news news i finally saw la bamba .i think. for the first time. found out i'm going to be an uncle times two. great news :) congrats Chris and Emily!
put some new scratch song ideas up on my myspace. tried to do it on facebook like desiree said, but couldn't get it to work. eh. i'm really excited about music lately. it is becoming my obsession like stroik said it should be. it is one of the very very few things that i cannot ignore, that i have to face on a daily basis. it always seems to be with me, this question of what i am capable of musically. a constant companion like t.h. sings. a dare, almost. 'betcha can't think of something better. betcha can't improve your voice.' who is this whispering inside me? is this me?
the job front has been silent this week. applied at a few places, but it's mentally and emotionally exhausting. i told jessica today that i now understand why people go into business for themselves. it's not the work that people dread. work is enjoyable. it makes the day feel...used well. the problem is putting yourself into the whole system of a job. the fall-in-lineness.
corolla, nc, has wild horses. these horses can be seen north of where hwy 12 deadends in a roundabout at the beach. i've been to that roundabout twice, but i've never gone out on the beach to see the horses. there isn't really anywhere to park near there. someday i'm going to go back to see the horses. 'wild horses, man. wild horses.' as charlie and i say. wild horses don't fall in line.
lately i've been wondering what animals do when it gets cold. driving home from closing at starbucks, i usually see groups of deer on the side of the road, and i wonder how they survive nights when it gets really cold. i guess the fur helps. or do they have hair? on cold nights when i see them running away into the trees and tall grass, i feel so bad for them. i picture walking through the woods, feeling the cold dampness of dew on my skin and clothes, shivering. poor deer.
i just realized that it's friday night and it's been a long time since i've felt that there is something special about friday nights. "it's friday night, we should do something." the days are running into each other (por qué un día se junta con un día?). like harmony and melody.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
i can imagine brandi carlile and chet baker sitting together on a park bench in chicago. i can imagine a log cabin constructed entirely of redwoods. i can imagine 100,000 airplanes flying across the sky. i can imagine holding my breath for 26 seconds. i can imagine someone else imagining something else.
i hear c.b. singing 'my funny valentine' and fill with aspiration. a thousand passions at once one note at a time. almost no nuances. to sing so singfully as though not singing at all but only breathing a long exhale below a london fog. to sound so absolutely unconcerned.
wednesday morning before the imaginary line of day vs. night was crossed i laid quite unconcerned as c.b. may have once lain upon a bed in a darkened room. he of course would have been wide awake humming a tune just above a whisper. there would have been the background sound of the street below. i imagine chet never strayed very far from that sound.
i can imagine but most likely not what you can imagine. what can you imagine?
i hear c.b. singing 'my funny valentine' and fill with aspiration. a thousand passions at once one note at a time. almost no nuances. to sing so singfully as though not singing at all but only breathing a long exhale below a london fog. to sound so absolutely unconcerned.
wednesday morning before the imaginary line of day vs. night was crossed i laid quite unconcerned as c.b. may have once lain upon a bed in a darkened room. he of course would have been wide awake humming a tune just above a whisper. there would have been the background sound of the street below. i imagine chet never strayed very far from that sound.
i can imagine but most likely not what you can imagine. what can you imagine?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
this afternoon, i reclaimed my apartment. took out the garbage and things now considered garbage. a matter-of-fact day. like stepping outside and accepting that the temperature will be what it will be. dress accordingly.
all morning long, i let the sunlight set the pace, however it wanted to fall in through the blinds, draw lines on me as i slept. no records were kept. no one will ever know the speed of this light, the paths of those shadows. this is just to show the so-many happenings that only God knows. leaves in China flittered somewhere. saltwater molecules changed degrees in sunlight, while stars exploded in places that are beyond our understanding of "where". who is keeping track of everything? infinity. infinite factors while i sleep. who is keeping track of me.
