slight things that needed to be fixed up a little bit, but i figured i could take care of them fairly easily, so i only asked to go to 2500 down from 3000 that my buddy was asking. sold.

one of the things was that the alignment was a little off... the car pulled to the right... rather aggressively... and the check engine light was on ('oh that light has always been on... it's no big deal')... and the ABS light light was on.

so the next week i took it in for an alignment... 'oh and can you check out the clutch cable? it seems like there is a lot of play.'

the alignment required two new tires.

the clutch had to be replaced.

the ABS light was because three of the four wheel sensors were kaput... replaced... as well as three of the four brake calipers because they were worn out of limits... replaced.

the E-brake cable was rusted through... replaced.

'i don't know why the engine light is on... perhaps there is a part missing... but it seems to run ok.'

awe inspiring service.

so now, after four and a half grand, i've got a strong running $2500 car. BUT WAIT! as i pulled out of the parking lot... the brake pedal went to the floor.

master cylinder... kaput... replaced... make that 4800.

did i mention that the exhaust rusted through? replaced... 500 more.

i also recently totally replaced the distributor cap, spark plugs and cables. i've got a real road machine here now...

until friday, when on my way out the door to catch a flight, i climbed into my car and turned the key... VROOOOMSPuttersputter...dead.

hmmmm.... that's peculiar... it worked just an hour ago.

VROOOOOOMVROOOOMSPUtter sputter dead... shit.

i called a buddy, tore him away from his glowering wife on a friday evening at home and got a ride to the airport. disaster averted.

i had to hitchhike to work this morning, and this afternoon i came back home to troubleshoot the problem, as well as try to figure out where to tow it to.

i really don't like the idea of paying someone to move my car for me, so naturally i came up with an idea to circumvent that. i figured that as long as i maintain the RPMs above 4000, the engine stays on... it's only when they hit 3000 or so that the engine dies... so if i could find a route with minimal stops and if i could keep the engine revved then i MIGHT be able to make it the 8 miles to the garage. i gave myself 50/50 chances.

i started up, revved the gas, slipped the clutch and eased out of my backyard... step one complete. i rolled out of my cul-de-sac in 1st gear, made the left onto the side street, and then seeing the traffic was clear, pulled a california stop straight into a 135 degree right hand turn.

during that turn is when i realized i didn't have power steering... after the turn is when i realized i didn't really have brakes... with 4 miles of downhill road in front of me.

it was pretty exciting. i'd recommend the experience to anyone. trying to time your entry into a traffic circle with downshifting and E-brake and then taking said (small) traffic circle at 40 mph is a humbling experience. it really makes you appreciate all the small things we take for granted.

so, i'm still alive. the car made it to the garage and i got a ride home. to my empty fridge... well mostly empty... the milk doesn't smell too bad... maybe i'll have some cereal for dinner.

i like to live on the edge.

wisdom

2007-11-19T08:17:00.000-09:00

there are many lessons in life, and there are just as many different ways to learn them.

here is your lesson for the day:

IF you should come home on Sunday night to find that your power has been off since 9am Saturday (since that's when it always goes out) and you see that your fridge and freezer have defrosted COMPLETELY, do not smell the sandwich fixings (ham and turkey)...

JUST THROW THEM AWAY

IF you DO smell them and they don't smell odd, do not make a sandwich with them the next morning... let alone two.

IF you DO make a sandwich (or two... to be precise), do not let it sit in your pocket for another 8 hours before you decide that it's time to eat it.

IF you DO decide to eat it... don't... it's better to starve.

that's my wisdom of the day... from me... to you

the stage

2007-11-05T15:00:00.000-09:00

there are stories that appeal to us. they reach into your chest and squeeze. they constrict the base of your throat and push on the backs of your eyeballs until they water.

sometimes they are silly. sometimes they are tragic.

usually they involve a person... a hero... who comes to a crossroads in their life where they are faced with something overwhelming... and they release all that is unimportant to them, and reach for everything that means anything to them.

sometimes they succeed. sometimes they do not.

but overall, the inspiring part of the tale is the fact that the hero made a decision to take his fate into his hands... the hero cashed in all his chips on his dream. her path. their vision.

one must ask one’s self:

if this is a story that appeals to me, then is this hero not someone to emulate? shouldn’t i take my opportunity to follow my life’s path? my life’s passion?

it is a rare opportunity. some people have more to risk than others. people have varying amounts of support from their network of friends and family. sometimes it all comes down to timing. sometimes there is never that overwhelming catalyst to come into the picture and force a decision.

but there are always the stories. there are always examples... and somewhere inside of us, we wish for the opportunity to be thrust upon us to have to make that decision ourselves.

until then, there are stories

on this day...

2007-10-31T14:22:00.000-08:00

i had an idea. nothing earth shattering and not even completely original, put personal and possibly life changing nonetheless.

and i'm not going to share it here... not because i don't think you are important enough, because you most certainly are, but because it is still new and fresh. it still needs to gather strength and take on a form of it's own, outside of my mind.

one day though... one day soon it will be all growed up and ready to leave the house on it's own.

until then, i just have this day... and the idea.

reunion

2007-10-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

there is something about being home that slackens the belt around my heart and lets the air back in. it’s a golden soft feeling that warms the skin from the inside.

i walked through the door today to a home that wrapped it’s walls around me and hugged me like an old friend. it was cold inside and out. since i had left the clouds had moved in and continually dusted the mountains with early winter frosting. the power had gone out, but thankfully i had the forethought to clean out my fridge before leaving, so even the kitchen smelled clean.

it’s been raining since i landed back on italian soil and it seems like each drop is on a mission to penetrate and permeate every layer of warmth a person could wear. the rain is cold and the sky is a leaded grey. i got inside and turned on the heat after i realized i could see my breath better inside than out. i have no idea how any of my plants survived. they are obviously hearty little greenies, and the artificial drought must have made possible their survival through near freezing temperatures. sure, there are some leaves on the floor, and Fozzie the fern looks like he has been living in a methlab, but overall there aren’t any in critical condition.

there was mail waiting for me. a card from heather, some movies, more grad school catalogs, convenience checks, and a replacement pizza stone for the broken one i received two months ago... the replacement stone was also... broken... although less broken (if that’s a saying) than the first, having a smaller corner broken off. so there’s progress at least.

the speakers in my house welcomed me the loudest with some ‘iron and wine’ to listen to over the rain. i walked through the rooms and turned on all the lights. i sat on all the chairs and visited all the plants. i ran the faucets until warm water came out. i put fresh vegetables in the fridge... three carrots, celery, two peppers (one orange and one red), asparagus, broccoli, and a somewhat jovial portabello.

so now my home is warm, my heart is home, and you are all in my heart.

welcome

master procrastinator

2007-10-22T12:38:00.000-08:00

so here is a conversation with myself:

whatcha doin?

nothin

shouldn't you be studying for tomorrow, or doing something productive?

yeah

why aren't you?

cuz

cuz why?

cuz i don't feel like it

oh... well... are you going to get around to it? i mean, it's getting kind of late.

yeah... like eventually... i mean, when i feel like it.

