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08/01 Direct Link

August.

A bright, shiny new month, 31 days of heat and beauty, coming our way.  104 this afternoon; predicting 107 tomorrow.

Met today with Josh, we talked it out, and talked it over, hashed out our lives in recovery.  He's a good guy, he's slippery as are so many junkies – moreso than alcoholics, from what I can see – he's slippery but his intentions are good.

Then tonight I finally heard from Mike, in NYC; guy goes on vacation and six hours after landing he's in the hospital and that's almost a week now, tomorrow morning surgery, re-section his gut.  Fuck.
08/02 Direct Link

Pamela is The Perfect Storm of reminiscing, lust and love and hatred and compassion and friendship and compatibility, all of that, and more, and I cannot shake thoughts of her from my mind, it's cut so deeply into me.

I didn't love her more than any other, but I did love her, though I didn't want to.  I didn't even want to be with her yet was compelled, again and again; her vulnerability nailed me, and her sexuality.  Actually, both of those, melded, seamless.

She knew me naked, raw, opened, the good and the bad.

She was a good friend.
08/03 Direct Link

So what the fuck is with all this reminiscing, anyways, does this mean  all the love is in the past?  I can't accept that.  It seems I'm stuck but I can get free, I can shake free again, I've done it before.

Though I don't know that I've been this mired before.

Anyways.  Reminiscing.  Pamela.  Kathy, of course, always always always.  Always.  Alison.  De Etta – how is it we didn't somehow make that work?  Kelly – a wonderful woman, such a sweetie.

I've had some spectacular women in my arms.

I've just not been able to hold to any of them.

Damnit.
08/04 Direct Link

I sat in the shop while my truck was being repaired – new windshield, window tinting – and in that shop was a television tuned, non-stop, to a 'news' station.  Worse, it was tuned to the Fox propagandist 'news' station.

The most TV I've watched this year, I think the only TV I've watched this year.

I watched hours and hours of it in December, visiting David it was on all. the. god. damned. time.

Fuck.

Television is loathsome.

It makes me sick.

Propaganda.  Screeching, screaming adverts.  Slick, pretty people who look like stuffed lumps of shit, which is what they are.
08/05 Direct Link

Drug addicts are sortof extra slippery, they seem to have an extra layer of …   Con artistry?  Not exactly that.  It's a sort of dishonesty but not just directed outwardly, it's more a way of life; they're mostly not aware they're doing it, which doesn't mean that they're not doing it with all their might.  Denial.  It lies underneath, it's hard to pin down, they mostly cannot see it themselves, it unwinds over years, if ever.  Implicit in denial is the fact that it's really an unknown, otherwise it wouldn't be denial, but rather dishonesty of a different, more flagrant sort.
08/06 Direct Link

Four hours or five perhaps, working in my kitchen, cleaning, bringing order.  It'd looked like a bomb had gone off in there, now just looks like a messy guys ratty condo kitchen.  Hideous formica but it's clean now at least, the cabinets banged up but cleaned now, items that'd just been laid/splayed on various counter-tops or surfaces wherever now brought to order, or put away.  Stove top cleaned, fridge cleaned, though not yet inside; tomorrow.  I did clear out old food / tupperware stuff, just gotta get in and scrub it out.

It sure feels nicer to walk in there.
08/07 Direct Link

Emily.  She's just the best friend; I'm SO lucky she moved here.  She told me today – I asked – it's coming on five years ago.  October.  We sat out by the pool – mostly I was in the pool – and messed around, Benny the dog and her almost brand-spanking-new baby boy, James.

Emmer and I range wide in our conversations, we go here and there then over to the next place, just lots of fun.

I miss her pretty dang desperately; having her living next door was a true comfort to me.

Is she going to move?

Over time, it'll reveal.
08/08 Direct Link

I've waited too late tonight, my head is full of cement now, tired, groggy, I almost forgot to write here, and you can see that this isn't art, or even an attempt at it.  Just spit out a hundred words and then hang it up, wave it goodbye, adios, motherfucker.  Or some such.