i continue to dress myself in wrinkled lines. my socks are thicker than they need to be, but my feet turn cold regardless. i'm balding, i think. my friend watches sports instead of seeking adventures. i watch seinfeld instead of sleeping. i wonder if joe purdy is glancing at my soul and taking notes. i wonder why i am so uneducated. half of the music i like doesn't sound as good when others are listening to it with me. no one is documenting. no one is planning. no one knows the right questions to ask. no one's ears are soft enough.
i'm sure there must be something in me. a little meaning, maybe, but some definition. probably not a way to define the world, not so much influence as that, but an additive. i love the smell of pepper. i lost my voice the day i was born and have been searching for it ever since. my ears are big and i listen to everything around me. i put in my headphones and block out the sounds with sounds. i guess it is the "ancient heavenly connection" that i'm looking for after all. that which inspires me to remove the headphones.
i can write forever that which my mouth looks at sideways, and begs for a teleprompter. i know that i am different, i work differently than everyone else. i am unique, not smarter or better or different. i am the same as everyone else, but an exception, i think. mostly, i don't seem to care about things that most people care about, or think or talk the way others talk. my speech is short and my tongue knows its limits, but my brain and fingers will always have their way with this keyboard. no one is taking notes, so i type myself away.
this is brain on paper. what is this? this is pasttime. this is ego. this is obsession beginning. this is the start of something.
all morning long, i let the sunlight set the pace, however it wanted to fall in through the blinds, draw lines on me as i slept. no records were kept. no one will ever know the speed of this light, the paths of those shadows. this is just to show the so-many happenings that only God knows. leaves in China flittered somewhere. saltwater molecules changed degrees in sunlight, while stars exploded in places that are beyond our understanding of "where". who is keeping track of everything? infinity. infinite factors while i sleep. who is keeping track of me.
i continue to dress myself in wrinkled lines. my socks are thicker than they need to be, but my feet turn cold regardless. i'm balding, i think. my friend watches sports instead of seeking adventures. i watch seinfeld instead of sleeping. i wonder if joe purdy is glancing at my soul and taking notes. i wonder why i am so uneducated. half of the music i like doesn't sound as good when others are listening to it with me. no one is documenting. no one is planning. no one knows the right questions to ask. no one's ears are soft enough.
i'm sure there must be something in me. a little meaning, maybe, but some definition. probably not a way to define the world, not so much influence as that, but an additive. i love the smell of pepper. i lost my voice the day i was born and have been searching for it ever since. my ears are big and i listen to everything around me. i put in my headphones and block out the sounds with sounds. i guess it is the "ancient heavenly connection" that i'm looking for after all. that which inspires me to remove the headphones.
i can write forever that which my mouth looks at sideways, and begs for a teleprompter. i know that i am different, i work differently than everyone else. i am unique, not smarter or better or different. i am the same as everyone else, but an exception, i think. mostly, i don't seem to care about things that most people care about, or think or talk the way others talk. my speech is short and my tongue knows its limits, but my brain and fingers will always have their way with this keyboard. no one is taking notes, so i type myself away.
this is brain on paper. what is this? this is pasttime. this is ego. this is obsession beginning. this is the start of something.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
today is not a poetic day. today is normal. today is drifting, but not like a leaf on a river. more like seaweed in the surf. back and forth, with an indiscernible path of motion. today is saturday, the pause between two separate weeks. a lull in time. i did my taxes. i thought about the past. i made some decisions.
i find it interesting how serious relationships can be or feel, and if the the world explodes and the dust settles, we can shake it off and try again with someone new. it almost makes me a little skeptical about love, what love is, what it means. as if love is something that means only as much as you let it mean. a currency of sorts, that holds the value we say it holds. i want to be with you because i have this many love units for you. investments are made, accounts grow and merge. maybe it ends well, maybe someone makes the big withdrawal. eh, just start saving again.