...

i am such a wonderful procrastinator.

a note on this photo.

it was taken at RED FOX PIZZA PUB... which is quite possibly the only pizza pub in existence that does not serve pizza. when i asked the waitress what kind of pizzas they had (after noticing the rather conspicuous absense of pizza in their menu), she looked at me as if i were crazy.

the nerve of me

so here is my friend, Kaiser, enjoying his slice of our make-believe pizza that we wanted to order.

anti-pasta please

2007-10-18T10:43:00.000-08:00

i had a great i idea of something to write about. but alas... in the last few minutes while i was wandering over to the ol computerdora to jot it down, it ran from my mind in a spastic frenzy and jumped out the window of my hotel.

i didn't sleep well last night. kinda have had a lot on my mind. also i've been gone out of the house for a while and i'm kind of tired of the hotel life. my recent quest for minimalism with my packing has inadvertantly led to an over-minimalism. i brought one book that i read in the first two days. i have yet to find an english language bookstore to find a replacement and all my compatriots are mid-book and unwilling to trade.

aparently bulgarians are fans of italian food. it is really hard to find a restaurant that doesn't serve only pasta and pizza... i found a few, but it is also difficult to eat at those same restaraunts day in and day out. so i left italy for bulgaria... and i'm still eating italian food.

the hotel leaves a bit to be desired. apparently, on the 15th of October, they shut off the A/C for the season... because the system can only be on hot... or cold... so i have my window open for all the noise of the street to come in.

the hotel also can't hack the present bookings. the elevators lasted all of four days before they went kaput. two of the three just don't work. the other one doesn't come to you unless you are on the bottom floor, or unless by luck someone rises up to your floor. so i've been using the service elevators and getting funny looks from the staff.

this isn't to say that i'm entirely lazy. i am living on one of the upper floors though. i tried taking the stairs for a while, but none of the floors are marked, so if you lose count you have to go onto every floor and look at the room numbers... if you go too far you end up in the sub-sub-sub-basement... which is like -4 in european terms... 0 being the ground floor. also at floor 0 there is a virtual maze of unmarked doors through the underbelly of the administrative branch of the hotel. it is almost faster to wait on the floor for someone to bring the elevator up, and a lot less stressful.

i went to the black sea over the weekend. i stayed in a summer beach town... it is definitely not summer. it was most decidedly empty... but pleasant nonetheless. just the same, i think i'll go back in the summer next time.

i had a fairly taxing day at work today. one of those 'life lesson' type days that you hope never to repeat. it turned out fairly well, and i fessed up immediately about my mis-doings to the boss, but my adrenaline was going for a couple of hours. needless to say i won't have a hard time sleeping tonight.

i'm freaking exhausted.

duvishdene

seven days late

2007-09-06T06:17:00.000-08:00

today is the day that i was supposed to leave for Copenhagen.

but i missed my flight...

by a week.

how could this happen? i’ve been asking myself all morning. i’m a NOONAN! airline schedules run in our bloodline! i was probably conceived on an airplane!

i’m so embarrassed.

granted, when i bought the ticket over a month ago, there was a lot going on. i had a lot on my mind and i was a little confused over what was going on during which week and so forth. so my ticket was for last Thursday... but i did somehow manage to take leave on the right days.

i woke up this morning at 5am so that i’d have time to pack and get some food in me before running a slew of errands on the way to the airport. at approximately 0615, i decided to check my email really quick while i was making coffee to see if there were any last minute notes from my cousin Elijah, who i’m going to meet up there.

Lo and behold, there were... she was asking me to look at the dates of the itinerary that i had emailed her to make sure they were correct... she was making sure that i hadn’t bought my plane tickets for the week prior, when i was most clearly NOT in copenhagen.

silly cousin, of course i bought them for last week.

shit.

the airline and cheaptickets.com were not very sympathetic. to them, i was case number AP270301XZQJ2UJN. they had all the sympathy of an insurance adjuster who was working on saturday.

it was 6:30 in the morning and i already wanted to fall in a heap on the floor. a moaning heap with no bones.

well, what’s 350 bucks among friends really?... besides two (small) starbucks coffees (no milk or anything) a week for a year. or two months of gasoline in italy. or a flight to copenhagen. i’ll just see if there is another ticket available last minute... oh, here we go...

only 800 pounds sterling... nope, that’s not gonna work.

finally, at about 3pm, i came across a fare that was roughly similar to the original price and i said, ‘what the hell, i want to see elijah.’

now, thanks to mastercard, i’ll be departing venice at o’dark thirty tomorrow morning for the great nation of denmark.

AND i have a whole free day to do whatever i need around the house... like... laundry.

i’m so excited.

SCAD

2007-09-05T12:01:00.000-08:00

so it arrived today...

the Savannah College of Art and Design catalog...

i requested one on a whim. i’ll probably look around at other schools as well, we shall see. i’m not sure how much graduate school fits into my grown up life, but it’s a nice idea anyway, and one that is fun to entertain.

the idea of an M.F.A. is kind of scary after having a ‘career’ now for a few years now. i’ve gotten used to a regular paycheck and the feeling that i can afford whatever kinds of groceries i might desire... instead of top ramen and chili-mac again.

the whole idea is at least six years away (minimum), but it’s a nice idea. another way that it is scary is the whole idea of a body of work. of a focus. of a definitive direction to my photography:

oh there's patrick, he's that (fill in the blank) photographer...

it’s kind of intimidating. for the time being, i just shoot, and whatever comes out is what i have. sometimes it’s landscape... sometimes people. sometimes formal, sometimes informal. that’s all fine if one is an extremely prolific photographer, but i only take between 400-1100 pictures a month.

these are the things that are intimidating:
going ‘incomeless’ for about three years
student loans
leaving behind a possibly lucrative career that might afford me the time to accomplish the same thing without an M.F.A.

these are the things that are attractive:
unabashed focus on the craft
the opportunity to surround myself with artist and art-minded people once again
the opportunity to find that focus and that definitive direction
the fact that i have the GI bill that would pay for the brunt of it

it sounds like a risk of course. but what is life if not risk and reward? what is a life passion if you risk none of your life for it? what good is a bucketful of what-ifs on your deathbed?

perhaps it is even more than six years away... i’ve got sixteen (minimum) until the GI bill runs out. perhaps i could find that direction ahead of time (with enough hard work and motivation) and then i could use those three years to refine it, instead of searching for it.

today, a pleasant daydream... tomorrow... who knows? certainly not me, although i have some sneaky suspicions.

sweet dreams love

all things oktober

2007-09-02T04:39:00.000-08:00

it's about that time again... oktoberfest.

this was from last year, at the end of the night. the three of us drove up on a thursday night and camped in a soccer stadium.

i don't know how the hell i managed to take this picture. i had already lost my favorite sunglasses. i'm surprised i still had my camera with me. i sat down on the ground, totally wasted, told them to stand still and took a three second handheld exposure on Bulb... since my camera only goes to 1 sec.

better lucky than good, i suppose.

anyways. this picture is to restimulate the mood of oktoberfest. may everyone go at least once.

mmm, makes me want to grab a beer... mmmm

you should know these people:

2007-09-01T10:07:00.000-08:00

dear reader, may i introduce you to Nico and Fairlight:

fantastic people they are. truly wonderful. favorites even. back when this picture was taken, there were but two of them, but they have since multiplied... and there is now zoe.

i have known fairlight for many moons. since the days of santa cruz. since the days of baskin art studios. she is artist and mother of zoe. when she isn't creating stained glass masterpieces or honing her photography, she contemplates the nature of the universe and goes on walks in the woods above her home, or on the beach by the bay, or she flies off to canada or mexico or countries-near-florida-with-whom-we-have-trade-embargoes.

burritos and beers are the standard reunion custom. it harks back to the days when i was a sleepless student in the art department at santa cruz. she would find my miserably hungry existence in the darkroom or painting studio after some inhumanely long period of time that most likely began the day before, and we'd roll down to mission st and grab a burrito and a beer and catch up on life.

she most likely saved my life... otherwise i might still be up there... developing just one more roll... toning just one more print.

you never can tell.

vortices

2007-08-31T11:25:00.000-08:00

so these are old memories. from a time in sedona. i was just walkin down memory lane earlier, as i have a penchant for that kind of thing... from time to time

dogs

2007-08-31T09:14:00.000-08:00

so i used to have a dog... i've had a couple of them acutally... by 'having a dog' i mean that my parents had dogs and i played with them and picked up dog poop in the backyard... when i was older i even fed them... but the primary dog-rearing was done by the primary child-rearers... the dogs themselves put up with me more than anything else.

now that i'm almost a grown up myself, it is almost second nature to want to bring a little four legged buddy back into my life.

right now is not the time for this to happen. however, that is not to say that i can't prepare for the eventuality when this does happen.

so i bought a dog book... how to understand dogs and that kind of stuff. it was highly instructive, and very interesting. if anything, it reinforced the fact that right now is MOST DEFINITELY NOT the time to bring a dog into my life, but i think it has also brought me a few more steps towards dog-preparation.

one of the things that it has made me reconsider is what kind of dog to get. it is easy to pick out a breed based on what it looks like or what the breed is known for... i think a lot of people pick out dogs that reflect who they think they are.

the problem is that the dogs will probably reflect those attributes... but that might not be who that person is.

i'm all about optimism and projection, but there is most definitely a gap between the world where people think they live and the actual world they live in... myself included.

so who am it? what kind of dog would i best belong to?

i don't know. while driving down the road to the beach with a beautiful rhodesian ridgeback sticking his head out of the window of a vintage bio-diesel converted land cruiser may sound romantic, do i have the personality or lifestyle to adequately meet that animal's needs? (exercise, social time, regular schedule?)

i don't know.

then i ask myself... am i a purebred kind of guy? or a mutt kind of guy? am i a big dog guy? or medium or small? do i spend hours training my dog to do cool stuff like find the remote control? is it an outside or inside dog? am i the kind of guy who gets a puppy and raises it from scratch? or would i adopt an 8 year old dog from a shelter?

so many questions.

good thing it will be a long while before that day comes.

it's kind of like the equivalent of studying for the SAT when i'm in third grade.

i'm kind of fiending for a milkbone.

and sometimes...

