How I almost died.

This is funny. A friend of mine brought up my ex-wife recently about how little she cared for me and I remembered this story. I didn't think a lot of it at the time, although it wasn't too long after this happened that we separated about 2 1/2 years ago.

I had surgery to correct my deviated septum. Most of you probably know that means you can't breath very well. At the same time I also had my tonsils removed. In case you don't know, doctors are usually very reluctant to take tonsils out, for some reason. At any rate, my doctor looked at mine and said straight away they had to come out.

So my doctor uses lasers for these kind of procedures. Which is cool because it means you don't look like Joe Pesci beat you in the face with a baseball bat after the surgery. Plus you get less packing because there is less damage to the tissue. I guess. I'm not a surgeon so I wouldn't know.

Real quick so you know, for about 4 or 5 days, my wife was out of town for a convention or market for her type of work.

Okay, I roll into the hospital about 6 or so AM and they send me over to the CAT scan, which was outside the hospital in a trailer. Hey, whatever works right? I got scanned and as I was leaving I check over the technician's shoulder and saw what the inside of my head looks like. Well, my head is pretty damn crooked so I'm not surprised that I couldn't breath. Anyway, it was back into the hospital to get some kind of I.V. drip, I can't remember what it was. Probably saline solution or whatever that water stuff is they put in you when you're in the hospital. They took all my clothes and stuffed me into one of those gown things. Very fashionable.

Up next was the gurney and a ride to the basement. I guess this was some kind of staging area for pre-surgery. I can't really remember what they did down there. I think they put more needles in me. The memory is pretty foggy. More on that later. Finally, after what seemed like days, the doctor comes by, introduces my anesthesiologist and off we go to surgery. It's about 10 AM at this point, which is right on schedule.

Now here's the deal, surgery is to start around 10 AM, end a couple hours later and then I go home. So it's supposed to be around 2 or 3 PM when I leave the hospital in the care of my friend who brought me down to the hospital. Then I go home and eat popsicles for a week while doped up on painkillers. Sounds like a plan to me.

They roll me into surgery and put me under. I don't remember counting backwards.

The next thing I know, there is a woman to my right shaking me. "Chad," she says. "Chad, wake up. Wake up. We need you to wake up." I try to moan. I try to open my eyes. I can't. I feel like I'm at the bottom of an ocean and I can't find the surface. And I sink. I sink through the floor, I sink through the ground. I remember seeing grey, then black.

She's shaking me again. "Chad, your blood oxygen is very low we need you to wake up. Can you stay awake?" I try to moan again and again I sink back. I cannot find the will to swim to the top, I cannot find the strength to overcome this. I felt like somebody dropped a building on me and I simply cannot lift it. It's just too much to fight.

This is about the time I start to form thoughts in my head. I'm not wondering what is happening though. I just hear this woman telling me I have to wake up, to not go back to sleep. I did start to feel worried. She seemed so far away, like I was deep inside a mountain cave and I could just hear her voice echo down in the hole. I could make out a foggy opening of light. I knew where she was, that she was close, and I kept feeling like I could hear her voice for a moment, then I'd sink again, then nothing.

Those moments in between her shaking me are just blackness in my memory

It's at this point that my brain starts working and I'm trying to find that pure willpower to just fight my way to the top and I can't, I can't find it anywhere. It's like having an elephant sit on you, you simply cannot, will not have the strength to lift him off. And now I start thinking, I'm just going to sink. This is it. I can't do it. For the first time in my life I couldn't muster the power to say, "I can do this." Instead I said, "I can't do this anymore, I can't make it. Is this how it is? Is this how it goes, you are simply overpowered that one time and you go to the bottom?"

And for a moment I pondered my death. I could just let go right now. This is a point between life on one side and death on the other. Should I just give in? Stop my little efforts to fight. Honestly, I did start to give up. I didn't know what was happening outside my body, but I could feel the fight draining out of me... the harder I tried, the weaker I got, like hands reaching up, grabbing me and pulling me under. I said to God, "It looks like I may be coming to visit for awhile... I didn't know it would be like this."

Now, I have to say, if you've noticed, there is a trend here from blackness, to awareness, to actual thought. So you can see I was already on the upswing. That's a good thing.

Sometimes the body takes care of itself.

Eventually I open my eyes. The woman, the nurse, was still telling me to stay awake. I was starting to become a bit coherent. It was a while before I could actually speak.

You know, if you've ever had one of those dreams where you wake up paralyzed, unable to move or scream, then you have the beginnings of an idea what this was like. Imagine that, plus being sedated so you can't even work up a frenzied moan. And you're at the bottom of a pool. Unable to even open your eyes. Something like that is getting close...

As I became more able to stay awake, I learned that it was sometime after 6 PM and what was supposed to be about 2 to 3 hours turned into over 9 hours of being knocked out. I guess I bled a whole lot. She told me she couldn't give me painkillers. I guess the low blood, the anesthesia and the drugs would have... you know... I guess they would call that a cocktail of sorts.

So around 7 I think it was, they felt I was awake enough to be sent to a room to rest. I was monitored throughout the night. I had a machine on me that did stuff, I don't know what. I had an oxygen mask on. That thing hurt like hell.... because...

I had no painkillers for the next 24 hours. That's right. Maybe some of you have gone through something like that. Well, for me it was rough, but there is nothing you can do for it, so the pain becomes a part of your life. Like breathing or your heart beating, it's just there doing it's job.

About every 30 minutes a nurse would come in and draw blood. No lie. Every 30 minutes. I thought, why are you taking so much blood, when that is exactly what I need right now? Well, they were apparently running a bunch of tests to figure out what happened, why I lost so much blood. They were baffled. They never found a reason.

The I.V. made me pee every 15 minutes. I got needles every 30 minutes. The oxygen mask was smashing my nose which just had surgery.

I didn't sleep that night. It was a long night. Very strange. I was very alone.

Eventually the sun came up into my room. I got some breakfast. That was funny, considering my throat was all sliced up. I didn't eat anything. I tried to drink some water. Even that hurt.

They made me stay for awhile, I want to say until the afternoon some time. Of course they wanted to make sure I wasn't going to fall asleep and whatever. They released me, my friend picked me up, I finally got some painkillers and popsicles, and life went on as normal.

Maybe the title of this is a bit sensationalist, but it does add some excitement, no?

So the point I was making at the top about my wife? She never even called.

Also, the hospital lost one of my shoes.

R.I.P

Somebody close to my family died recently. I've known him since I was a child. This is really sad. Apparently his airbag didn't function. His passenger came out fine. Obviously he did not. I feel very bad for his mother. She lost her son and her mate very close together, and, I didn't know this actually, but her daughter isn't very friendly towards the family. Too bad.

My blogs are getting more personal lately. That seems weird to me.