and so the saving begins again. i'm not sure why, yet, but i'll find out some day. i've beat myself up for a couple months, wondering what's wrong with me, why i wasn't good enough, smart enough, aware enough, mature enough. i made plans to rearrange everything to be who i thought i needed to be. i hated myself for losing the account. everywhere i went, i was thinking about it. searching through old receipts, recalculating, totaling it all again and again. love is a maddening business if you don't realize that the saving can begin again. accounts may close, but funds are transferable.
and so it is saturday and the saving begins again. "sometimes nothing can be done."
i find it interesting how serious relationships can be or feel, and if the the world explodes and the dust settles, we can shake it off and try again with someone new. it almost makes me a little skeptical about love, what love is, what it means. as if love is something that means only as much as you let it mean. a currency of sorts, that holds the value we say it holds. i want to be with you because i have this many love units for you. investments are made, accounts grow and merge. maybe it ends well, maybe someone makes the big withdrawal. eh, just start saving again.
and so the saving begins again. i'm not sure why, yet, but i'll find out some day. i've beat myself up for a couple months, wondering what's wrong with me, why i wasn't good enough, smart enough, aware enough, mature enough. i made plans to rearrange everything to be who i thought i needed to be. i hated myself for losing the account. everywhere i went, i was thinking about it. searching through old receipts, recalculating, totaling it all again and again. love is a maddening business if you don't realize that the saving can begin again. accounts may close, but funds are transferable.
and so it is saturday and the saving begins again. "sometimes nothing can be done."
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
a small room with mustard-brown walls and fake hardwood floors tells me how big i may be. it is something of a nook, the way most people would think of a nook. and i am in it. i suppose that i am nooked. the windows are old and leak in the cold air that drifts about in the woods outside. the window panes were painted white, once, but have since changed their minds and are stripping and flaking their way back to their natural color.
greg is singing about seas and gamblers. i would sing along, but this room tells me how loud i may be. also, i know nothing of seas and gamblers. i would say that i have seen two seas, but that is not quite true. i have seen the edges of two seas. i have seen two shores. i certainly know little about the sea, and most of me believes that if gamblers, in the truest sense of the word, still exist, they probably spend most of their time at sea. what better thing to gamble with than the dangers of the sea.
what sort of gambles do i find in concreteness of suburbia? "will my five alarms wake me up on time?" "is this milk expired?" "do i really need to separate dark and light laundry?" these constitute my realm of adventure. 178,786 days ago, magellan led five ships west from seville, searching for the east. 75,406 days ago, lewis and clark set out on their expedition across uncharted land. 14,457 days ago, neil and buzz speckled the moon with their footprints. 2 days ago, i considered taking a different way home from work.
so, is the world shrinking? our sense of a place to go, a tangle of woods to explore, a distance or height or depth to chart--shrinking, or changing somehow? or the ability to be bigger than a room says we may be? david sings "busco el raro encantamiento". i am searching for the rare enchantment. the one-of-a-kind something-special. the know-it-when-you-see-it "Of course!"
i am no sea captain. i sail no seas. i hoist no sails. i know people do these things still, but...the digital radios and satellite tracking. i would bet a ship could steer itself around the world these days. sorry magellan. maybe today's great adventure is learning to exist and coexist on this shrunken planet.
greg is singing about seas and gamblers. i would sing along, but this room tells me how loud i may be. also, i know nothing of seas and gamblers. i would say that i have seen two seas, but that is not quite true. i have seen the edges of two seas. i have seen two shores. i certainly know little about the sea, and most of me believes that if gamblers, in the truest sense of the word, still exist, they probably spend most of their time at sea. what better thing to gamble with than the dangers of the sea.
what sort of gambles do i find in concreteness of suburbia? "will my five alarms wake me up on time?" "is this milk expired?" "do i really need to separate dark and light laundry?" these constitute my realm of adventure. 178,786 days ago, magellan led five ships west from seville, searching for the east. 75,406 days ago, lewis and clark set out on their expedition across uncharted land. 14,457 days ago, neil and buzz speckled the moon with their footprints. 2 days ago, i considered taking a different way home from work.