2007-08-29T12:15:00.000-08:00

and sometimes, after i finish dancing, my water goes out.

it's a strange thing to say, "my water goes out," unless you take it in the same way as, "my power went out," i.e. i have no water.

for anyone who has lived through a hurricane or tornado or severe earthquake, this may not seem so odd.

apparently, nor is it odd to anyone who lives in my town... it being wednesday and all.

gotta love italy.

i've got to go find a beer to brush my teeth with... ciao bella

sometimes

2007-08-29T11:12:00.000-08:00

sometimes i dance.

i’m not embarrassed about it one bit. sometimes i dance.

sometimes i wave my arms in the air and run in place.

sometimes i throw back my head in a silent leaky-eyed howl.

sometimes i can’t stop smiling and with a flick of the wrist the master valve on my heart is turned full open and the flood surges through my muscles and bones to my fingertips and toes, shaking my soul with the vibrations of it’s release...

it does not matter if there is no one to see...

i still dance.

sometimes.

imagination and beef stew

2007-08-21T09:28:00.000-08:00

no. i'm not in hawaii right now. but that isn't to say that i can't pretend i am.

i'm actually at home, cooking beef stew. it's taking a while, but i suppose that is because good things are hard to rush. my stomach, however, has been rapping against my abdominal cavity for quite some time. the last thing i ate was a sandwich around lunch time.

i'm somewhat locally famous for my sandwiches... not because they are delicious... although they are... but rather because they are hidden in various pockets on my person for emergency use throughout the day. people think it is humorous... i think it's practical.

you never know when you might need a sandwich... or a breakfast burrito for that matter... i have pockets for those too.

one can never have too many pockets for assorted sundries.

that's my thought of the day... from me... to you.

totally related side story to the previous post

2007-08-20T09:04:00.000-08:00

starting with a totally unrelated side note:

this belgian beer is Damn good... that's with a capitol D, if you didn't get it. i suppose that's what you get when you get a bunch of monks together to make a 10% beer.

mmmm

anyway. so...

i'm driving on a side road to Tuscany last saturday. somehow, i managed to travel 160 miles in the first two hours and only one mile in the third hour. it seemed like a sign that i was supposed to take the road less travelled, and so i did.

the thing with italy is... there is a thing called "Riposo" where everything closes for a couple of hours in the afternoon... generally between noon and 2pm... but it could vary by a few hours in either direction.

so i'm driving on SS64, which is a small state route that runs through the hills/mountains of NW Tuscany. absolutely gorgeous drive. the road wound through the tiniest villages in along the deepest river gorge with little stone footbridges that connected the road to teeny houses across the river. were i more comfortable with my masculinity i might even say that it was something straight out of a fairy tale, complete with trolls and winged godmothers.

green green, everywhere there's green.

so anyways, i'm driving around a particularly turny turn and my car starts beeping at me.

that's fine, beep away, i thought. the only thing that worried me was the the beeping (which had started happening lately) was accompanied by the OIL light... and it didn't stop beeping for about 20 seconds.

it had come on in the previous month, but only when i went around a particularly agressive corner. being the dependable little VW POS that it is, i thought its german engineered oil system just couldn't handle the incredible lateral G-forces that i was able to command from the old squeeky tires.

nope... the oil was just low.

long story longer, i pulled into the first gas station i saw and asked the old guy that i came across if the station was open for business as i needed both fuel and possibly oil as well, if it wasn't too much trouble.

literally, i pointed at the gas station and said (in italian) "closed?"

my italian is that good.

that's when i noticed the old guy standing in the doorway with a padlock in his hand. i looked at my watch and realized that if i had shown up two minutes later they would have been closed.

so i get my gas and check my oil... that's funny... usually i can see some on the stick... i was going to buy two liters of oil, but i thought better of it and bought three... at 12 euro per liter... luckily our dollar is so strong and it only cost 50 dollars.

my suspicions were confirmed when the engine swallowed two litres without flinching.

that's the end of the story. the light and beeping have not returned. the little engine is quite happy with it's haute couture tuscan oil, and i made it the rest of the way.

man... this beer is good.

two cups of thunderstorm and a dash of beer

2007-08-20T08:15:00.000-08:00

currently, i am sitting at home, looking out the window at the thunderstorms that managed to sneak in overnight.

this morning was the most impressive. i was up at 5:30, just as it was getting light... except it wasn't very light. the sky was rather dark actually, and strobing with a most impressive array of lightning.

if there is one thing that i will miss when i leave here, it is the incredibly capricious weather.

i am more accustomed to thunderstorms that take their time building up through the morning and afternoon until about two or three when they vent all that pent up emotion and bang their fists across the countryside... it is indeed a most volitile storm that decides to begin before the sun has even risen.

so where did you spend the day patrick?

in a tower of course... the highest point for miles and miles around... with ten foot windows that look in every direction. i was so lucky to have such a dramatic vantage point for such an emotional sky.

but now i am back home, and the last of the storms are withering away and leaving a wake of blue skies behind. it's a wonderful view to enjoy with a fine belgian beer... and so i am enjoying it with said beer. Nelly McKay is joining me on my speakers.

a veritible splenditude of sorts.

the picture is from this past weekend... completely unrelated, as with most things in my life. i succesfully braved the italian intrastate structure to find myself in Lucca, outside of Pisa. my mother (hi mom) is hanging out with a couple of friends at a villa in Tuscany about 20 south of Firenze. they were in Lucca for the day and so i drove down to join them, it being a saturday and all.

i drove five hours (traffic) and found a parking spot. i had talked to her about an hour before and they were sitting down to get a bite to eat "in a square by a big church." so i walked into the town looking for the biggest church i could find. what do you know? i found a square with a bunch of people eating outside. surely they had to be somewhere around. my suspicions were verified when i noticed an open air bazaar in the square... they were definitely there somewhere.

luckily i am naturally endowed with a rather high vantage point. after only a few scans of the crowd, there she was... mom... perusing the expensive and throroughly unnecessary section. i walked up to her as she perused a particularly interesting piece. she must have sensed someone behind her because she said, "well that's cute, isn't it?"

"it sure is." i said

you can imagine she was quite surprised.

little did she know that is one of my little talents... driving somewhere without directions and finding exactly who i'm looking for with no particular plan. silly mom.

anyway, the picture is of the lake where we went to watch 'Tosca' at the Puccini festival... it was sold out, but we ate dinner at a restaurant by the lake and listened to as much of the opera as we could.

mainly it was just cool to hang with the ma

anyways. that's it for now.

much love and beautiful skies to you.

slovenia

2007-08-12T09:44:00.000-08:00

august now

2007-08-05T04:46:00.000-08:00

I’m not quite sure where July went, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t invited, because August and I are sitting here in a daze and I have no clean laundry.

Whoever said that time goes by when you are older… they weren’t kidding. I now count years off on my fingers instead of months… both looking forward and back. Mom is probably reading this and thinking… just you wait.

Hi mom.

I had lost the will to write for a while… it happens… life gets a little hectic and things fall out. Maybe I didn’t feel very bouncy and optimistic and didn’t want to whine too much, or focus on negative thoughts. Maybe I didn’t feel grounded enough to be able to relax in front of the screen and open my mind. Sometimes I get a antsy and anxious feeling and I just can’t emote. Poor Heather has to deal with it all the time. Recently we rediscovered our mutual love of cooking. Instead of mac an cheese, I was buying all-purpose flour and yeast… we made bread. We made pizza and pizza sauce. We made gnocci. We drank wine (a much neglected step in cooking). We bought more cheese than we could possibly eat… of a handful of varieties… and then we sat down with some bread and wine and devoured it all with big cheesy grins and distended bellies.

i’m listening to Death Cab for Cutie’s album Plans.