About all I did today was blow out the a/c drain, borrowed a compressor and hose and blew that sucker out; drains good, now.

Also a bit more order in the kitchen, and wrote a comment on a blog about hoarders, which I am, painfully enough.

Bedtime.
08/09 Direct Link

Why do I insist on you getting out and walking outside? Well, not because it's going to help you, that's for sure – you're pretty much screwed, no matter what you do, you could walk to Peru and you'd still be screwed screwed screwed. But even though you're screwed, and even though you're fifteen different kinds of hurting, and even though getting outside isn't going to help you one little goddamn bit, it also is going to help you, just sortof, just a little bit. You'll think "Hey, I'm outside – it sucks out here, too." and you'll be absolutely right, but
08/10 Direct Link

So since this is my "missed" day, I can type in anything I want, right?  I mean, I can write about aardvarks.  Or Brazil.  Or 1966 Ford Mustangs, or size 13EEE feet, or nice straw cowboy hats, the whir of the electric fan which cools my body ...

Actually the fan doesn't whir, or cool my body – the air passing through the fan whirs, that air passing over my body cools it.

So there's that.

Still, I didn't even have to write that, you wouldn't have noticed had I not pointed it out.

But I wanted to, and so I did.
08/11 Direct Link

How dare we say anything about Germany in the 1940s, how dare we play that tiresome card again and again. Yeah, they killed millions more than our military but our military hasn't needed to kill more to get at their resources or we damn sure would have.

This current “war” truly is shooting fish in a barrel; here's some  mope with an AK47 walking down the street scratching his ass, and a drone zeroed on him from 417 miles away, a drone piloted by some fat fuck in Idaho shoving twinkies into his head, hooting as he presses his button … 
08/12 Direct Link


... when they listen to his songs they don't hear anything particularly ground breaking. They can't grasp why they are influential, ...

If they don't hear anything particularly ground breaking in Neil Young's music, and can't grasp why it's influential, they just can't hear. They've heard too many Michael Jackson records, even though they didn't know they were listening. You're not going to be able to reach them, don't bother trying, it'd be like trying to explain money to a Zulu, like trying to explain class to someone from LA. Send their mother a card for having borne children with stillborn souls.

08/13 Direct Link

I'm not participating in the beauty which lives here, the art, the music, the warmth of Austin people.  And I've give up on love.

I'm stuck, and hoping to jar myself with a new address, a fresh start.

Sometimes moving doesn't turn out for the best, sometimes it's worse; I know that if I'm running from something I'll just find it wherever I go, and I know that at least part of what I'm doing is running.

I've a comfortable life here, if not a satisfying one.

But if I'm staying simply for comfort, predictability – what the fuck is that?
08/14 Direct Link

Downloading various music on napster, 1999, somehow on some search came across a record entitled Stories From The City Stories From The Sea.  It caught my interest, I downloaded a cut, then downloaded all of it, burned it to a cd then played the living shit out of it in my pickup and riding that bike.  It's some of the very best 'bike ride' music I know of, I put those headphones on, turn it up to 11 and just blow my legs apart, blow my lungs out of my chest. It's just such jamming rock and roll,

08/15 Direct Link

This is the first I've seen of Adele – I'm one of these people who just lets music come as it will, I don't and won't listen to top forty, blah blah blah.  Stubborn, foolish, whatever.  Anyways, that's how I missed her, and missing her was missing a lot – she's great. What a singer, what great songs, too.  Whoa.  And goddamn, she's darling, she is just so, so darling – she's just one of the most kissable woman that there is, aren't you just dying to kiss her, and kiss on her?  I damn sure am.  Fuck.  Jesus christ.  What a babe!
08/16 Direct Link

This really lights my ass up – I know that I missed one day this month, one day of these hundreds, but I didn't miss two days.  I know that for a fact.