so, is the world shrinking? our sense of a place to go, a tangle of woods to explore, a distance or height or depth to chart--shrinking, or changing somehow? or the ability to be bigger than a room says we may be? david sings "busco el raro encantamiento". i am searching for the rare enchantment. the one-of-a-kind something-special. the know-it-when-you-see-it "Of course!"
i am no sea captain. i sail no seas. i hoist no sails. i know people do these things still, but...the digital radios and satellite tracking. i would bet a ship could steer itself around the world these days. sorry magellan. maybe today's great adventure is learning to exist and coexist on this shrunken planet.
Monday, February 16, 2009
digame. mira.
honestly, i feel like i'm living in an alternate universe here. i see human beings driving their cars, buying groceries, buying coffee, working in their stores.
working.
and i float through it all like a shadow of a being. a forgotten word. a vehicle abandoned to rust. does anyone see this? maybe just briefly mentioned on tv, but the papers are full of it--joblessness, everywhere, rising, rioting, strikes, recession depression.
cesantia es humillacion en santiago, chile.
firey protests in reykjavik, iceland.
job fairs packed like sardines in china.
it's just a news story for the employed. an 'oh my' moment like '5 die in university shooting'. just a mere economic shrink. a contraction. all just percentages and taglines.
unless.
you're the one facing the oblivion. unless you have been laid off. unless you sit at home wondering why you have to whore yourself to a hundred interviewers, what good it will do, and who is doing work and where, and are they really any more qualified, or did they just get a chance. unless you spend your days thinking 'if i buy what i need now, eventually i won't be able to', and eventually gets closer every day. cesantia es humillacion. unemployment is humiliation. needing a job is a weakness, a reason for employers to doubt you from the beginning to the end of the interview. a bargaining piece always in their favor.
prove yourself to me. what can you do? prove it, prove it, prove it. speak clearly. quickly! i'm about to take my 90 minute lunch. oh dear, another one. fine fine we'll let you know.
i suppose it's not their fault. so many workers, so few opportunities.
each day the corolla looks more like a converted Hudson truck. i stare at it, wondering how many possessions it could hold, and which ones i would choose. i hear there are fruits to be picked in california.
honestly, i feel like i'm living in an alternate universe here. i see human beings driving their cars, buying groceries, buying coffee, working in their stores.
working.
and i float through it all like a shadow of a being. a forgotten word. a vehicle abandoned to rust. does anyone see this? maybe just briefly mentioned on tv, but the papers are full of it--joblessness, everywhere, rising, rioting, strikes, recession depression.
cesantia es humillacion en santiago, chile.
firey protests in reykjavik, iceland.
job fairs packed like sardines in china.
it's just a news story for the employed. an 'oh my' moment like '5 die in university shooting'. just a mere economic shrink. a contraction. all just percentages and taglines.
unless.
you're the one facing the oblivion. unless you have been laid off. unless you sit at home wondering why you have to whore yourself to a hundred interviewers, what good it will do, and who is doing work and where, and are they really any more qualified, or did they just get a chance. unless you spend your days thinking 'if i buy what i need now, eventually i won't be able to', and eventually gets closer every day. cesantia es humillacion. unemployment is humiliation. needing a job is a weakness, a reason for employers to doubt you from the beginning to the end of the interview. a bargaining piece always in their favor.
prove yourself to me. what can you do? prove it, prove it, prove it. speak clearly. quickly! i'm about to take my 90 minute lunch. oh dear, another one. fine fine we'll let you know.
i suppose it's not their fault. so many workers, so few opportunities.