You should too. It’s a fantastic album all around. Good for all people. It’s especially good at full volume in the car with the windows down and shiny bits in your eyes and a full breath of air in your lungs.

I’m not saying it’s cosmic or anything. I’m not saying it’ll change the world or anything… but it just might change your day and that just might be enough.

officially cool

2007-06-10T15:35:00.000-08:00

i am now officially cool.

before i was mostly unofficially cool, but today that has all changed. you see, dear reader, one is not officially cool until one decides to dedicate their entire Sunday in the striving towards something most incredibly delectable and unique.

today happens to be that kind of Sunday, and so today i am officially cool.

it all started with an idea, as most unabashed bouts of coolness do, but then it evolved into the most beautiful of ideas...

how does one spend a Sunday afternoon in one’s house in italy? a house at the base of the Dolomiti no less...and on a Sunday that is laden with storm clouds and the strong wind that ravages the flowers on our front porch so...

i’ll tell you how. a person wakes up brilliantly with a flash of inspiration and says to one’s self (and anyone else who may happen to find themselves in the immediate vicinity):

“do you know what i’m going to do today? i’m going to figure out how to make pizza dough and i’m going to make the best pizza in the whole world!”

because if you think about it, what could possibly contribute more to your happiness than the best pizza in the whole world... let alone if you were responsible for it’s creation? AND if you got to partake in its extraordinary culinary delightment?

it is truly a recipe for happiness.

and so it was made. and it was cooked. and it was eaten with much grinning and overjoyment.

you too can be this cool.

la concerta

2007-06-09T13:59:00.000-08:00

tonight there was a concerta. it was a small one in a small town down the way to the west towards Belluno. it took place in a small art-cafe named ArtCafe le Maschere run by a wonderful woman named cinzia in a purple shirt.

the music was fantastic. i really wish you could have heard it. i love the singer and she was delving into all kinds of jazz renditions of the likes of Morecheeba and Lauryn Hill. there was a bassist and a trumpet and a drummer and a pianist. there was groove galore and not a foot in the house escaped tapping... not a head in the place escaped nodding to the flow... to the pulse of the soul. there was cake to be had and i was invited to display my work up on the walls in august.

not a bad Saturday in my long list of Saturdays.

a casa

2007-06-04T09:43:00.000-08:00

why is it that nowhere feels so good in bare feet?

i am home

the stashe

2007-05-30T10:32:00.001-08:00

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

2007-05-28T10:44:00.000-08:00

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

2007-05-01T03:01:00.001-08:00

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.

friendshippng

2007-04-28T02:00:00.001-08:00

i think it is interesting how we informally choose who we wish to keep in our life as time passes. i was just thinking about that the other day. i have a good friend named kate. i met her in college. she was the roommate of a girl i was dating at the time. i don't talk to the ex-girlfriend at this time (she's the only one i have broken contact with but that's another story), but i still keep in contact with kate.

we were acquaintances in school; loose friends who traveled in different circles. we didn't hang out really very much at all, but we always got along when we bumped into each other in the santa cruz universe. i graduated, she graduated, and we went out separate ways.

one day, after driving up from southern california to the bay area for the sole purpose of breaking up with a different girlfriend in person, i was on my way back down south when, being rather upset, i pulled off the road in santa cruz with the intent of going to watch the sunset on the beach. i was a mess, mostly because i felt like a total asshole, but a mess nonetheless.

i got about halfway there, thought the idea silly for some reason and made a u-turn to head back to highway-1. as soon as i turned around, i saw the flash of a profile that looked like kate, but i didn't recognize the car. it was driving in the opposite direction. in an unconscious motion, i whipped my truck around and turned to follow. i wanted to see if it was kate. it HAD to be her, i could have sworn. in fact, i think i did swear:

'holy shit, i think that was kate.' of course i was alone in my car so no one heard me.

i followed the car about two miles as it drove down to the shoreline by the lighthouse and around to the north up to natural bridges state beach where the car pulled off at the edge of the sea. i pulled into the lot and parked and walked somewhat clumsily towards the car. the door opened and sure enough it was kate. she thought someone had been following her. obviously i never learned very good super-secret tailing techniques in stalker school.

it was SO good to see her. she had always had a wonderful ear and a patient heart and fantastic advice. in a way, she was the perfect person i could have ran into at that time. we talked for a few minutes, watched the sun set, and i asked if she was hungry and wanted to get something to eat. i felt like i had a ten pound sack of old wet tea bags to lift off my heart. we decided on pleasure point pizza and set off.

i was excited. life was giving me a friend to talk to exactly when i needed one. a trusted soul. she turned left, but i wanted to take the coast road around to the pizza place so i continued straight. when i got there she was no where to be seen. that was ok, i thought, i'll just get my pizza and grab a table.

10 minutes. no kate.

i was a little worried. maybe something happened. i realized i didn't get her cell phone number.

20 minutes. no kate.

now something was definitely wrong.

25 minutes with no kate i tried calling information to get her number. no luck. then suddenly i panicked with a realization, called information and asked the lady on the other end for the address of pleasure point pizza.

which location sir? i have one in pleasure point and one on mission street in santa cruz.

FUCK

i was fumbling with my keys in the ignition and trying not to drop the pizza slice on the floor as i sped out of the parking lot back towards santa cruz. it took me 10 minutes to get across town and i bounced into the parking lot.

no kate.

all i wanted was to sit down, have a beer, and a couple of slices of pizza and talk about life. i felt betrayed by the world. the next six hours on the road were absolutely miserable. an eternity of driving though a blurred world. i was already torn up over the breakup, but the fact that i was given the opportunity to spend some time with a beautiful soul and i mucked it up was actually a more painful loss.

i didn't get a hold of her until about a month later, when we figured out what had happened. we finally got to share a pizza over a year later, and we got our conversation about life and love and paths through the middle. now we still keep in touch... sporadically at times, but that's how it is with friends. it's always good to hear from her.

there is something magical about the people we choose to keep in our lives. the relationships might have old or thin or twisted roots; they may be based on chance and happenstance, but they are important nonetheless because somehow, on some level, we choose them... and they have chosen us.

where would you rather be right now?

2007-04-26T09:28:00.000-08:00

it's an interesting question. first of all, it implies that you would rather be somewhere else. while this may be true, it also infers that you find yourself in a less than desirable situation, which is not always the case when a person asks you this question. generally it all amounts to focusing on the bad parts of where you are and the good parts of where you aren't.

while it may not make sense to focus on the bad parts of where you aren't, although that might be helpful sometimes, it is generally more constructive to concentrate on the good things of where you are, as small and delicate as they may seem.

aside from the philosophical and chi-related ramifications of asking such a question, it is a good question that a friend asked me recently, albeit somewhat off-handedly.

my first answer was 'with friends and family.' that was fairly easy. that is most definitely where i am-not right now. while my parents, sister, and i may all have strong personalities that cause a modicum of tension when we are all together for an extended period of time, i love being around them. my parents have both been an example, whether they have wanted to be or not, in just about every aspect of my life. as has my sister. as has my cousin elijah. to different extents, they are people that i admire and wish to emulate. why wouldn't i want to be closer to them?

then there is my friends. heather, fairlight, kate, sage, micah, crystal, nick, jeff, angela, and rebecca, to name a few. they have always been there with a patient open ear and a couch if needed. they are my net, and i can only hope that i give the as much support as they give me. it is priceless, intangible, and ever appreciated.

which brings me to my second answer: california.

i haven't been there more than a few days at a time for years, but i still feel like i'm washing the sand of it's beaches out of my ears. i'm sure there is still a little bit of seawater hidden up in one of the upper reaches of my sinuses. it is in my blood, my lungs, and my soul.

when i walked away from california, i wasn't quite sure where the path would take me. i'm surprised where i have gone so far, but i truly wonder how many other places that path will lead me before i end up back there. i am a believer in the road less traveled. i am a believer in forging a path of your own, of creating a unique life and living it for all you're worth. the funny thing about constantly wandering off the path, in search of something unknown and intangible, is that you will never know where you are until you look back. even then, it could be a mystery. another thing about wandering without a map is that people tend to walk in circles. that's fine for me. as long as my circle ends up in california, and as long as i can fill my bag with experiences along the way.