Yet there were four days that did not show up as having hundreds entered. 

What. the. fuck?

On two of those I was able to find words written on that day, and plug them in, but not for this entry.

It's bad enough that I missed that one day, and have to go through the rest of the month on knife's edge. 

This, though, this totally blows.
08/17 Direct Link

I am in Austin and glad that I am; I stumbled to Houston in 1977, running from a divorce, and Texas – I've found my home.  So many people get to Texas running from their life rather than running toward it, I'm not the first nor the last.

Texas is just awfully forgiving in that way – it seems that people outside Texas see it as just some big, sweaty, redneck horror show, and it is of course that and more, but it's also very warm hearted; people just don't see that, maybe you can't see it unless/until you live here.
08/18 Direct Link

Dark chocolate Snickers bars are the spawn of Satan, they exist to destroy me; they mock me, they tempt me, they call to me from afar. They call "Hey, come on over here, Dumbo, we promise that this time you will be able to eat just one, plus we won't turn you into a big fat fucking pile of goo no matter how many you shove into your head." but I do not trust them, I cannot trust them, I must not trust them –  they have in the past proven themselves odious liars.

So I go on, as I must,
08/19 Direct Link

105 degrees again today.  Over 100 degrees every day this month.  I write these words at 12:20 am and it is still 91 degrees; at 10:15 pm it was still 95.

I know better than to complain a warm August; just part and parcel of living here.  Part of the show.  Deal with it or move on.  I don't think I'm complaining, just saying.

Nowhere else I'd want to go, though the deep, piney woods of East Texas do look good, sometimes.  And property is cheap there.

Thailand looks fun, too.That'd probably be the only move I'd make from Texas.
08/20 Direct Link

Scott has a real good sense of himself, he didn't let his boss – Polly – threaten him, told her that if that's what and how she felt he'd gladly leave that job.

That takes some balls.  Absolutely the correct thing to do.  Still, takes some jam.

Scott's got it.

He had that huge experience which just turned him around, a huge gift that is; the guy is like a big valium, a calming presence.  He didn't have that, from what he tells me, until after that experience.

What else?  Fading fast here, winding down, not much else to say tonight.
08/21 Direct Link

I've been sortof needing a run to Houston, I want to check out that hostel by the Fine Arts Museum, I want to spend a day or two in that museum, and depending upon what movies are playing at the museum theatre and who is playing at Anderson Fair, I'd go to either or both of those at night. Fun! Anderson Fair, MFAH, Baba Yega for great people watching and great cheeseburgers, Texas Art Supply is right there (like a drugstore for a junky) and then also just sortof bopping around Montrose and Museum district. That's a fun weekend there.
08/22 Direct Link

I don't have any idea how I didn't get Phil's birthday set into my calendar but I surely did not; I so appreciate your saying something about it in your msg on Saturday.  And I didn't have all the rest of the birthdays entered in, and those I did weren't all of them entered in correctly but I think I've got them now; some of them I'd entered but not as repeating yearly –  duh.

It was good to speak with you tonight.  And you are absolutely correct – if Mom doesn't act, regardless why, I can then let it all go.
08/23 Direct Link

Beata Beatrix has everything in it, everything – Time, Life, Death, Peace, Opium, it's suffused in Love, wrapped in Love, painted with Love, he painted all the love he had for Lizzy Siddall, after her death, a probable suicide, absolutely an overdose.  It's the most beautiful goddamn thing I have ever seen, ever, anywhere.  I was stunned by it and I still am; it's soft, diffuse, golden, deceptively powerful.  She is beautiful.  Rossetti was a neurotic painter/poet, and a fool, took her for granted because of her station, then came undone, guilt, and shame; he saw himself, and her, too late.
08/24 Direct Link

So the question is – “What Would Steve Jobs Do?”