So one of the things that popped into my mind today, thinking about him, was, he had a brand new Macintosh. About twenty years ago. It was a Macintosh Plus I think, or something similar. It's a little box with a screen on it and a floppy disk hole in the front. It was a pretty amazing machine back in the day. It was one of the early ones that had a graphical interface so you didn't have to do typey shit on it. When it started up it had a face on the screen that was a happy face if I remember correctly. Probably not, because my memory seems pretty faulty these days, but somebody out there knows the truth. So this thing sat there looking like a happy little box head. And it had a mouse. That was pretty cutting edge also I suppose. I was pretty young then so I didn't really know much about these things, but everyone gathered around to see this thing. I don't know what it was used for. Or what it could do, if anything.

But the funny thing, what I really recall about it, is when he dragged the disk icon onto the trash icon in order to eject the disk, the machine made a barfing noise when the disk came out. I thought that was just about the damn funniest thing in the whole wide world. I made him put that disk in and have the machine barf it back out over and over again. It was the coolest toy.

The mind of a child is truly wonderful. That's the impression he left on me. He made me happy, and he made me laugh. Not too shabby.

other points to be made...

Yes, 'iffy' is a legitimate word. Thought you'd like to know. I did... The dictionary is your friend.

Also, that is like, the longest freaking blog I've written. It's like a novel. Or a chapter. Maybe just a couple pages in the newspaper. An instruction manual? Or perhaps some sort of phone book for mental trash.

One more thing. That note I forgot to write? I still haven't remembered what that was about. I'd really like to know since I blogged it. Now I see it all the time. It's driving me batty. Roy Batty. I should just delete it. But I won't. Maybe I like that it bugs me. Nothing substantial in this paragraph. I'll just end it with this sentence.

cake

I'm Herman. I figured that out just a few minutes ago. You remember Herman right? The dinosaur? Well if you don't, then read back. It's the blog called 'Unheavy.' Even though I normally recap things when I reference old blogs I'm not going to do that today. Why? Because I don't have to. Today is a special day.

One good thing happened. And two bad things happened. Like a three way car accident.

They say it never rains but it pours. Well, that's not true. It may just seem like that sometimes.

So, like Herman, I take walks. But I never thought about the correlation until today. Today I was at the beach. Like Herman I decided to go to the beach at lunch today. Except I didn't go just for lunch. I went all afternoon.

Here's the thing about four hours in the sun, if you're white like me, you burn. So I'm burned. Yeah, that's some news right there for you. I think it was the first time in 800 years that whitey's feet have even seen the sun. But man it was nice. It was real nice. Fuck work. Fuck sitting in the dark. I got the rest of my life to do that. Pardon my language.

You see, as I get older I seem to be getting more impulsive. I think it's called spontaneous. Yup. I walked out of the building without even a complete thought formed in my head. Then I was headed to the ocean. Then I was on the beach. Then my shoes were off and my jeans rolled up. Then I took a picture of the ocean on my phone, I wanted to send it somewhere, but I didn't. I *did* draw the word 'gloob' in the sand and take a picture of that, and I *did* send that to somebody. Now if you are unfamiliar with 'gloob' then you are seriously behind the curve. Seriously. It's so cutting edge cool, underground even, an inside joke if you will.

But enough about 'gloob' and more about me. So I walked, I don't know how far, down the beach. I figured I'd walk along and look at the ocean. I was in my work clothes, jeans, a nice shirt, and my shoes which are some leather Sketchers of some kind. Not the tennis shoe type. The cool manly ones with big soles. The point is I wasn't dressed for the beach, but who cares? I walked along the water's edge. Then I walked in the water. Then big waves came and I was up my thighs in water. My jeans were soaked then. What are you gonna do? It's just how it goes, you know?

At this moment I had the impulse to throw my cel phone in the water. I don't know why. It just seemed like that would be freedom. Are we really tied to our phones like that? My phone has insurance so I could get it replaced. I could have pulled my sim card and chucked that little bastard right there. I didn't though. I don't have the guts. Maybe next time. I already lost one phone to water about two months ago... I don't know what that was all about, but there you have it.

So there I was, thoroughly wet. Covered in sand. I sat down for a bit and soaked it up. Then walked along a bit more. A dear friend called me, and she and I talked for a goodly amount of time. It was just what I needed. And apparently what she needed also...

You know, getting reception on a cel phone all the way out at the water is a pretty... what's a legitimate word for iffy?... situation. But we talked for a long time. It was all kinds of good, really. You know, it's good to have a lot of friends, especially when you need to do some leaning, but it's always the best when you got that *one* that you can just... you know... come apart if you have to, and they'll stitch you back together.

Well, this is pretty personal stuff, but... meh. When you have too many things happen at once and they snowball, you just, well, roll with it I suppose. Get it? Snowball? Roll? Whew, this is rich material. I'd better copyright it before you steal it. It's probably too late now.

Okay, so, I'm drenched, sunburned, taking a four hour mental vacation called lunch, and now I have to go buy cakes. Hell yes. Today was cake day. That was the one good thing that happened. Not the 'Good Thing' but it was associated with it...

I got an ice cream cake, with a Darth Vader jammed in the top of it... (My friends brought that one for me). And I brought a yellow cake with all kinds of crazy chocolate inside, with chocolate shavings on it with some sort of chocolate tubes around the outside. These made that cake look sort of like a medieval fort, you know the ones where they cut the timbers and put the pointey side up as a fence to keep out the forces of evil. Or good. Depending on whose team you're fighting for...

Seriously. I am a lobster right now. It hurts.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I've been growing a beard for a week now. Stop reading this. It's just a beard. Lots of people have them. You don't care.

My stomach is upset from cake, I'm going to go make tea now.

I forgot...

...to write myself a note so I wouldn't forget...

Atomic Lavamen

A cooled hard shell conceals the pulsing and boiling magma beneath. The surface cracks to bend. Holes burn through to see. A mouth fractures open, vomiting forth thick lava, cooling and hardening as it runs down his chest. He fights to free himself from the rock, his prison. Around him swirls the steam from vents in the baking ground, beyond him across the black shiny plain, sprays of fiery lava erupt into the air. Arms upraised in defiance, his head back in a silent roar, lava spitting from his cracked joints and from his noiseless scream, running like tears of fire from his eyes. He raises himself up, liberated from the rock, standing in triumph, escaping from his bondage. Here he stands like a monolith of terror, steaming black, his surface catching fire here and there across his body, dripping with the orange red blood of the earth. And he surveys all around him, an army of Atomic Lavamen stand at the ready.

----------------

I presume the atomic part is what makes the lava come alive... like old fashioned comic books... maybe from some nuclear testing years long ago a la Godzilla...

Old man versus bus.

Well, the old man won, but my bet was on the bus. Funny how things turn out.