each day the corolla looks more like a converted Hudson truck. i stare at it, wondering how many possessions it could hold, and which ones i would choose. i hear there are fruits to be picked in california.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
sooner surrender
secret genius of these poems. stones. is the perfect image a fading wedding dress or a sunset? cobblestones, millstones, pebbles & portraits. i wonder why radin would say such a thing as "as we drank our wine and let the world fade away." all these moonrises and how the morning searches. how the morning birds whistle until noon. i am not afraid of cold nights or living alone. what bumps my gooses is without you. a pile of stones i would dare to move. it is not the way i tire myself dancing in the mirror for no one to see. it is not the paint i spread in wide brush strokes for no reason. it is not the unvaccuumed carpet. "that is not what i meant at all--that is not it at all."
suddenly the lamplight blinks, asking who has turned the key. it's me. always only me. shhh. go back to sleep. i'll find my way, i know these carpeted floors, the touch of darkened walls. there is no adventure left here. i hear "weequashing" drip from the kitchen sink. susura. yo se, yo se. it will be alright.
the moon oh so thousands of miles above us. it is a wonder, isn't it? so often written about, so often taken for granted. suppose a meteor... eh. it would all be speculation, but not so impossible as we may think (hope?). improbable, yes. unlikely, yes. synonym, yes.
but thank you, moon, and forgive me for speaking so directly to you. oh, but you don't mind, of course--all rock and dust and who-knows-what within. but again, you drip light in through my windows sans cuenta, gratis. it could be thought a magical deal, and i have thought a good deal about you, though you spin and orbit without gnosis, without senses, without neurological processes; without so much, and yet, what do you lack?
the cooling process of coffee is predictable. it is an exponential regression. isaac newton knew this. differences in temperatures. air. container. coffee. transfer of energy from one to the other through the other. T=a(b)^t. isaac newton knew this.
wrap your arms around me. wrap something around me. let us sit together, thinking of beachfront roads conservatively covered by windblown sand. let us think of lighthouses. vaya al sueno sin dormirse.
suddenly the lamplight blinks, asking who has turned the key. it's me. always only me. shhh. go back to sleep. i'll find my way, i know these carpeted floors, the touch of darkened walls. there is no adventure left here. i hear "weequashing" drip from the kitchen sink. susura. yo se, yo se. it will be alright.
the moon oh so thousands of miles above us. it is a wonder, isn't it? so often written about, so often taken for granted. suppose a meteor... eh. it would all be speculation, but not so impossible as we may think (hope?). improbable, yes. unlikely, yes. synonym, yes.
but thank you, moon, and forgive me for speaking so directly to you. oh, but you don't mind, of course--all rock and dust and who-knows-what within. but again, you drip light in through my windows sans cuenta, gratis. it could be thought a magical deal, and i have thought a good deal about you, though you spin and orbit without gnosis, without senses, without neurological processes; without so much, and yet, what do you lack?
the cooling process of coffee is predictable. it is an exponential regression. isaac newton knew this. differences in temperatures. air. container. coffee. transfer of energy from one to the other through the other. T=a(b)^t. isaac newton knew this.
wrap your arms around me. wrap something around me. let us sit together, thinking of beachfront roads conservatively covered by windblown sand. let us think of lighthouses. vaya al sueno sin dormirse.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
1 hour 32 minutes on hold. my phone died.
let me tell you a little something about how america works. america loves you. america wants you healthy. america wants you to work.
for as long as it is beneficial to america.
so get your degree. study something. learn something. find a job, sell your soul. work work work.
while you can.
your days of value are limited. there are people in positions who judge your value. there is a spreadsheet on you somewhere. how much you benefit the company. how much you are paid.
someday a decision will be made. america is the decider. america is the higher cause. the engine. the machine.
for a while, you are the oil. the spark plug. the cables. for a while you are valuable.
so get your degree. be valuable for a while. be happy for a while.
let me tell you a little something about how america works. america loves you. america wants you healthy. america wants you to work.
for as long as it is beneficial to america.
so get your degree. study something. learn something. find a job, sell your soul. work work work.
while you can.
your days of value are limited. there are people in positions who judge your value. there is a spreadsheet on you somewhere. how much you benefit the company. how much you are paid.
someday a decision will be made. america is the decider. america is the higher cause. the engine. the machine.