He's lived this great life, rode this thing like a rocket, kept going when things hit him hard.

He retired from Apple today; speculation is that he's close to death, that pancreatic cancer is finally catching up to him.

I found a graduation address he gave.  He spoke of the brevity of life, and how each day should be started with a look in the mirror, and the question “If this were the last day of my life, would I wish to spend it how I am going to?”

Good question.
08/25 Direct Link

First day this month Austin did not break 100 degrees; think we topped out at 94, which is like kisses from a pretty girl compared to what we've been dealing with these past months.  I just hope that I can endure through another couple of months and then it's over for another year, by end of October for sure we can pretty much pack it in, and then the days alternate, sunny bright warm or soft gray cool; being as how I'm always so burnt out on the death days of summer, I'm all about those soft gray cool days
08/26 Direct Link

Manchaca:  4:30pm. Met Josh.  Honest.  Open.

Sometimes it's painful to open this way, not painful like “Ouch I burnt my fucking hand!” but rather “Jesus fucking christ, plz not again.”  It hurt so fucking bad today, right back there I was:  The past.

I would give anything to go back, make it right.  Anything.  Everything.  My biggest mistakes, ever.

*****

Boat dock:  9pm.  95F.  Sultry.

Sometimes it's painful to sweat this way, not painful like “Ouch I burnt my fucking hand!” but rather “Jesus fucking christ, this fucking sucks.”  But tonight – I was totally there, sweating, pulsing, wide open, reveling, exultant.
08/27 Direct Link

Biggest piece of the day? Probably meeting with Scott; he really is a citizen, just determined to do things right, to hold up to his end of the deal, keeps walking into the discipline(s) involved in the life he's called to.

I surely admire that about him; having had that in varying degrees as I've staggered down these roads, I know what it costs him and also what it gives in return.

It's taken him thirty years to get ten clean and sober; each of the times he's failed in prior stabs at it he's learned things to leave behind.

08/28 Direct Link

Mike is a citizen, keeps facing into the work.  Real strengths.

I don't know anyone who's taken as many consecutive beatings as he has – lived through lymphoma (barely) then into remission, and  starting to get his life moving.

Just in time for crohns to hit him like a goddamn truck. 

It's entirely possible that he's been closer to death than ever he was from lymphoma; he's been bad sick, hospitalizations, operations, on and on.  Crohns sucks.

I'm his sponsor, I'm supposed to keep pointed away from self-pity but it's hard here, I'm really angry Mike has been hammered this way.
08/29 Direct Link


My first master, Mike: If you unroll your mat, and step onto it, you have lived to your Ashtanga commitment – you have practiced that day.

There are days I don't have the jam, physically.

There are days I don't have the jam, mentally.

I've been rained out; a hazard of an outdoor practice.

I've stopped due to pain, especially since the injuries, awareness, caution at possibility of stepping over those lines, into the nightmare yet again; tonight had some of that.

I do Sun Salutations, always.

It's not for me to judge the practice – it's for me to show up.



08/30 Direct Link

I went to get my new truck inspected, pull into the place, look for license sticker that is to be put on windshield – gone.  All the paperwork there but the sticker itself – gone.

One of the guys working where I got window tint done, I bet he needed a license sticker, saw his opportunity and took it. 

I can't say for sure – I'm less sure about things if I'm having a good day, less prone to leveling charges wildly.  But – aside from myself, they're the only people who had access to it.

I hope they get hit by a bus.
08/31 Direct Link

Looks like I'll never be ever to let go thoughts of Pamela; she's two years in the grave yet still caught in my heart, the good and the bad of it.  It's obsession, and I know it, but knowledge of obsession has never been able to free me from it.

It's the same tune again and again; like an oldies radio station, the songs, though forty years old, they still resonate, still hold – in the pickup last night, Jumpin' Jack Flash came on the radio, I'm twisting 'round in the seat, as much as the first time I heard it.