my third answer was the darkroom.

this answer is more symbolic than anything. it represents a place in my life where i am consumed with creation. it represents a place where i have the freedom to spend my time working on images and symbols. it represents the place in me that the artist lives. it represents minimalism and focus. it represents purpose and drive. it represents personal love of expression.

my fourth answer was surfing. i would rather be surfing.

deep space

2007-04-14T02:28:00.001-08:00

some far out space shit

cosmic style with planetary type spinning gas masses and huge asteroid belts

heaps and heaps of nothing in a field of potential where particles
spontaneously exist and then are reabsorbed just as quickly...
with the deafening silence of solar systems sliding on massive ball
bearings in a synchronized dance of dizzyness...
where light moves so fast that it leaves a whisper of sound behind
like some sort of intergalactic skidmark...

that's what it's like in my head sometimes

only smaller

and with ears on both sides.

storms

2007-04-11T04:24:00.001-08:00

there are a thousand fingers on my rooftop drumming impatiently as the
air above shifts and cracks with the weight of the storm. the thin
metal walls of the trailer magnify each vibration and flex with each
wave of wind. thunder sounds suspiciously like mortar fire and heavy
machine guns in the distance, and all the air in my nose tingles with
ozone.

it recharges me at three in the morning. all i want to do is lay there
and listen, and hope it never fades away.

i remember the sound of the windows in the house that i grew up. i
remember how they would shake in their frames until i thought they
would break when the wind came off the ocean in a grey momentum that
would fold the palm trees over and tear their hair out. i remember
laying in bed, under the covers, and pressing my forehead against the
chilled glass and the rain outside blurred the world. i remember the
feeling of the panes shivering as i stared outward at the whitecaps
inside the breakwater. everything was middlegrey and angry. the air
itself had emotion and screamed.

even then, when i was six, and huddled under my covers with just my
head peeking out… even then, i never wanted it to end.

inspiration and expiration

2007-04-10T01:24:00.001-08:00

my soul is breathing

i can feel it expanding and contracting

with the shallow rhythm of someone who just ran too fast

it sweats a thin oil

that lines my stomach and ribcage

i can feel it sliding around

it is hot and flushed

with pink cheeks, blue eyes, and shaking hands on its knees

it wants to sit down

but there is no room

it already fills every corner of my being

the power of the subconscious

2007-04-07T04:32:00.001-08:00

i'm listening to The ORB.

or as my co-workers would refer to it: my california hippie noise. but they don't really know what they are talking about... to them, california = hippie. they think all californians do is surf, drink wine, eat granola, protest stuff, smoke pot, and go to raves.

we do other stuff... i'm sure... anyways...

i'm listening with my frankenphones... also known as the really-great-earphones-that-i-broke-and-was-sad-then-fixed-and-was-happy.

i'm happy today because, once again, i broke my headphones and then i fixed them. actually, i broke them yesterday at the gym. my headphones were hanging out of my shirt as i talked to a buddy of mine at the bench press. it is polite gym etiquette to remove one's earphones when talking to someone so i had taken them from my ears. somehow, when i laid down on the bench and started exercising my relatively less-than-massive chest, my frankenphones worked their way over my sternum, directly under the barbell that was loaded with the less-than-impressive weight. when i lowered the weight to my chest and heard a pop, i wasn't too concerned. i often hear pops and cracks associated with belabored movements. it wasn't until after when my buddy reached down and picked up the insulted audio accessory that i realized what had happened.

but have no fear dear reader. i had some experience with this particular malady and i knew just what to do. for only two dollars i acquired a handy dandy applicator full of super glue and a roll of scotch tape. using my ever useful leatherman pliers and a wooden coffee stir stick, i managed to reattach and splint the beloved frankenphones back to a operable condition. it only took a slight drilling motion with a miniature screwdriver to break through the thin veil of glue that i, once again, managed to seal across the entire tube.

VOILA! auditory perfection once again, and this time with only a modicum of anxiety.

the subconscious effects of this event, however, would not become apparent until late that night, when deep asleep...

the dream began as a fairly innocuous one. i was sitting in a chair listening to my headphones, when suddenly i could feel something was wrong with my right earphone. i couldn't hear any music, although i could still feel it in my ear. when i reached up to my ear, i realized that the ear flange had broken off inside my ear.

at first i didn't panic. in fact, i laughed. it seemed pretty absurd to lose a earpiece inside your ear. i tried to grasp it with my fingertips, but to my astonishment it slid farther in. now i started getting a little nervous... out came my leatherman with it's ever useful pliers. i reached in my ear with pliers trying to gripthe end of the flange, but with each poke i felt it sliding slightly farther in, until finally it fell into my head.

the sound it made was similar to what you would hear if you pushed a cork into an empty wine bottle.

now i was more than nervous, but it simultaneously occurred to me that i was sticking something in my ear that was SMALLER THAN MY ELBOW! nevermind that i had just pushed a small plastic and rubber piece into my head... i was sticking pliers into my ear. luckily i happened to have a suitably large (elbow sized) pair of pliers close at hand and i tilted my head to one side and tried to grab hold of the flange with them instead.

now imagine, if you will, a person trying to remove the cork from inside the wine bottle with a pair of pliers the size of bolt cutters.

that was me. jumping up and down with my head tilted right in a frenzied swimmers ear hop with a massive pair of pliers stuck to my ear. meanwhile the little piece of jetsam was bouncing around inside like a pachinko ball.

never underestimate the power of the subconcious my friends.

and don't run with scissors

i'm now going to find some granola and practice my killer glowstick moves.

peace out

sometimes i swear

2007-04-06T07:01:00.001-08:00

i cussed a few times today.

i'm not proud of it, but it felt good just the same.

why is that? what is it about expletives that seem to vent stress? i wonder if it really does, because usually the stress and the anxiety is still there when the steam clears.

it's like a dog barking... no, hear me out... what exactly is a dog saying when he barks? maybe that he's scared, or threatened, or happy, or that he feels neglected... but that is all in the intonation... the actual 'woof' is...well... nonsense. it's a sound.

when i yell out an expletive, it is my inner person barking. it tells the people around me how i'm feeling. it isn't the word itself, but whether my tail is between my legs, or if my ears are laying flat against my head, or if the hair of my neck is standing up, that determines what i am saying.

just like a bark there is usually a hard consonant or glottal stop at the end of expletives.

sometimes it is just hard to say what you want to say and a bark just works better.

ask your dog, he knows what i mean.

green

2007-04-05T03:48:00.001-08:00

i think i'm going to miss my plants. i was never really a plant person before i met heather, but for some reason ever since then i have found that i have a bond with my photosynthetic friends. perhaps it goes back to my hierarchy of living, and i'm ready to progress to my next step, but that will remain to be seen.

i started by germinating two apple seeds, planting them, and growing them into small trees on my bedroom windowsill. i germinated three avocado seeds and gave the resulting plants to my sister and parents. i gave the apple trees to heather's parents when i left arizona. i would have brought them along but our new home was too far away.

in the last two and a half years, we have collected a veritable garden within the walls of our home. most of the plants were homeless, and we rescued them when their parents shipped off to other parts of the world. a few of them were bought in local nurseries. all of them are loved and appreciated.

since i've been gone on business, heather has been looking after our little green children in my place. usually i'm the one who talks to them and checks in on them. i'll be back to check on them soon enough, but what i'm thinking about is down the road. this winter the wind will blow out of the east and i'll be torn from europe towards my next home. i don't know where that will be, but i know that none of the plants can come.

it saddens me to think of finding homes for them all. i want to make a little journal with the secrets of watering, and which plants like to be in the bathroom, and which ones like the kitchen, and which ones like to look out the window. elijah is one of the window lookers. we named her after a marvelously magical individual that we both love and cherish. her full name is actually ubertreeelijah, but informally we just call her elijah.

i suppose there just comes a day when you have to realize your little greenies are all grown up and don't need you anymore. i just look forward to spending time with them before that day comes.