I had three teeth worked on yesterday. I sat there with my mouth open for three hours. My jaw feels like someone hit me with a baseball bat and then drove a truck down my throat and parked it there overnight. But at least my fillings are not falling out now, and that big chip is now filled in. My teeth sure have taken a beating over the years. What's cool about this work is now I only have metal on one side, and the other side is all that fancy new white stuff. It looks like I have almost normal teeth again. So that's alright. The metal I still have, two of them are silver from over twenty years ago and are solid. That guy sure did good work whoever he is, or was. Now the guy who did my last filling one and a half years ago did a poor job. It had to be replaced. For a third time. I won't say who he is, but you can see him on television if you wanted to. That big dummy.

Krispy Kreme

I landed in Seattle at 9:30 pm, within 5 minutes of Ratchris. I was in town for a wedding, the wedding of a dear, dear man named Shaliboozehound. I walked off the plane and down to the baggage claim and Ratchris was already ringing me on my celly. He had news. The wedding had been called off. I won't go into the details, but sometimes that's how things go. It was Thursday night.

I grabbed my bag off the carousel and turned to find Ratchris already off his plane and standing 10 feet away. We got it together, picked up a cab, and headed into the city. The bachelor party was at a place called 'Fenix'. I don't know anything about that club, but that night they were hosting a burlesque show, and it was a nice show indeed. I got a kiss on my cheek for a dollar and WestSide bought me several double-vodka's and cherry cokes to smooth out my wrinkles.

It was a good night. Within 30 minutes of landing, young ladies were swooning around me and my hands were filled with booze. Later, I was escorted to a lovely home and fed cheese fish, cheerios and Guinness.

The next morning I woke up feeling like I had slept on top of a bicycle. It's enough to know that much.

That day was nice, I recovered mostly, saw a bunch of dear friends, had some more booze, some kind of mud thing drank as a shot, tequila, and a great vodka I can't tell you the name of because it's not been found by the mainstream yet. It is fantastic. And I reserve that word for special occasions.

That was Friday. Saturday the wedding occurred without incidence, of course. We drank, danced, ate bacon and rode a tandem bicycle around a military base in the middle of the night while drunk. How many of you can claim that? A thing of beauty.

The next day was mother's day. Well, I was over three thousand miles away from my mother, so I gave her a call. But I was only a couple towns away from my grandmother. And grand she is. She is a big part of my life, she raised me only second to my mother. I can't imagine not having her as a part of my life growing up. It is as if my life is a building, and without her, it would be like two walls missing.

I didn't call her. I drove over and showed up on her doorstep. I took *great pleasure* in surprising her this way on mother's day. Now I have to tell you that I live over one thousand miles away, but I didn't plan this. I didn't know that I would be able to give her this surprise until that day, but sometimes things just have a way of coming together in such a beautiful way.

They say life is like a play, and all the world's a stage. I say you need to fucking show up, every damn day, because every day counts, and don't ever let go because at the end of your days you'll regret it if you don't. I swear before God regret is the one of the worst evils in the world, and one with the least power. The least of us can greatly over power it should we choose to.

What I was saying somewhere in all of this is, I have finally come to that point in my life where I have already lived a very serious life. I have let a lot of factors steer my course. And now I am the most alive I have ever been. I plan to choose the course from here on out. There are, of course, things over which I have no power, but I will stand for or against them, because I have belief.

And...

I'm scared. But scared never got anyone anything except in the ground with regret. We're all going to the same place at the end of the path, and what you experience along that path is up to you.

Here's a quote from Thomas Edison of all people... "If we all did the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves."

Well, obviously, I am not as succinct and clever as Thomas Edison, I prefer this wordy and self-congratulatory method of relaying my thoughts and feelings, but that's just one of my defects. But imperfection is what makes things beautiful. And you know what? I don't know what I am capable of, but like a child taking that first step, when it stands up from crawling, and stumbles, unstable, but on it's own footing, I am finding out that I can lift myself up. I hope I have the opportunity to literally astound myself. I really do.

I don't know what this has to do with Krispy Kreme, but somebody out there who I know personally does. I hope they remind me, because I'd really like to know...

It's all about tabasco

800 years ago, I met this person. They blew up in a fiery explosion. It took me over 100 years to put out the fire. It was pretty gross. I lost my eyebrows. And the tips of my fingers. But you know, that's how things go. So I spent the other less than 700 years roaming the desert. I saw several mirages, and one soccer team on a bus going somewhere, I think to a game, not sure, there was an old WWII fighter plane, but it was crashed and rusted into decay, kinda cool if I'd had a camera, but a camera shop is one of the things I didn't come across in that desert. Somewhere around the 500 year mark (500 years ago, not 500 years since the explosion), I awoke from a terrible dream, I was shaking and dripping with sweat. I drank my own sweat because in the desert you recycle that shit. Anyhow, in this dream I saw a shadow that blotted out the sky, the sky was bright white and this shadow was like a man in a cloak with a hood and he had giant black wings. All he said was "Shame on me" as in shame on him, not me, I'm telling it third person here. And he hovered there, menacing but not advancing on me. Weird I know. So that was the dream. I found a hot dog stand several days later, but no one was there. I had to cook my own hot dogs. That *really* pissed me off. I'd been in the desert like 300 fucking years and I had to cook my own hot dog. I continued then, on my walk and came upon a giant sunken hole in the desert. I had to climb down to cross. It was about a mile deep. Good thing I had several hundred years to waste. I climbed up the other side and continued walking. At some point all my clothes rotted off me. I think I lost my teeth somewhere along the way. A family of crows nested in my hair. They didn't seem bothered by the human that was attached underneath. Anyway, after another 200 years, I came to a tobacco shop. They were closed for the winter, which was strange because it was in the desert, but whatever. I wasn't familiar with local customs. I got ran over by a semi-truck not 2 miles from the tobacco shop. Sucks, I know. So, let's see this brings me up to 300 years ago. Now this is where things get strange. I came to the ocean. Yeah. FINALLY. So I drank some of the water. I know, I know, it's salt water, right? Yeah, I went insane. Thoroughly nuts. I ate that family of crows that lived in my hair, bones, beak and all. Then I ate my left arm. It was chewy, I think. Then I swam out to a small island. The island was your typical cartoon island, a round beach with a palm tree in the middle. I sat there for 100 years, and every 7 months, the tree would unload like a truckload of coconuts onto my head. After awhile, my skull started to flatten out. When I finally became un-insane, I realized what I had done. So I said a prayer for the crows and asked for their forgiveness. I also asked myself for forgiveness for eating my own arm. I mean, that really sucked. At this point I realized there never had been any ocean (remember I said 700 years in the desert) and all that time I was 'drinking' sand, and sitting under an oil derrick that kept pumping up and down. I think it had ran out of oil a long time ago. So I still had 200 years to go walking in the desert. Then it started to rain. But it stopped right away. I found a pair of skates, but skates don't work in the desert. Then I met a person. The first person I'd met since that person that blew up. Man it was nice to see another person after 600 years. That's a long time you know. But then I realized they were just a cardboard cutout. So I used that to start a fire, because even in the desert it gets cold at night. That was the only night time fire I had the whole 800 years. So I slept for a long time and then awoke and decided I should leave the desert but I still had a couple hundred years to go yet. Then I found a flower growing there. I wanted to pick it to keep as my own... but then it would have died. So I figured it was best to leave it. But it was hard. I kept going back to the flower. It took me over a hundred years to finally say goodbye to the flower. Then I walked for a hundred years more in the desert and then just as it started to get rocky and hurt my feet I came up to a desk with a chair, and a computer on it. I sat at the computer, and started posting on internet forums. That was four years ago....

