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One hundred, day one. Used to do this every day, so much so that I stopped. Nothing worse than the preacher too comfortable to stick to the regime he once was so proud and proficient with in his youth. Anyway… On the run, back down to LA. Maybe this time we'll find a place to live. I'm in a little canoe (I hate boats, well, don't hate- it's a water thing) and there's an island over there somewhere. I thought I saw a flare but from this angle I'm sure, it's not from shore. It's out on the water too.
Los Angeles gives me boogers. Halter tops make me feel cheap- on others I mean. And those sling shirts, those one shouldered throw backs from the days of disco, make me think the absolute worst of people. Pause. The most common words uttered by drivers would have to be: ‘people can't drive', or some variation of that theme, most likely with gratuitous cursing. I like cursing. It makes me feel vulgar and tough. It makes me want to watch football and start fights. I've never really been in a fight though. Sometimes, while walking, weird violent episodes fill my mind.
The summer I lived on Twin Peaks in San Francisco I got up everyday and wrote. I had a new laptop (my first) and some kind soul was paying my way so that I could afford to quit my job and be free to draw crazy little pictures. Sometimes the morning sessions went only ten minutes, other times hours flew by. There where occasions when I became so full of words, so moved by the flow of my own thoughts that I couldn't even make it to the bathroom. I would stand, dance the pee dance in anticipation, still typing.
Last night's dream had an old friend in a yellow shirt. I had to sit next to her, both of us on the ground, squished together, it was very crowded. Loud too. My knees pressed tightly against my chest, fingers locked together around the outside. Another character- friend from another me- wanted to point out the obvious when I put my finger to my lips to keep him quiet. …Jake la motta, keep on fightin, but ya can't do the monologue from ‘On the Waterfront because, well, because you were a contender. Great stories cover the rise, and the fall
I dreamt Tony Millionaire was at my house. He had made a movie. There was something about a large body of water, though I think it had more to do with a crowd- no, no it was water. Murky dark water with a sludgy bottom, a public pool where only rare parts could I on tip toes keep my head above. Tony looked younger and sweeter than I had always imagined. He was tall though. He had small old blue tattoos all over his body. I took a shower and when I came out, written on the door through the
steam he left a message saying he had gone to the café down the street. I was sad he had left without telling me. Earlier, while I was in the bathroom priming myself (I was very excited for him to be there, and for us to be friends) I heard him talking about biking in Cambodia, but I think he was talking about motorcycling. There was a part where we dropped a small child (clay?) off a fire escape. It fell for far longer than I anticipated, I figured it was for effect, but it began to give me vertigo.
There's a heater on the other side of this wall. This wall is the space I use to hang reference photos and stages of drawings I'm working on. The problem with doing this is that these images get old, I get used to seeing them and their memorable effects get lost. I use masking tape to hang them, and it's strong stuff. But the wall gets really hot because of the heater on the other side and lately many are falling off. Figures right I think, sometimes it's best to let decisions be up to those who will make them.
Drink a lot of water, conserve your energy. It's what I try to do when I don't feel well. One could say that we let the machines of our time be role models for our lives but it seems more likely that we're just getting closer to mimicking how we really are. Sometimes I just need to sit on the couch, lean my head back and fall into a light sleep for fifteen minutes. I call it rebooting my system. I know it's an old practice by those with self awareness, and that computers just gave it a new name.
We're all addicted to something. My wife is addicted to looking for apartments. We've been doing it so long that she just can't stop. It's not that we've been over finicky or exceptional bargain hunters, it's just that this town has something up it's ass and won't lower it's prices. The point is, is we've seen a lot of crap. We finally found a place, a few dollars more than we wanted to pay, but isn't everything? We've agreed to sign a lease, and I come in, and she's still looking. It's a wonder she was able to get married.
I'm often surprised at how my mood can be shifted into optimism. But more surprised after it happens and I realize how slowly and simply I had become dire and black. I do believe that in each area of the world, the mark of longitude and latitude combined with altitude creates unique vibrations. The temperature, the time of year, always have an effect on moods as well. I think I'm in the wrong area, though I've yet to find one better. I do think that if a person doesn't find their right region they will suffer slowly until their death.