2007-04-02T11:57:00.000-08:00

memory is fantastic... for example: i can close my eyes and see this...

i can smell the subtleties. i can remember what the wine tasted like. i remember it was a warm night in venice, among friends. i remember laying my head down on the table to take the picture and heather's beautiful face magically appeared.

it's beautiful i tell you.

breathing

2007-03-25T06:42:00.001-08:00

step one: tilt your head back slightly

step two: close your eyes

step three: open your mouth

step four: breathe in like you've never taken a breath before. feel every last corner of your lungs stretch with fullness. breathe in as if to replace the very soul in your chest with air.

step five: let it go

not just the air. the everything. the guy who took your cab. the subway door that closed in your face. the myriad of deadlines that we fabricate to satisfy our need for logical progression and our heinously imbalanced priorities. the sound of your alarm clock. the smell of exhaust. the fear of failure that keeps us from realizing our dreams.

step six: open your eyes

not just your eyelids, but your vision. your mind. your perspective. see the effects of a smile and an open ear. attempt to view the world through not only your eyes, but the eyes of everyone you meet in passing, without judgment or assumption. see the myriad of minor miracles that lie within an arms reach at any time and celebrate them in your soul.

step seven: open your ears

believe in the love that you receive. trust the support of your net. know that your friends value you as you do them. listen for every opportunity to listen instead of speaking, and in the process, learn something. everyone is a teacher. be a student.

i fixed my earphones

2007-03-13T20:27:00.001-08:00

i fixed my earphones.

this was more of an emotional event than i had anticipated.

about 10 months ago, i made the mistake of falling asleep wearing my earphones, and when i awoke, the right earpiece was broken into two pieces. i must have rolled over it in my sleep and it snapped. i was traveling when it happened which made it pretty upsetting, but it felt like the loss of an old friend. the earphones were fantastic. they fit perfectly inside my ear and everything i played seemed to resonate in a hollow space behind my forehead. the music seemed more like it was coming to me from my mind than to me through my ears... at least that is how i could imagine it. i buried my face in my pillow and contorted my diaphragm into a completely exhaustive face reddening scream, and then i cried.

apparently super glue is a universally understood term, and i found myself sitting on the floor with some toothpicks and bits of paper trying to figure out how to mate the two severed halves. with a splinter tip of superglue, and shaky hands, i managed to mate the two pieces together and then i splinted them together with a piece of tape torn off my sketchbook binding.

after it dried, i nervously put the earsleeve back on the earpiece, put it back in my ear, plugged in some music, and hit play...

the effect was overwhelming and immediately obvious: the mended earpiece's volume was substantially muted and quieter, and in order to hear anything recognizable, i had to turn up the volume so high that it hurt my other ear.

my magical earphones would never be the same. once again i was crushed.

nevertheless, i continued to use them. even the pseudo-mono sound that i got was better than the other pair i had, and i just didn't have the budget to throw down on another $150 pair of earphones. over time, i just got used to the fact that i would ever after hear music through my ear instead of my mind.

until today.

what inspired me? i have no idea. i would like to think it was just time. i was listening to some music and i decided it was time to tinker. when i took off the earsleeve and peeked inside, i could see a small metal core with what looked like a screen at the bottom.

?what if the screen was simply clogged with superglue or something?

i looked around to see if i could find something that i could poke inside to clean the screen and i saw the little mini screwdriver attachment on my leatherman... perfect. i poked it into the core to see what i could scrape loose, but when i pulled it out, the whole core came out with it.

crap... now what.

then i dropped it somewhere on my carpet. shit.

but instead of panicking, i put the earsleeve back on and stuck the thing in my ear and hit play...

it... was... beautiful... *sigh*

i just sat there and let the music flow into my head for the first time in almost a year. it felt like a first drink of water after days in the desert. it felt like the first night back in your own bed after a year on the road. it felt like home.

i've seen a lot of things over here that i really have no need of ever seeing again. i've watched people on both sides get killed. i can tell you what it is like to watch an armored personnel carrier get hit by an ied and burst into flames, with no one coming out. i can tell you what a rocket looks like when it explodes 50 feet from you. i can tell you what gunfire sounds like over a radio and how a tactical air controller sounds when he thinks you could be his last chance.

but i really can't explain why, when i filled my head with music for the first time in almost a year, my eyes couldn't stop watering.

awake

2007-03-10T17:09:00.001-09:00

i can't sleep.

it's eight o clock at night and i'm sleepy, but i can't sleep, so i decided to turn on my trusty laptop and ramble a little.

hang on, i need a little music. what should i listen to... zero 7 seems suitable enough... a little pseudo lounge ambiance for my dark little bunk bed cave.

part of the reason that i can't sleep is my fault. i got 'home' from work at around 2 after lunch and i was fairly sleepy. i didn't quite have the motivation to go to the gym and so after about 20 minutes of just laying on my bed in a daze, unwilling to move for just about anything, i decided... screw it... i'll go to bed now and wake up at 10 or 11 tonight and go to the gym then when it is not crowded. that way, if i feel like i need to sleep a little more than 8 hours, i can... last night i got about 5 hours worth and it was by no means satisfying.

so i did. i brushed my teeth, pulled back my sheets, jumped in, and off i traveled to slumberland. then i woke up at 7pm just now... well 45 minutes ago... and although i am still sleepy (yawning even), i just can't seem to knock myself out again.

great idea dude... now i have 9 hours before i have to be at work for an 10 hour day... AND the gym is at its most crowded right now.

on a different note: my floor looks like a cock fighting arena... there are feathers everywhere. the somewhat less expensive down comforter that i purchased before i left seems to have been manufactured by the same people who put braille on drive through ATMs.

everyone imagines down feathers as such a soft and insulating material... what they fail to detect is the needle sharp little tips of each feather where it was originally attached to the bird. if one were to, by chance, pack several tens of thousands of these little feathery barblets into a low thread count cover and then sell it to unwitting customers who are only looking for a warm night of sound sleep, then one could probably make a fair amount of money. that unscrupulous individual would only have to come to terms with the fact that said customer would feel like he or she was sleeping in a porcupine nest... night... after night...

i've gotten used to the fact that feathers are everywhere. they are stuck to my clothes. they pile up in dunes across my floor. they weave themselves into the weft of my very soul and i cannot get rid of them.

that's probably a little overdramatic, but then again i suppose all duck lepers are a little melodramatic when they are tired.

peace out yo.

in the name of medicine

2007-03-06T16:33:00.001-09:00

ladies and gentlemen,

i regret to inform you of the bitter illness that has beset your beloved. i am afraid to tell you that there is no quick cure, and that rehabilitation will be a long and arduous process requiring much trial and tribulation, as well as support and dedication from his loved ones.

the cause should be of no surprise. there is a plethora of scientifically sound historical evidence that link the known causes to this kind of affliction. unfortunately, in times of global crisis such as these, often the personal safety of the few is sacrificed for the effort for the greater good. it was also found that the required OSHA placards (that detail the level of risk that an individual may face in this environment) were conspicuously absent from the workplace.

however, regardless of the amount of information available or preventative measures put into place, the end result is the same: a testosterone saturated environment with only remote links to the outside world... your dearly beloved has been diagnosed with chronic maleness. the term derived from the latin root mal, apparently meaning bad.

the subject first started displaying symptoms about two months ago when the testosterone rich environment started affecting him almost immediately. within days there appeared the early warning signs of upper labial follicle development... also known by the layman's term 'silly mustache." this in itself is not normally serious. often things like this flare up from time to time, normally on weekends when accompanied by suitably stimulating testosterone producing activities such as auto mechanicalism, and other fixing or bug killing activities, but it usually disappears in time for the relatively benign work week. in this case however, the follicle development continued, nay was cultured and even encouraged within the social context of his work environment. now two months later, the silly mustache is fully formed and promises to grow even further with no sign of subsiding.

the next and more serious phase of the affliction was more surprising... with very little warning, the subject began to spend more and more time in a physical conditioning center, engaging in painful and repetitive activities designed for nothing other than the restructuring and manipulation of musculoskeletal structure and the cardiovascular system. again, this activity has occasionally been a part of our dearly beloved's life schedule, but usually in short bursts and never with the regularity and intensity here mentioned.

over time, this has lead to a decrease in the amount of time spent in correspondence with his friends and family. it has lead to a decrease in the amount of net creative energy excess and a reciprocal increase in the frequency and duration of shop talk and guy time.