I'm going nuts.

My days are weird as of late. I have *way* too much time on my hands without being able to really utilize it in any healthy fashion. I normally don't blog like a diary type thing, but hey... I really got nothing for the rest of that sentence. So I blog too much. Seems kinda dumb, but whatever.

I have a new story coming up in a minute after I'm done with this informal commercial telling you what's coming up on wicky-vision.

I got my hard drive yesterday so my freaking machine is no longer freaking out. It's sort of like I've been driving around on three wheels and I finally got the fourth wheel back on. I have a bunch of projects to get back to. Some illustration, and 3d work for some friends. Gots to start rebuilding my website. Hopefully productive and not sitting there staring. Of course I will probably spend copious amounts of time just cleaning house. That's my latest OCD.

I started the dinosaur story as something to distract my mind. I called it unheavy as I planned for it to be just that, some kind of a whimsical nonsense about dinosaurs and the jobs they work. Then it sort of ended depressing. You never know where those things will go when you write stream of conscious. Ah well. It's out there now. Deal with it.

ah, I forgot to mention it in the story, but these dinosaurs also carry briefcases... for whatever thats worth.

I think that about wraps up whatever blog loose ends I've got hanging about....

Unheavy

So there were these two dinosaurs right? The T-Rex kind. One was green of course, and the other was pink. That may seem strange to you but in the world in which these dinosaurs live it is perfectly normal, so the sooner you accept it the sooner... you will... have accepted it. That's good. So these two dinosaurs, which had names that I can't remember from the first time I told this story about one hundred years ago, are named Herman and uh... let's say Frank. So Herman and Frank walk into a bar. No this is not a joke, they really did walk into a bar. It was after work for each dinosaur and they occasionally meet for a few drink. Now its important to know that they do not work together. Unless it's not. I don't really know yet because I'm not finished with this story.

Now Herman and Frank showed up at the bar at the same time. Frank held the door for Herman. Frank is the pink one. They both hanged their hats and coats on the coat rack. This bar was sort of an old timey bar, the kind that had a coat rack. The kind of coat rack the was free standing, not pegs on a wall.

Although these dinosaurs wore hats and coats, they did not wear any other clothes. They're dinosaurs.

They both step over to the bar and sit down on bar stools. Herman ordered a gin martini with an olive, not a lemon wedge. I don't like them with olives because gin martini's are harsh enough. But this isn't my story. Frank had a Stoli on the rocks.

They were talking to each other as the walked in and sat at the bar, but when I imagined this story in my head, I couldn't really hear what they were saying. But now Frank said, "Well, I filed two reports about the expenses but I guess she lost them. I mean, they're two pieces of paper. I can't tell you how much she really bugs me."

"Well, Frank, She may not be suited for carrying papers around an office. That takes a special skill. Stegosaurus' don't have hands like we do. You really should cut her some slack though, " Herman replied.

"The problem is," Frank continued, "I stuck those papers right onto the horns on her back. All she had to do was walk over to accounting and they could have just pulled them off, stamped them and she would be done with it altogether. She was missing for two hours!"

"Well I wasn't there. I can say that I don't think she would lose them intentionally. You know, I don't know her that well, but I don't think she would do anything like that..."

"Where the hell was she for two hours?" Frank interrupted.

Herman just sort of looked sheepish at Frank. As sheepish as a dinosaur can.

Frank desisted. "All right. Forget it. How was your day?"

Herman looked down to his drink. "Eh, it was okay. Really long. I didn't have anything to do all day. I just sat there at my computer." Herman brightened up briefly, "I did take a long walk out in the sun. That was nice. You know, they say that sun is good for your skin."

"Who's they?" Frank said, dower.

"You know, doctors. I saw it on the news."

"Hmph. I don't trust the news." Frank scowled

Herman's brightness left his face. He took a drink of his Martini. "Yeah? Well I don't either. I was just saying..." he trailed off. "I'm thinking of going to the beach tomorrow on lunch. And just staring at the ocean."

Herman looked into the distance dreamily, not really seeing the bar in front of him, but looking as if at a distant horizon. "You know," he started after staring for about a minute, "sometimes I wish I was a plesiosaur. I could just drift along the currents of the ocean, not a care in the world." He paused for a moment and then the dreamy look left his eyes and he looked down to his drink. "That would be nice..."

"They don't have computers underwater you know." Frank said matter of fact.

Herman just sat there looking into his drink.

After several minutes he replied, "yeah."

Frank watched Herman for a moment, then went back to his own drink. "I think I'm going to report her to her boss," He said after several minutes.

Herman said, "I've said my piece, do whatever you want."

Frank sighed and took another drink.

faith

There is a cliff
Covered in grass
And a tree stands at it's edge
A tire swing hangs from a branch
But you don't need that anymore
You stand at the edge
And look down to the depths
No bottom do you see
Clouded in dark obscurity
And you look up to the sky
Above you only blue
And you look straight ahead
Into the beautiful puffy white
And you know what you must do
Stretching out your arms
Steeling yourself
Finding no strength
Only a will
Step off the edge
Where there is no longer ground
Behind you the cliff rises
But you don't need that anymore
A rush of wind rises to meet your wings
You didn't know you had them
You are lifted up in discovery
No thought
No fear
But anticipation
And you look straight ahead

for the love of...

My machine choked up it's hard drive a couple weeks ago. I'm pissed. Not the kind of pissed that accompanies anger. No, not the kind of pissed that boils the blood and tightens the heart, and creates some kind of furious arm waving and spasming. No, this is the kind of pissed that is the slow cumulation of molten matter, stripping the layers of quiet cold from the surface melting it down into a churning mass of white hot bubbling oil. Except not black oil. White hot oil, colored white, like it's white because it's so bright. And it's not oil. It's more like magma. It's a metaphor, like the Earth's molten core and volcano's erupting and shit. Forget it.

So I bought a hard drive. It had the incorrect connectors. Although my machine has a hard drive controller that WILL control that hard drive it physically can't connect to the drive. Because of a five dollar ribbon cable smaller than your index finger, which would be harder to procure than the drive itself. You see where I'm coming from? All that molten shit? Shit.

Okay, now here we go. I sent the drive back. That drive came from California, which is where I live. So I got it in a timely fashion (one day). And returned it in a timely fashion (one day). It took me a week to get my refund check. After I got that I ordered the same drive with *different* connectors. Fun. Now *this* drive has to come from Tennessee. Yes. Half way across the country. So a drive that originally arrived in ONE day, has turned into a month long ordeal.