for a while, you are the oil. the spark plug. the cables. for a while you are valuable.
so get your degree. be valuable for a while. be happy for a while.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
una paz que nos encuentra
y un dia la tempestad termina, y hay nueva paz. the air is warm with mist: the already-started evaporation of recent rain.
y otra vez veo que soy, que soy yo, y que vivo. nada mas estare raiz en las tinieblas.
y aqui estoy.
hola, mundo.
y otra vez veo que soy, que soy yo, y que vivo. nada mas estare raiz en las tinieblas.
y aqui estoy.
hola, mundo.
last night i stayed in.
the birthday night of my friend.
i stayed in.
last night i push-pinned
postal paper to the wall,
and with markers started writing all
the lines that lay me open.
last night i stayed in.
hay en mi corazon furias y penas.
last night i went out.
the walls of my fridge shone white.
i went out last night.
last night i strolled the aisles,
picking this, choosing that,
planning future dinners
among aisles and aisles of food.
last night i went out.
i saw the greatest minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked...
the birthday night of my friend.
i stayed in.
last night i push-pinned
postal paper to the wall,
and with markers started writing all
the lines that lay me open.
last night i stayed in.
hay en mi corazon furias y penas.
last night i went out.
the walls of my fridge shone white.
i went out last night.
last night i strolled the aisles,
picking this, choosing that,
planning future dinners
among aisles and aisles of food.
last night i went out.
i saw the greatest minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked...
Friday, February 06, 2009
i think i might have landed a job that actually pays a little more than my old job. if i can get an interview next week, and i don't get so nervous that i break almost every interview taboo. not that that happened recently.
so things may be getting better. i at least have something to keep me hopeful this weekend.
what i really wanted to describe here, though, is a feeling i get on days that i have to work at starbucks. it's something that i have only felt during these past couple weeks of unemployment.
about an hour or so before i have to go into work, i feel a very strong feeling of denial. no matter where i am or what i'm doing, it suddenly because very enjoyable, and i can no longer believe that in an hour or two i'll be serving up coffee.
i don't know why this happens or what it means. it's not that i dread going to work at starbucks. i enjoy it in a lot of ways. i get to DO something, i get to interact with people. i find satisfaction in working and customer service.
but still.
it's like that feeling that used to come the night before a new semester of school started. a "what can i do to make the most of the time i have left" feeling. again, not a dread. just a strange source of excitement. that's all.
so things may be getting better. i at least have something to keep me hopeful this weekend.
what i really wanted to describe here, though, is a feeling i get on days that i have to work at starbucks. it's something that i have only felt during these past couple weeks of unemployment.
about an hour or so before i have to go into work, i feel a very strong feeling of denial. no matter where i am or what i'm doing, it suddenly because very enjoyable, and i can no longer believe that in an hour or two i'll be serving up coffee.
i don't know why this happens or what it means. it's not that i dread going to work at starbucks. i enjoy it in a lot of ways. i get to DO something, i get to interact with people. i find satisfaction in working and customer service.
but still.
it's like that feeling that used to come the night before a new semester of school started. a "what can i do to make the most of the time i have left" feeling. again, not a dread. just a strange source of excitement. that's all.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
a book of quotations sits on my kitchen table.
i read it while i eat, i keeps me
company. i read:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
in this house with starry dome,
floored with gemlike plains and seas,
shall i never feel at home,
never wholly be at ease?
on from room to room i stray,
yet mine host can ne'er espy,
and i know not to this day
whether guest or captive i.
- sir william watson (1858-1936)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
and
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
why is this thus? what is the reason of this thusness?
- charles farrar browne
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i think bill and chuck are on to something, here.
i read it while i eat, i keeps me
company. i read:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
in this house with starry dome,
floored with gemlike plains and seas,
shall i never feel at home,
never wholly be at ease?
on from room to room i stray,
yet mine host can ne'er espy,
and i know not to this day
whether guest or captive i.