one of the serious long term effects of this dangerous affliction is the possible dissolution of relation with the previously existing ego (in the Freudian sense) and loss of connection with all things beautiful and creative (think california). overall the subject has been prescribed pens, pencils, paints, and paper, as well as music and books. the sketchbooks, pens, and pencils are already in his possession, and a very large shipment of paints is enroute, but we may need your help with suggestions for reading and hip music to inspire this young man so that we do not forever banish him to existence as just another uninspired, commonplace, testosterone driven guy.

i plead for your assistance, in the name of medicine and all good things.

in response

2007-02-10T16:10:00.001-09:00

it's been a while since i've written. i guess i was a little surprised by the responses that i got from the last little ditty i wrote and i wanted to respond in turn but haven't know exactly how to yet... first of all, i loved the responses; there is not shortage of well written images of love and support, and i feel blessed to be able to receive that energy. at the same time i felt guilty. the five paragraphs seemed to strike a chord, and my sister was not the only one to write me and ask if everything was ok.

so i looked back at what i wrote, and it is SAD. i didn't think i was sad, a little homesick maybe... missing my wife, my family, my friends, good mexican food... but i didn't think i was sad. i was laying in bed looking through my iTunes library remarking on all the albums that i have had since the beginning of time, but that remain nonetheless unchecked... never to be downloaded onto my wee pod. i was wondering why i keep those albums, and i couldn't explain. i didn't know. so i figured i would ask one of them, "hey CD! yah you! how do you feel?" and see what they would say.

silly patrick, you might say... CDs can't talk

oh but they can.

they sing all the time, just like most everything... most people just don't take the time to listen, but there are songs everywhere. a sail can sing about it's weariness in a storm. an ice cube can sing about relaxing into oblivion. the wind can sing about the frustration of trying to grab the world without fingers. a dam holding back a great river can sing about dreams.

there is a voice for everything and anything can have a message that can anyone can understand... a poet or writer or songwriter is just a translator.

so yes. everything is ok. i feel a little far from the world at times, but i always was one to look for distance from time to time to regain my perspective. there are a lot of thoughts running around in this little head of mine, more than one of them is related with what i am doing over here and where that fits into the scope of the world, the universe, my life, my karma, and my future.

so many thoughts are not easily organized or easily shared. i am continually learning the extent to which i guard my thoughts, and i am constantly trying to relax my grasp on them. it would be nice to know what is going on in my center. in the meantime, i may ask a tree what it thinks... or a door... or a CD even. if you have any questions, let me know... i may answer here or perhaps in an email, but i'll answer if i can.

thank you. i love you too.

integrally obsolete

2007-01-24T15:11:00.001-09:00

i am an overspecialized memory.

i am the cd you bought years ago because i was popular at the time and you listened to me a hundred times, but not anymore. i sit stacked on your bookshelf or in your cd case next to Bel Biv Devoe or David Bowie.

you know exactly what i sound like. you know exactly what part of your life i remind you of, and that time is not now. i don't fit.

you've tried to put me in the player on one of those days when you were feeling nostalgic, perhaps to impress someone with the breadth and diversity of your music collection... only to get part way into the first song and realize it was a mistake... i don't fit... you'd be much better off with some hooverphonic or kate earl or ekova. i'm a old emotion that you've outgrown; lacking the complexity of the life you've created, i no longer apply.

but you hold onto me. i stay there in your collection. another ring in your musical tree trunk... another layer that was once your skin that you wore, but that now is just another hidden layer above your core.

my purpose no longer to sing, but to remind and support... silently.

white noise

2007-01-22T16:05:00.001-09:00

i tried to sleep without the air conditioner on, because i got too cold. it was fairly cold outside... more cool really, enough for a pair of running pants and a windbreaker (if you wear that kind of thing), but definitely not the kind of weather where you need an air conditioner. i mean, it's january.

i couldn't use the heater though. the prior occupant was very clear on that account:

"if you turn the heater on, it will smell like something is burning. then all of your clothes and things will smell like burning, and you will not like it" (he e-nun-ci-a-ted)

i didn't believe him at first... smell like burning, HA. he probably didn't clean out the filter. i opened up the access door and Voila! it was filthy. so i gently removed it and carried it outside so as not to knock even a modicum of dust onto my rug. once outside however, i beat it against the railing for a minute in the somewhat unchoreographed ballet style of a drunken swashbuckler.

i returned back inside, somewhat disheveled and all-together covered in dust, replaced the filter, turned the heater onto the lowest setting, and waited all of 4 seconds before i could smell the burning. it was all of 10 seconds before i smelled like burning, and i most definitely did not like it.

it smelled as if the whole thing would blow at any minute: coppery ozone with a little of burnt dust and hair thrown in there for good measure. it tingled my tongue and stuck in my throat when i inhaled. there was no question, the heater was definitely not turning back on. so it was off then... if a/c is too cold and heat will burn the place down, then i wasn't going to use the damn thing at all. so off went the light, and into the bed i went.

i heard the door down the hall open, someone took 23 steps to the end of the hall and opened the far door into the wind, slamming it into the railing. then someone two rooms down coughed. then the person next door came home, and i heard every single article of their clothing hit the floor. then i heard the music they were playing... in their earphones. someone else left their room. someone else came back. someone told a funny joke, and somebody didn't sleep.

so the fan came back on, filling the room with a soft teddy bear of a noise that hid the world from my ears. i put my running pants and windbreaker on, pulled the covers up over my head... and fell blissfully asleep.

sweet dreams.

a shiny tool

2007-01-19T19:30:00.001-09:00

if i were a screwdriver...

i would aim to keep my edge. i would seat myself firmly in the screw and torque evenly, so as not to slip out of my groove and strip the head. i would dedicate my existence to it, being there for the screws: making sure they can all remain firmly seated, so that none work their way loose, to be lost forever. i would watch over them and make them my responsibility and i would find my honor in that.

i would pray at night that the hands that held me would honor me. i know sometimes a screwdriver is used to pry up a lid... or chip away at something with a hammer. i know sometimes they are used to shimmy locks or punch holes or to break something apart.

you can tell when you see them. they are twisted, gouged, and bent ever so slightly... just enough that they no longer quite seat; they slip from the groove. they are passed over for another. they are discarded. they are lost. they are forgotten.

oh what desires are there for a tool other than to be used with respect and good purpose?

book report

2007-01-19T13:58:00.001-09:00

i am listening to Tricky in my room and thinking how i
would like to meditate.
i just finished reading A Fortune Teller Told Me by
Tiziano Terzani.

i would recommend it to my closest friends. it is an
autobiography of the international correspondent
during the year 1993 when Mr. Terzani was warned by a
fortune teller (back in 1976) that he faced a grave
risk of dying if he chose to fly that year. choosing
to honor the possible danger, he travels by boat,
train, automobile, and foot, all throughout the far
east and relates his travels and insights in this
book. i liked it because he is honest and open with
his voice. he does not sugar coat, nor does he
apologize for, his opinion.

so now i just recommended it to you.
with love
p

Needs

2007-01-19T00:42:00.001-09:00

I need a cave.

I have to be able to extinguish the fire to stop the movement across the walls. I need to be able to feel the breath from my nose as it touches my upper lip. I need to close my ears.

I want there to be vibrations in the stone at my feet that i can press my forehead into. I want to feel earth against my skin in gritty units of age.

I would swallow huge spheres of ice, as large as my head, and i would enjoy the inner numbness as i melted them away, all the while concentrating on my breathing.

All the while concentrating on my bones relaxing...

I want to read the wall with my fingertips. I want to interpret the eons of movement and pressure in the braille cracks and fissures. I want to walk barefoot on the rocks and remember the sharpness before the skin callouses.

i need a cave that i can leave... so that even the moonlight blinds me.

OUT OF TOUCH CONTINUED...