In the mean time, my machine is running on an old drive I had laying about, and is crippled with a shitty hack install of windows, riddled with viruses and spyware (mostly from myspace... so if you have bad shit running about on your machine... you know where you got it) because I just don't give a damn about this install, because it's going to get hosed as soon as I get my REAL drive. Because this drive doesn't matter to me. YOU HEAR THAT, DRIVE ?!?! I'm writing this blog on that drive RIGHT NOW. EAT IT!

Actually, that's not fair. This drive is my saving grace. Without it I wouldn't even have life support right now. This machine would be a cold dark husk on which the best I could hope for would be to set a cold drink upon. Or perhaps rest a book on. Or maybe a potted plant. I could prop open a door with it. Or clock a home intruder upon his or her noggin with it, the thing weighs 14 pounds after all (it's a laptop if you can believe that).

My point is, while I can blog and watch pop-ups pop up all over my display, I can't do anything useful. I can't access my array and all my art or my photos. I can't edit anything or access my FTP or my web page. I just can't do anything because there is nothing on this machine that can do anything.

I can check my email. (and google just died, the whole damn google, and took my gmail with it... *sigh* )

To be fair, that is something. Or it was...

But you know... I'm not starving. My ribs aren't showing from malnutrition. I still have both my legs, and a good job. And you know what? I'm really fucking happy right now. I'm a bit belligerent at this particular moment, because... well, it's been a good day, but there's been a few things that got on my nerves so I'm a bit bunchy, but all in all.... I am blessed I think. Or I'm the closest to it I've been in....

....


...a long time. A very long time...

Overheard No. 7

"...I was raised to throw up."

Now this is taken out of context, to just put it up like this, because there's another half of this sentence that changes the meaning of it all together. But that's too easy, regardless of the intent of the sentence, this is incorrect grammar anyhow. When I heard the entire sentence this part stuck out to me....

Unfortunately I know this person, they're kinda close, and uh.... well.... they usually, under different circumstances are capable of better communication than this. I'd have to write a lengthy blog about how actually frustrating it was to listen to the other 99.9% of the one sided conversation which wasn't much better than this....

So yeah, not a funny blog... kinda... uncomfortable...

*sigh*

It's gurbling again

So I just learned that gurbling is the combination of 'gurgling' and 'bubbling at the mouth'. Assuming you are unconscious, foaming at the mouth, and making noise...

blogging machine addendum

So I've taken to calling my frying pans 'fry pans'.

In light of recent revelations of archaic behaviour, I thought you should know. If you don't get it, you probably wouldn't like it anyway. If you do, you may or may not suck. Time will tell.

Reconsideration

I wrote the following about a month ago, but it seemed preachy and a bit... I don't know. Heavy handed? Idealist? Reactionary? There's another word I can't think of right now that fits a bit better. So I didn't post it. I have many blogs that sort of stew around in the nest and never really take flight and this was one of them. Maybe I had intended to write more, as this was really just the raw thought at the time...

At any rate, I had a conversation recently that brought this back into my mind. The event I'm writing about here happened in Chinatown in San Fransisco. The "event" consists of nothing more than me walking down the sidewalk and past a shop selling all kinds of stuff I can't even remember....

---------------

I don't usually go into this sort of crap, I feel that we all have to find our own way and that experience is the greatest teacher and all that, but one has to wonder, after all the horrors in the world for millenia, what *have* we learned?

I was walking by a shop down the city street, and on the sidewalk was a bin of toys. One of the toys was a plastic machine gun. And although I played with toy guns as a child myself, seeing this made me sad.

Buttonfly's and computing machines

Well I guess I'm a throwback. I think I'm using that right. There's no point to this blog really, except that some things about my personality have come into focus recently. I call my computer "the machine". It's a bit archaic I suppose. It *is* a machine when you get right down to it. I guess it hearkens back to the days when 'machines' were uncommon misunderstood novelties.

I grew up in a town that was built around the turn of the 20th century. The buildings had dates on them from the late 1800's, 1st street runs along the river, and on the opposite bank is a lumber mill. When I was very young the old bridge that connected the town to the mill was made of steel girders, and heavily rusted. God knows how far along that bridge was until one day it would just collapse. Eventually it was rebuilt, and the town decided to paint it to look like the old rusted bridge. Many of the buildings with their backs to the river open up right onto the river itself. All in all it's pretty romantic, in the classical sense... and the romance sense to the right person I suppose...

What got me thinking was, after the 'machine' thing was brought to my attention, I began noticing other eccentric choices I've made. Button fly versus zipper fly. I was in the bathroom the other day and as I opened my pants I stopped for a moment to consider my fly. It was a button fly. I own two pairs of jeans that I wear regularly, they are nice, very comfortable. And they are button fly. I own two other pairs of jeans which I also wear regularly, they are not blue jeans, one is brownish and the other greenish, although they are jean material. These are zip fly. I never considered before the difference between the two. Until now. And I thought to myself... which do I prefer? Do people go around choosing jeans based on the mechanics of how you get in and out of them? I remember Levi's commercials from... I don't know how long ago... touting 'Button Fly'. It was quite the selling feature it seems, so I suppose this is a big consideration. Well I thought about it and, with some things I can be a bit ambivalent about and while this was one of them up until now, I realized I did have a preference. It never came into the front of my mind before, but at this moment I realized I preferred button fly.

Now remember, there was a time, long ago, when button fly was the only way jeans could be had...

There are other things about me which are old fashioned... I shave with a razor... I call my car my 'steed'... and there's probably other things as well, but how boring to just write up a list of useless information.

Well today I bought an electric shaver. It shaves much closer than a razor. I guess I gave up trying to get that great shave with ancient technology. And I'm pretty happy with it.

So I guess I'll take up calling my new razor a 'shaving machine'...

The Return of Fortune Cookie, Part 2

Okay, it's been my job to harass you readers, all 1 or 2 of you, about reading my older blogs and remembering their contents. Yep, today is one of those days. Being a 'Part 2' you can bet your pretty little bum there's a 'Part 1' laying about somewhere buried in the annals of my blogs. If you are unfamiliar with it go find it. If you have forgotten it, maybe you want a refresher. If you are disinterested get out. I'm grouchy.

Well... once upon a time, after lunch finished up, me and my co-workers received the dish of fortune cookies customary at a Chinese restaurant once dining has come to an end. How wordy is that? I have a thing about fortune cookies. There is another fortune cookie post besides 'Part 1' as well, should you be interested about my things. One of my 'things' is I don't choose which fortune cookie I receive. I allow the plate to go around and grab whichever cookie is left or whichever is chosen for me by another or whatever other happenstance decides which cookie for me. It's part of fortune I suppose. Or I'm just a goofball. Probably the latter.