- sir william watson (1858-1936)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
and
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
why is this thus? what is the reason of this thusness?
- charles farrar browne
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i think bill and chuck are on to something, here.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
i just realized today that i've almost survived the winter. it has been a cold, ugly winter.
in the days of westward expansion, i'm sure what i've been through wouldn't be considered so bad. at least i have a warm place to sleep every night. i have an automobile that carries me effortlessly where i need to go. for the most part, i have food whenever i need it.
i don't have to fear natives retaliating against me in anger for driving across their farmland. there are roads for me to drive on. and, it is almost unheard of that someone is eaten by any sort of wild animal these days. that is a plus. a big plus.
and the earth continues its orbit, spinning, spinning, spinning. always spinning. it's a wonder, with all this constant spinning, we can manage to hold onto our worries.
spring left me a voicemail:
"hey, tom. i'm on my way over. i thought maybe you'd be interested in getting out, seeing the world. there are still adventures to be had. let me know if you're free."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
in a book i recently finished reading, the author warns against isolation. he spent nearly 6 years alone, i think, and ended up falling in love with emily dickinson. i think he saw an apparition of her, and thought she was pretty. well, i don't know about her physical appearance, but i'm starting to understand his other points a little better.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i hold these things, random things,
in my hands, in my arms.
you only know how difficult it is
to hesitate when the decision is yours.
these things could be lost, tossed, sold,
or packed away, preserved.
these things are porcelain.
these things are wood.
these things are almost forgotten.
these things are cotton.
these things hang by a thread
above a fire.
you only know how difficult it is
to hesitate when the decision is yours.
in the days of westward expansion, i'm sure what i've been through wouldn't be considered so bad. at least i have a warm place to sleep every night. i have an automobile that carries me effortlessly where i need to go. for the most part, i have food whenever i need it.
i don't have to fear natives retaliating against me in anger for driving across their farmland. there are roads for me to drive on. and, it is almost unheard of that someone is eaten by any sort of wild animal these days. that is a plus. a big plus.
and the earth continues its orbit, spinning, spinning, spinning. always spinning. it's a wonder, with all this constant spinning, we can manage to hold onto our worries.
spring left me a voicemail:
"hey, tom. i'm on my way over. i thought maybe you'd be interested in getting out, seeing the world. there are still adventures to be had. let me know if you're free."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
in a book i recently finished reading, the author warns against isolation. he spent nearly 6 years alone, i think, and ended up falling in love with emily dickinson. i think he saw an apparition of her, and thought she was pretty. well, i don't know about her physical appearance, but i'm starting to understand his other points a little better.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i hold these things, random things,
in my hands, in my arms.
you only know how difficult it is
to hesitate when the decision is yours.
these things could be lost, tossed, sold,
or packed away, preserved.
these things are porcelain.
these things are wood.
these things are almost forgotten.
these things are cotton.
these things hang by a thread
above a fire.
you only know how difficult it is
to hesitate when the decision is yours.
i have an interview tomorrow. if i get the job, i'll be taking a substantial pay cut. from what i've read in the papers lately, that's what people are doing to find work. ex-corporate execs finding temp-to-hire jobs.
i used to worry about my credit getting wrecked because of unemployment and everything. but now i don't think i'm so alone in it. maybe most people still have jobs and great credit. but the recession is not my fault. i was doing all i could to carry my weight in life. i am responsible for paying the bills i have. i am not responsible for the fact that i was laid off.
anyway.
time to throw on some led zeppelin and get this done.
it's been a long time since i rock and rolled.
i used to worry about my credit getting wrecked because of unemployment and everything. but now i don't think i'm so alone in it. maybe most people still have jobs and great credit. but the recession is not my fault. i was doing all i could to carry my weight in life. i am responsible for paying the bills i have. i am not responsible for the fact that i was laid off.
anyway.
time to throw on some led zeppelin and get this done.
it's been a long time since i rock and rolled.