2007-01-13T20:46:00.001-09:00

HA!

that relatively buffoonerous act was me hitting send before i was even done. (not like that has ever happened before) although it could have been the doings of THE MAN, being the all powerful entity that it is.

so here is the deal. there will be no responses of mine in the comments section... not because i don't wish to respond, but rather because, in my somewhat ethereally-handcuffed state, i am unable to get to the page to respond... so therefore, i will have to respond here:

elijah,

i love you too, and i feel your love and support and the love, peace, and harmony that accompany it. i arrived here a just after the new year chimed in to find the land much muddier and a great deal colder than when i last left it. it is a strange thing, this place. it is easy to forget what day it is because i go to work everyday. it's groundhog day in a strangely communist world where everyone is wearing the same clothes and shows up to work at the same time everyday and does the same thing. everyone has health care. everyone has shoes. everyone gets paid about the same. we all live in the same little trailers with two beds and two cabinets and two desk lamps and two bedstands. instead of monday tuesday wednesday, we have curry day, and taco day, steak and lobster day, and chicken cordon bleu day. i measure time by how many pairs of clean underwear are in my cabinet and to a greater extent, how many times i have done laundry. it's a silly little world that i find myself in. yet the silliest thing is that part of me craves this while i am far from here. i will talk to you soon.

heather,

love of my love. right now you are navigating the streets of istambul with your walking feet and your looking eyes. how i wish i could be walking at your side with your hand in my hand and your scent in my nose. my feet feel too heavy when you aren't standing on my toes and dancing through the kitchen with your blinding smile. i am jealous of istambul and of all the other strange lands that feel the touch of your toes instead of me.

this is a strange life, and i do not know why i so hunger for things that challenge me. nor can i explain my affinity for contradiction and opposition. i am reading and thinking. i am feeling my way out again and searching for the part of me that i haven't seen since school. i know he is around somewhere.

speaking of school, i ran into a splendid gentleman who also went to santa cruz. it is a strange thing in my world and we both had to admit that we were both the first people that we knew to share that in common. not only that, but we were in the same dorm... we were both residential advisors... and we both had responsibility of the SAME HALL.

we spent all of our middle meal (hard to call it lunch when it happens at 4am) reminiscing about the school and the area and the people and the magically unique environment that we left for this world.

the exchange was a bittersweet, and it helped me remember a little more about who i am.

there is a lot of sarcasm and negativity sometimes when one is surrounded by others who are separated from their friends and loved ones for hundreds of days at a time. i endeavor to keep that in check, and to foil the sour emissions from others as i am able. this is a serious work that all these men and women have undertaken, and i pray that they do not forget the little bits that make them individual and beautiful. nor that they forget the implications of their actions, as i endeavor to do.

with all the hurt, pain, disillusionment, and destructive elements in this world, i pray my actions do more to alleviate these things rather than inflame them. my fear is that i will never know.

with all of my love,

out of touch

2007-01-13T19:59:00.001-09:00

i am officially out of touch.

for one, my internet/email access is limited. the man has got me down. when i can get online, i can't even check out my own blog. why you ask? because it is BLOCKED! FORBIDDEN! VERBOTEN! OUT OF BOUNDS! STAY OFF THE GRASS! DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS!

dear anonymous blog reader whom i do not know and will never meet,

2006-12-17T12:26:00.000-09:00

here's the thing:
i don't really really trust you. because i don't really know you. this essentially comes down to a lack of faith in myself, but i am going to project a little for now, so humor me or find somewhere else to browse.
i have had a problem with writing about how i feel. truthfully writing. i'm not quite sure where it comes from. it is easy to ramble on about something. to get words down on a white screen and hit PUBLISH and feel like you are writing, but anyone can do that. i started doing this because i wanted to write and vent and purge and have cathartic release. well, whatever it is that i have been doing has failed to effect that result. i've been putting pictures in with the words as i take them. they are loosely associated with words if at all. more often than not, i am actually just happy to put the pictures up. the photos have an anonymous energy that is more effective than the words anyways. they are safe.
those who have ventured close to my heart have often told me that near to it lies an impenetrable box. some have used the word fortress, some have used the word chest, and someone told me it was a room with no doors that hides something that she so wished with all her heart that she could see.
i knew the whole time that i had a sense of what they were all talking about, but i was unable to define it then, just as i am unable to define it now.
heather sometimes scratches at my chest as she lies up next to me and whispers "let me in, let me in" if it is particularly conspicuous. all the while i feel as if i am laid open and bare to the whole world, and especially her.
this blog will never tell you who i am. it may reveal what i am thinking at a moment. it may show you a glimpse of my beliefs or how my mind works, but it will likely never define the box.
this is most likely because i keep it closed for a reason, whatever that reason may be. for the time, it seems, i keep it closed even to myself.
while i say that it is you that i don't trust, really it seems that it is myself whom i need to convince.
i don't really trust me, because i'm not really sure how much i know me right now

one third

2006-12-17T11:29:00.000-09:00

i'm driving myself a little bit crazy today. i've got loads of things to do but the only thing i've been doing is breathing. i made a pizza earlier. it was beautiful, with asparagus, eggplant, peppers, and other assorted vegetables. quite enjoyable. i think i just needed a day to decompress. My folks have been visiting for the last week with my cousin Sara. it has been awesome to have them out here in our home. it's a funny thing when one moves out of the parental housing unit and into their own. granted, it happened to me a long time ago, but nonetheless, i still remark on it. the big day is when they finally visit and you find yourself going into the rooms and turning off lights after people leave. you catch yourself closing the front door when you find it wide open, and you laugh to yourself when you find the milk on the counter and you put it back in the fridge.
my dad said this day would come, but i still can't admit that i'm a grown up. i'm not yet. i still count my age in fractions... eight and a half... seventeen and five sixths... twenty nine and forty-seven fiftieths...
i figure no adult would count their age in fractions... so i'm safe.
what's the big idea anyways. it's not like i'm afraid of being old. i've got twice again as long to live as i already have... and i can barely remember the beginning of that. that's a long time.
with all of that time left i guess i just needed a little of it to myself.

and she is gone

2006-12-06T11:46:00.000-09:00

i was remiss in my failure to report that the era of gina is now behind us. heather and i were oh so very lucky to have had her stay with us for the last few months. we had set up a little room for her downstairs. not only would she cook fantastic culinary delights on demand, but she would also tidy up a bit around the house, as well as help the heather with her errands and chores. her pay was reasonable... room and board, as well as art supplies and the odd little travel adventure (amongst which i count sleeping in a soccer field for octoberfest in munich, three days in amsterdam, and one crazy halloween party)

overall, i think the arrangement suited all involved. she is a fantastic woman and she is most incredibly missed already.

we love you ginabug

rain

2006-12-06T11:21:00.000-09:00

it's raining today. we are currently under a weather watch, with a warning of over 2 inches of rain within 12 hours. now, that's a lot of rain for here, but i'm not sure if i would qualify it at weather watch worthy. there doesn't seem to be a lot of wind or lightning associated with the perilous precipitation, just the threat of 0.166 inches of rain per hour for the next half day.

nonetheless, being the properly prepared person that i am, i decided to build a fire in our humble wood burning stove downstairs, in case the impending rain happened to knock out all the electricity in our house... as our circuit breaker has the tendency to pop off on it's own anyways. that way, if the electrical did happen to go out, we could still wake up in a nice and comfy little house in the morning.

so that's our evening. not particularly dangerous or exciting. we just sat down on the couch downstairs, heather made a egg-nogg and rum drink for herself and an egg-nogg and RUM drink for me, we put our feet up to the fire and listened to the rain for a little while.

trash

2006-11-30T13:15:00.000-09:00

so i left out the front door to go to work today and realized that when we had put the garbage outside the front door (because it smelled and it was not yet garbage day) we had neglected to put it in any kind of fiddle proof container and the roving band of feral cats that rules our particular neighborhood had managed to find it. faithfully representing their particular style of behavior, they had managed to tear open an entire side of the bag and then shed its contents onto our front porch.

i calmly went back inside to grab a secondary refuse satchel (as if i had loads of time to spare) and proceeded to rebag a bunch of week old thanksgiving leftovers and bonsai potatoes. at that point i realized that i needed to dispose of this garbage myself, since the secondary bagging technique was not going to survive another cat raping.

so i proceeded down the lawn to our jeep. our jeep has the back seat removed and has become our designated "pick up type vehicle" (since i sold my truck) and therefore is the proper vehicle for transporting the odd bag of garbage to the dumpster at my work.

much to my chagrin however, was the realization that my handy dandy little remote gate opener was neither handy, nor dandy, NOR did is open our gate! i was locked in my own backyard (it was somewhat embarrasing)

that's about it...that and i went to belgium today. it was nice.