In any regard, my cookie comes my way. The very cookie destined for me and me alone. On that day, in that restaurant, that cookie and I came to an inevitable meeting. One more sentence here, building anticipation. Of course, if you've read 'Part 1' you already know all of this, including what's next. This is sort of the long version of the recap you get at the start of some serial television show, where they basically show the entire previous episode. Humour me. Remember, I'm grouchy today.

And so there it was. In my hands. My fate wrapped in a tasty crunchy cookie shell. I busted it open and ate the cookie. And read my fortune.

"You will have a close encounter of a serious kind."

Well, that struck me right away as not a good thing. And honestly, as much as I tried to shake it, I had a bad feeling after reading that. As if Dracula himself was clawing at my bedroom window, waiting for me to invite him in to feast...

Several days later my ex-wife calls me up and says we are being audited by the IRS.

This is where the story will get less elaborate, partly I'm just not interested in it, partly because there you've got the fortune delivered and the story is pretty much over, and partly because I do not want to give the details of the audit out. Because it was bad. Because it's about trust betrayed. Because I spent over a month digging back through our taxes, and the more I dug, the worse it got. There was a lot of BS in there I didn't know about. People can surprise you with the things they'll do, no doubt about that...

In the end things went fairly well considering how bad it could have been, as sometimes you are able to correct problems. Some of them anyway, others you just shell out for. That's no fun. And I'm still recovering from the financial attack. But you take your lumps and you carry on.

So the close encounter was the IRS. Everything else was just dessert.

It's kind of funny, the timing of events, the fortune cookie, the audit. It really did strike me as odd, and a bit spooky. So laugh. Never mind that I got heavy there. Just laugh, because this event has sunk into the depths of the past... and is now relegated to life as a funny story...

Overheard No. 6

Said the man to his very young daughter...

"I would like a new mommy too, but unfortunatly I think we have to keep the one we got."


Woah. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Really though, I understand men or women wanting out of their relationships, but when the kid is asking for a new mommy.... I mean she was all of 4 or 5.... It was ridiculously funny at the moment, how absurd the conversation between parent and child about the other parent,... But looking back on it... Damn.

Overheard No. 5

"So you're saying I have a girl name? Thank a lot mom! Now I'm a woman ??"

Seriously. What the F is up with mom? I wonder if he wears her clothes when she's not around...

It's like.... an answer

Over one hundred years ago, I posted a blog named "It's like....." and it was, although it seems like I get stuck in this style, a bit juvenile. It was all transcendant, about a deserty place and flowers and full of questions about would a flower grow in the desert and transform the desert into a lush grove, or would the lifeless ground swallow the life of the flower, leaving it grey and shattered....

Well, really, you should just leave the desert and move to more fertile ground. It's so obvious to me now.

Nighttime is scary, I guess....

Well, this one surprised me. Last night I had a nightmare. I real live childhood-like nightmare, complete with a monster. I know what you're thinking... "Oh FFS! here he goes again with some long winded explanation of a bizarre dream that nobody is going to understand, because nobody EVER understands somebody else's dreams." Yeah that's pretty much the case except this one will be slightly shorter than the last one.

Basically I'm on the edge of a wood at night. There seems to be some sort of dwellings around, they are typically small, and a little run down. The only people that I can see are family members. There were a few others but their faces I could not make out. So there I am, I don't know what I was doing, but it matters little since an uncle of mine came running like mad out of the woods followed immediately by the monster. So I did what any self respecting family member would do. I ran away. I ran into the dwelling behind me and grabbed a shotgun. I think the monster gored that uncle, not really sure. Something happened there, but he was still alive. The monster was looking for the rest of us, but apparently didn't understand the idea of a house and that people go inside houses and they might be found inside a house, because he sort of looked around and ran back into the woods. Really quick here I'll explain what the monster looked like. He was about 8 feet tall and looked like a wolf that had gone insane, and walked upright like a man, but still had wolf legs. Very creepy although you have no sense of it, because you weren't there. At any rate, we came out of the small houses (the one I was in was basically a 5 by 5 foot room, very strange) and acted cautious. The other person that was there grabbed up my injured uncle, put him in a wheel barrow and headed into the forest after the monster. I stayed behind at first but figured I would follow him in a second... I was the one with the gun after all, but this monster seemed like he was going to be tough to gun down, even with a 12 gauge... and then I woke up.

It was three in the morning and I sat there for a minute, uncomfortable. I live alone and it was the first time in my adult life I ever felt like I wanted to hide under my sheets. After a few seconds that struck me as silly and I fell back asleep. Plus I had that thing where it feels like your eyelids are sticking shut....

Spired

What happens when the thing you don't believe in, draws you in, like you are a moth to the flame (which is a horribly overused metaphor), and you can't resist, for the mere fact that you are alive and blood still pumps in your veins, like a robot at command you march into danger, into a certain world of destruction, and this is how you are programmed, and you come under fire, but you aren't a robot, you are flesh mind body soul fear anger desire and yet you push and stumble and stagger and stand again ready or not for the next blow and here it comes and to your knees you go but you are still alive and the blood pumps and muscles pull and hoist you up and the crushing blow comes and you show teeth, not in anger, but defiance, not pride, but courage, and you grip to hold on and grasp at a final straw of dignity that what you are is right... even though you will be cut down you will go with your fist raised and your eyes to the sky.

It's because you do believe in it. You may never recieve it. But you believe in it. You fight for it. You are a guardian of it. You keep it alive.

Without you, it would die.

It's a sacrifice, isn't it? I can really find no other explanation...

It's mirror mirror time.

I woke up straight out of this dream early this morning. It was really creepy, but kind of sweet also. You can decide for yourself, my memory of it is fairly vivid and I wrote it down fast so I am able to prod the 'ol noodle for recall.

First, the dream is a cartoon. At least it starts that way. A Dr. Seuss cartoon to be specific. If you aren't that familiar with Dr. Seuss, I suggest you check out some of his work, this will help with visualization. And I assume you are familiar with The Simpsons, there's a touch of that as well....

The dream starts as multi colored Seussian birds fly across the sky. Everything about the dream seems peaceful enough, the birds smile and have big eyes with eyelashes. They actually look a bit like fish, in that their tails are vertical instead of flat like real birds. At some point they cross behind a tree and this tree has one branch. From my point of view the school of birds is framed in the area above the branch and to one side of the tree trunk. At this point the birds, all of them, say to me, not with their mouths, but they think this directly into my head, "It's mirror mirror time". All of their voices at once sound like some sort of discordant harmony, like too many notes too close in pitch to each other, played on a piano at the same time. The voices were rather effeminate and nonthreatening, at least in tone, but it was unsettling somehow. At the time they say this, a duplicate school of fishbirds fly in under the branch, in the opposite direction, and upside down. Both schools, while continuing to beat their flippers/wings actually hover in place now, on one side of the trunk, each respectively above and below the branch.