Monday, February 02, 2009
last night, i had another disturbing dream. i was with a friend, a girl, who was apparently a close friend, but no one specific. we were talking and she began telling me that my teeth were horribly crooked and rotten. i sat down in a dentist's chair, and, feeling the side of my face, felt that she was right. several teeth fell out, and then i pulled out several more. my friend began to prepare me for oral surgery, filling syringes with novocaine and gathering tools on a tray.
i started realizing that i was going to lose a lot of teeth, and have to go through life without them. i asked her if there was some sort of bridge or dental plate that i could have put in to help me chew. maybe, she said.
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i have this sort of dream when i am stressed about life. always about my teeth falling out. i don't know why that seems to be the most stressful thing my mind can think to dream when i'm stressed. but it always freaks me out. the feeling of loose teeth.... makes me sick... like pulling the legs off of shrimp.
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at this point in life, i'm standing before a flaming hoop. i know that my life will go on, and i will be perfectly fine in time. i'm willing and capable of earning my daily bread. i'll suffer through whatever it takes, and then i'll go on living the life i want to live. like ray sings, "lesson learned". time to be happy again. too much beauty in the world, too much to do and see and create. i believe there are people who will agree with me.
i started realizing that i was going to lose a lot of teeth, and have to go through life without them. i asked her if there was some sort of bridge or dental plate that i could have put in to help me chew. maybe, she said.
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i have this sort of dream when i am stressed about life. always about my teeth falling out. i don't know why that seems to be the most stressful thing my mind can think to dream when i'm stressed. but it always freaks me out. the feeling of loose teeth.... makes me sick... like pulling the legs off of shrimp.
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at this point in life, i'm standing before a flaming hoop. i know that my life will go on, and i will be perfectly fine in time. i'm willing and capable of earning my daily bread. i'll suffer through whatever it takes, and then i'll go on living the life i want to live. like ray sings, "lesson learned". time to be happy again. too much beauty in the world, too much to do and see and create. i believe there are people who will agree with me.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
while shaving today, i was thinking about the idea of knocking (on doors, etc.), and the more i thought about it, i started thinking that maybe there is a code or pattern in it all. Consider this:
1 knock: no one knocks just once. if you hear this, don't open the door.
2 knocks: someone nearby is knocking on wood for good luck.
3 knocks: someone is at the door. go see who it is.
4 knocks: a variation of 3 knocks.
5 knocks: your neighbor wants you to turn down your music. usually conveyed through the ceiling or floor.
6 knocks: depending on the speed and rhythm, this could be a friend or a salesman.
7 knocks: possibly a religious representative.
8 knocks: your landlord is at the door.
9 knocks: your landlord is at the door with police.
10 knocks: someone is being chased and your apartment was the closest refuge.
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these are the types of thoughts i have. i can offer no explanation why.
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in other news, i believe i'm officially poor. poor to the point of eviction. i did my best. i'm sorry for anyone who may be getting a letter in the mail demanding payment. i did my best. i can't do it anymore. sorry. i guess it's my turn to cut and run.
1 knock: no one knocks just once. if you hear this, don't open the door.
2 knocks: someone nearby is knocking on wood for good luck.
3 knocks: someone is at the door. go see who it is.
4 knocks: a variation of 3 knocks.
5 knocks: your neighbor wants you to turn down your music. usually conveyed through the ceiling or floor.
6 knocks: depending on the speed and rhythm, this could be a friend or a salesman.
7 knocks: possibly a religious representative.
8 knocks: your landlord is at the door.
9 knocks: your landlord is at the door with police.
10 knocks: someone is being chased and your apartment was the closest refuge.
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these are the types of thoughts i have. i can offer no explanation why.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
in other news, i believe i'm officially poor. poor to the point of eviction. i did my best. i'm sorry for anyone who may be getting a letter in the mail demanding payment. i did my best. i can't do it anymore. sorry. i guess it's my turn to cut and run.
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