The sun can be a source of procrastination, of lethargy. There is definitely wrong with a life source that we must protect ourselves against. Joen has such fair skin that an hour in range of that ball of fire (supposedly just the right distance away) she has permanent damage. You gotta love the human race, we just call that cute, them thar freckles. And me, I got migranes as a child from the sun, and even still, direct contact to my head sends me to bed for a day. No, the sun isn't our friend. The sun must be stopped.
About eight months or so ago I had a funny dream about Mick Jagger. I did a cartoon of it. The cartoon had a funny drawing of him and all it said was: I had a dream about Mick Jagger last night, he was awkward and geeky and wore big clunky shoes. I think that's verbatim, but if not, it sums up the dream clearly anyhow. I think of that because the Stones' song "this could be the last time" is playing in my mind right now. I don't think this is the last time for anything for me though.
I am extremely susceptible to music playing out and around. A car can momentarily pass with music on and as long as I've heard the song that's playing before at least once, it's there stuck in my head. I can pick up songs that are being broadcast for radio reception. I hear them playing in my head. I also can predict which episodes of certain syndicated sitcoms that will air each day. I attribute that to having watched them so many times that I now know their order. It's very subconscious though, I couldn't recite it to you on command.
Moving sucks but always feels good to unpack. I see bigger leaps in ability if I take time away to let my mind focus on something else. I will probably always be moving on to something and getting past something else. There are many concepts and studies I have biases clamped around that hinder me from truly seeing them. For instance: I often think philosophy is something of the past. Seeing that now so many can pontificate so freely, the role of philosopher can rarely be found. I have never met someone who when asked what they do reply: Philosopher.
We want a good love song- really, we want good songs about love. And we want good stories to sweep us away. We want our rebels to be bold and smart, out of line and to be someone we don't know so that when we hear of them we can idolize them. Everybody dies. It's hard to say what reality is. Maybe it's only that everybody dies. Every action we commit, conscious or not, may all be because we're going to die. It could be though that all actions, as well as stagnations, are because we live. We get older.
My friend says that she had problems getting over the mind habit of thinking movies were real life. I have a similar problem. Movies are my reference points, my analogies and filters for understanding reality. Songs are my philosophy and emotional textbooks. That's why I have trouble listening to anyone young. I need experience. There are dynamics of many situations that I feel I understand very deeply. They're cruel portraits, crude character studies where everyone is flat and one dimensional. I often think of myself this way as well, like never realizing people exist other than in moments with you.
New! If there was a little town inside of me, it would be rustic. It's grounds wooded, thick tall trees providing safety and seclusion. Town hall would be a tall barn like structure but with the space of an airplane hanger. There are no airplanes though in my settlement. Least none that carry people. There is no need. Anywhere there is to go, foot takes you there best. Time is only time and is not money. Money is something you can make or destroy, in my town, we just let time be. Our homes are simple, warm, cozy. Large stone
fireplaces and open kitchens are the majority of the space. A nest of a bed rests in a corner, a quiet nook filled with pillows and comfort. Work sheds are in the back, white walls and lots of windows. Shelves, tables and tools. Paper, brushes and books. The sun comes up and the sun goes down and everyone knows it's the earth that spins. Meetings are held and there is no real leader. There is no God but there is a force greater than us all. A podium sits many feet above the heads of all us town members and
we take turns speaking. Often we push one another out of the way, sometimes we just stand and speak. Sometimes we stop when someone starts and sometimes we just talk louder over them. There are forces all around us and when the sorceress from the brier desert comes to town we all feel it. When the liar from the unknown land calls through the trees, we all hear it. All our problems are the same problem, all our words are our own. It is our words that define these problems, for if we did not speak, there would be nothing.
A role. Kaiser, or streak? I eat lots of garlic. I also eat lots of ice cream late at night. It's usually because I'm stoned. Getting stoned is a comfortable shoe. A habit and one that still lives with me for a few days after. The devil's weed. She's not a temptress but a luring force, an encompassing shadow of arms and cape-like dress. She lives amongst briers and thorny thick wooded weeds. It's a desert area, sparse and gray. Her haze is subtle and laced with anger. I want some granola now. That garlic bagel with ginger is gone.
I know the ending, so now, it's just rewinding at a rate that is decipherable. What was yesterday? A bit hung, not horrible, some duty some running into old acquaintances. I did something bad, I went back and looked. I'm always looking, I like to look. I want to see and the first place to start is with the obvious. If everything I see affects me, and everything I've seen has already shaped me, can I really be fair judge to say what I should and should not allow myself to see? Any view, will always be a limited view.