Now, at this point, I become aware of some kind of singing below. I can't make out the words, but the music sounds like it's some kind of parade. I look down toward to the ground. I can see where the tree and the ground meet, just behind a sidewalk. There is a house off to the side, I can't see all of it. And the street where this parade may be happening is below me, although I can't see much of it, and I don't really see any parade. At first there are people on the sidewalk, singing in tune with the parade, and on top of their singing I begin to hear the birds, also singing. The two songs are very similar yet the words are different, and I realize the birds are singing not only directly into my head with their minds, but also into the minds of all the people on the sidewalk. I can see on the people's faces the slightest hint of change, where they go from mindlessly following along in unison with the parade, to the point where the singing of the birds in their minds begins to influence them.

It seems like it's here that I realize that I can no longer see the people. They have vanished at some time, and as dreams are wont to do, it didn't use any logic for the change. They were there, then gone, and of course you silly, that how things work here in dreamland. I never saw the birds again, but I sensed their presence just off to my left. And they, with someone's hands, maybe mine as they were in front of me in the dream, started laying down napkins on the sidewalk. Their scale relative to the sidewalk was huge, I'd guess 5x5 feet square, and they were the kind you have for BBQ's, and also came in a variety of colors.

These napkins are laid out on the sidewalk and then opened up by these huge hands, as the singing continues. And as the singing of the people, and of the birds begins converge in unison, I am finally able to make out some of the words. They are saying "We don't know what we sing is hurting us" and "It's time to repair the sickness and the hurt". What I got from this, and it's impossible to convey second hand, because that's just how dreams are, is that, somehow, what the people were singing, the words they were saying and planting in their own minds, and in each other's collectively was like planting a seed and then watering and nurturing it. Of course I couldn't make out what they were singing originally, so I can't say for sure just how bad these words were. It was a sort of innocuous self perpetuating self destruction. Something that started so small and so simple, as to go unnoticed, until it's dark and evil vines had rooted themselves so deeply and completely within the people, that they didn't even notice. They didn't even wake up one day and say "Hey! what the hell is that?" No, it was as if they were zombies already, happy and content in their lives without knowing they were already enslaved, in the minds, and in their souls. An empty body carrying a parasitic, unseen host that fed directly on their souls.

I am reminded here about how Steven King often presents the evils and related characters in his books as something beloved and endearing, something a child could love, something that should care and ease your worries and pains. And it lulls you.... and also of Lovecraft, were perhaps a Shoggoth may be sucking and feasting on the happiness from your catatonic mind for a thousand years....

And so it seemed to me that these birds, in a strange way were massaging the minds of these people.

At any rate, the napkins were being laid out, and opened at each new line of the song/chant. The napkins represented the words, but were in fact blank like an ordinary napkin. As the music/chant/words progressed, they became more disturbing. Each successive napkin opened, at first revealing nothing but the napkin itself, then one by one they began to open on progressively more grotesque things, such as pus filled meat and diseased flesh.

Of course, throughout the course of the dream, at every step here, I had an emotional reaction. I could feel the birds in my mind just as the people on the ground did. It wasn't uncomfortable in that it hurt, but it was in a way like, if you were 40 years old, and had never in your life ridden a bicycle and then one day got on one and rode around all day long, you have used parts of your body, muscles and tendons and the like, that you didn't even know existed. You have become aware of more of yourself, not a good or bad thing, but you have exercised and exhausted yourself and these new parts.

I took the diseased meats to represent the injured and shunted minds and souls of the people, and with the progression of the bird's song this dis-ease in their souls was slowly being cut away, like a cancer from the body.

And as always... this is where the dream fades, I don't know the fates of these people, perhaps it is yet to be writ....

I suppose that's enough anyhow. It's lot to take in.

Just one.

I've been single for about seven months now. After ending a marriage you learn a lot about yourself. I suppose you could struggle with it, but, for myself, I've learned that when someone throws a hand grenade at you, you can't really fight it off. Just give that thing a big 'ol hug and hang on for the fiery ride.

What does a hand grenade have to do with dinner you ask? Well.... nothing really. It's just a metaphor, and honestly I don't care for that one. It's not one of my better analogies for sure, but hey, it'll do in a pinch. So what happens is, once you're single again you spend a lot of time with friends, you finds ways to fill up your time, to fill up space, to fill in that chunk of you that's missing. But at some point, you're going to be hungry. You are going to be alone. And you'll go out of your head if you stay at home. These three things will invariably converge. So just give that thing a big 'ol hug and go out for dinner.

Now, at first it seems a bit scary, because, nobody is alone, not out in public.

Wait up a second there, you say, that's just a load of crap. Wait up yourself, I say. I've been dining out alone many times recently and what I've noticed is how starkly obvious the contrast is. There will be almost no one alone. Friends, lovers, mates, families, what have you... they are all there. And sure most of the time, I am out with friends, but you know, they get busy, and my life seems to have it's own schedule lately, and I've found it's better to just give in (speaking for myself, this is not advice to you) and go along for the ride. This is no carnival ride. No ride in the country. It's scary. It's horrid. It's fantastic. At times it's the best thing I've felt.

But I ramble on. The point is, there you are. They are many. You are just one.

Like on that Sex in the City episode. It's exactly like that. You get the funniest looks. Trust me though, it makes *them* more uncomfortable than it does you.

And speaking of consistant...

I just realized I used almost the exact same sentence in my last two blogs. Lame.

And speaking of French cafe's...

I went back to that French cafe the next morning (it was near my hotel and I wanted the pancakes, they looked delicious), and I potatoes and eggs with my breakfast, and also toast. They brought butter and jam for the toast. I think the French make excellent jam, by the way. They also brought ketchup for the eggs and potatoes. Do they even have ketchup in France? And on their breakfast? Or is it just me?

Wait to be seated.

That's what the sign says as I walk into the little French cafe. It's a nice enough place, for sure. Pleasant to look upon, the food is quite delicious, even if they are fudging a bit on the 'French' part. But they certainly aren't fudging on that sign. Nope. Wait to be seated. And wait. And wait. I did not count the time. Usually when I think to pay attention to the time, I'd have such an inaccurate account of it's passage that there isn't really any point. But eventually the girl comes over and leads me to a seat. The service is fine, and again the food is good. I got over the wait pretty quick.

I went back the next morning for breakfast (it was near my hotel and I wanted the pancakes, they looked tasty) and I walked in and waited to be seated. And waited. And waited.

They're nothing if not consistent.

Shopping in Chinatown.

He was waiting outside on the sidewalk while she was inside shopping. Why didn't he just go in with her?

Overheard No. 4

"..... to take over the world."

Okay, by itself that's not really profound, hell it's not really very interesting. But what I liked about it, is, as I walked by the person saying this, he was pointing to a picture of Kim Jong-il. Now, I don't know for a fact that Kim Jong-il wants to take over the world, but he certainly rules N. Korea with what appears to be an Iron Fist. I'm not going to get into any sort of political rambling here, but it just seems strange to me how so many will obey so few. Don't we realize *we* have the numbers? It's like we are beaten already, not by guns, but in our spirits, in our souls... I'm speaking mostly for western states here... certainly there is a more complicated situation easterly from where I live. Why do we hate each other so much? Why do we look away, because TV or shoes or work is more important than our fellow man. I'm as guilty as anyone of it. I want to live a happy life, it's the only one I've got, as far as I know... and that seems more important to me than another's suffering if they aren't directly before me. At least I can admit it. I don't like it when it's put on display like that, but it is the reality.