It's right on time. Over and over again. If I pause, then it's lost, if I just go like I go, it's trite. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter if my feet get caught in some of the tires, if I trip on the course, it's getting to the end that matters. Play the song all the way through, keep time, figure out the details later. Fine tune later. The hardest part is starting and then the hardest part is finishing. We start because we want to finish and we want to finish to prove we've done something; that we've started something.
If I am happy, I can not produce. If I am getting along with my friends, there is not enough turmoil. This is the mantra of the twenties. Sixteen is the age when a whole new world opens up, the car. Eighteen, the age of freedom. Twenty one is the age of quitting drinking for fun (since it's most fun when you're not aloud) and the time drinking problems begin. Twenty five is the age of reconciliation with the past, with ourselves, and twenty seven is the age to decide to either die of a drug overdose, or live right.
If I were born a hundred years ago, I'd be thinking fondly of a time before me, a time I considered less difficult. If there's one simple theme I've found in literature of days before mine, it's that everyone in every time felt that the days of their youth were simpler days, that the days of their fathers were richer days, and that things are moving too fast in their day. That old morals (as wonderful as they are) just can't apply. Not in these new advanced times, as if no one had ever lived a human life before them.
Repetition, cheating, counting, rereading, editing, machinery, technology, tools, money, ownership, toys, birthplace, siblings, spelling, marriage, thinking, living, eating, breathing, repeating, cheating, loving, trying, knowing, doing, pushing, finishing, most importantly, finishing. Repeating, cheating, living, doing, most importantly, finishing. Movies, free, good, okay, critiquing, ego, learning, memory, past, momentum, it's all momentum, all begins when we're children, give us encouragement tell me I'm good, it's all momentum, it's all belief, self awareness can kill even the best of us, what is the worst thing a girl can say to you when you're fourteen? He's so self conscious. Repeating, cheating, finishing is everything.
Don't say a word, it will jinx me. I promise nothing because I finish nothing I promise. Is this fourth grade? Is this the thirteenth hour? Is there any reason that isn't an excuse? And most importantly today, isn't growing and learning what we strive to do? And isn't changing inherent in that process? I have idols, I guess they're idols, models, illusionary character studies I've concocted and placed with promotional images of public figures to represent the morals I wish to follow. I've created my own religion, because I'm stubborn, because I believe I can do it all myself.
I don't care about speed. One of the biggest lies is that time is money that faster is best. Quantity is a dirty excuse, it should always only be quality. Satisfaction is all we want right? So I'd rather do it myself ten times slower than have you do it for me in a blink of an eye and leave me feeling empty. And don't get me wrong (as my father would say) I won't feel empty because you did it faster, faster means nothing to me, I just want to do it myself, if it is mine to do.
If my goal in this world is to please myself and part of that pleasing is to jostle others as little as possible along the way, why then should others try so hard to change me, make me what they want? It isn't hard to live, it's hard to live with others. The problems of today are the mistakes of those of yesterday. If a society wakes up every morning and asks itself: What are my duties, my chores of the day, a great percentage will be fixing the errors of the previous tenant. But we're not perfect, are we?
Big words take up more space and have more characters, but count as one just the same. I know I speak in little words, they're faster and are understood more clearly by the general public. Besides, I don't want to be that big word guy, the guy that acquaintances when standing in line at the coffee shop see you point at and say to their friend, he's that big word guy. Big word people, we assume, feel good about themselves because they use big words, believe they're smart. Least, that's how I'd feel, if I ever learned any big words.
I took a bath the other night, a really hot hot bath. The first bath in my new apartment. I was recovering from a cold, from breaking it off with an old friend, from a distancing with my wife, from the last bits of cocaine that I knew I didn't want to do the weekend before. I did it though because I wanted to commune with an old friend, and he's in another bind, and that was his world. And if I wanted to see that world, if I wanted to feel his pulse, I had to take his medicine.
What I had wanted to say about that bath was that I let myself steam and cook until the garlic I had been feeding my body pumped through my pores in an itchy niacin sweat and I had to let the water go. I stood and steamed, then showered in cool water to seal the purge, revelations bursting like lightheaded fireworks in my mind. I feverishly wrote them down, like transcribing the voice of God. I read them today: Three revelations while in a bath. And found them to be random, unsure, wordy and stiff. They weren't revelations at all.
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