Heavy duty.

It's gurbling...

I'm fasting.

Apparently I'm rather punchy today.

I said to my cubemate "You're just grouchy because I'm not eating" and she said "I'm grouchy because you won't shut up" and I said "I'm probably passed out on the bathroom floor dreaming this interaction and foaming at the mouth" and she said "yeah, and you're probably making gurbling noises."

The purple stuff.

I bought grape juice tonight. Damn that shit tastes good. I used to get it from my mother all the time when I was little. It still tastes just like I remember it. That's a nice memory. And a delicious drink. And a sub-par blog.

Two out of three ain't bad, as they say....

Overheard No. 3

"The more you bang on it, the better it tastes."

While it's obvious to infer the common sexual reference to this one, my guess is some sort of meat tenderizing is going on. I can't think of anything else that improves it's tastes when beat upon.

I know, for myself, the more you bang on me, I may or may not taste better... depending on what you like to taste...

In discovery...

I was thinking the other day, or remembering, actually. While reading Ilium , I came across a funny moment, where a Greek soldier is ordered to hand over all his armor and clothing to our naked hero, right down to his underpants. The soldier is admonished to "kill all the lice" as well. Yuck. I had a good laugh, but this immediately triggered a memory of my childhood.

I don't remember my age, maybe 5 years, when I was in kindergarten. I got the lice at some point, from some kid, somewhere, and roughly the memory was of a woman washing my hair and treating me for lice. We were in her kitchen, and she was massaging the magical anti-lice shampoo through my hair, and washing it out it the sink. Now, I don't remember her name, or even her relation to me. She was not family, but I know that me and several other children were bussed over to her house after school. I attended Riverside Elementary in Snohomish, that much I remember, but I don't know who this woman was. I remember she had a husband, or perhaps her father, who didn't hear to well, and didn't seem to do much other that sit at the end of the couch, watching 'Wheel of Fortune'.

After school, me, and sometimes other children were dropped off at her house. Sometimes she would make an egg-salad sandwich, most time is was just cookies and juice. I was always a cookie dipper then and even when all I got was juice, I still put my cookies in. There was a very small room just off the kitchen with a small old couch, the kind that was scratchy to the touch, colored dark brown and orange, and a very small television. We would watch Woody the Woodpecker, or Tom and Jerry in the afternoons, but we couldn't take our treats into the room, if I remember correctly; we had to eat at the table in the kitchen.

The house was an older two-story home, plus an attic I think, painted green with white trim. The garage was detached, and inside was the all important box that controlled the electric fence surrounding the small field behind the house. The fence was always on, it kept the cows at bay apparently. I was a curious child and grabbed the electric fence at least once, I remember it was an amazing feeling, like my very atoms were afire. There was a safety handle you could grasp to walk through the fence, but it was extremely low-tech, and strung very tightly, one slip and you'd zap yourself. To this day, I'm quite afraid of electric things, especially car batteries, with both positive and negative post exposed, waiting for a slip up

They had a long, narrow garden to one side of their house, the first time I ever saw a live sunflower. I don't think most people see them in real life, and my memory of it is pretty amazing. They are quite large and large. In the winters we would get a good blanket of snow, sometimes several feet deep, and back then we did all the usual fun things in snow, like snow ball fights, snowman building and snow-forts. And between the house and dirt driveway, was a lone, large tree. I'm not sure of the type of tree it was, but I would guess it was Oak, or at least, Oak-like, and it was replete with a tire swing. Several other trees on the lawn were good for climbing, which the boys did as much as possible.

Now that I'm going back through this memory it seems like there was a lot of fun to be had back then. She had a neighbor that I think was her daughter, who had a son a bit older than I, and we would play, and it seems as though I have a memory of a birthday party. It seems they were more than just babysitters, although I still cannot remember who they are, and how my mother knew them..

I suppose I could ask....

fealty

Now there is a word nobody uses anymore....

no mind

I turned off my TV last night. I stopped watching television and started watching my cat instead. I had just been sitting there on the couch, watching the TV, and I don't even remember what was on, but I was so unaware of my life around me. My cat was sitting on the floor, leaning up against my briefcase, I guess it's called. It's one of those soft leathery ones, not like a traditional briefcase. But that's not really important, unless you like to envision things accurately. What caught my eye, he was playing with a tiny cloth bag that had catnip in it. It was tied with a tiny burlap rope like some old timey money bag from the old west. He'd lean over and lick it, then he'd grab it up in his had and hold it up to his mouth like some kind of.... well some kind of.... burlappy, bag of catnip lollipop or something. And he'd roll on his back a little bit and clean his belly. Then he'd hear a sound outside and it would stop him immediately and he would stare at the wall in the direction of the sound. When he tired of waiting for the sound to return, which it didn't, he would go back to cleaning himself a little bit. Then he rolled around a little bit against my bag and rub his cheek on the buckle. Eventually he noticed me watching him, and he stared back at me. It was cool that he noticed me looking at him and he stopped all activity to look back. We both sat there, me on the couch about six feet away, him on the floor, just looking in each others eyes. We had a connection. I don't know how many people can look into each others eyes for so long. I can't remember the last time even, when I was in love and looked into my mate's eyes for so long, which is a little sad. That seems like something we all aspire to, but seldom actually find. The beauty of this connection is there were no words getting in the way. No barrier to soften the intensity of the connection. He is a good friend, and a sweat little creature and I'm lucky to have him around. It was a very peaceful moment. He is way better than the television.

The Return of Fortune Cookie, Part 1

So you remember the blog I posted about fortune cookies.... of course you do. You're smart, studious, and most importantly, you read and remember my blogs. Huh.

This actually happened a over a month ago, I just didn't have the nerve to blog it....

So I get this fortune cookie.... I'm at Little Hong Kong, which is a Chinese restaurant located, ironically enough, in Little Osaka, and finally at the end of the meal, the fortune cookies show up as is custom. Just so you know, Little Hong Kong has the most kick ass fried noodles and pepper beef you've ever had. Actually they have the most kick ass versions of a couple dishes you've probably ever had. If you don't live in LA, don't worry about it's location so much. I promise not to bring up that little factoid at the end of this blog.

And so, I pop my fortune cookie open, thinking I'll get some advice, or maybe just a random observation from some chimp in a locked room banging on a typewriter, consisting of a vague compliment, like my shoes and shirt match in a handsome fashion or some such.... but...

No.

Not today.

Today Fortune Cookie has decided to drop it's bomb....

"You will have a close encounter of a serious kind."

Whoa. That is not a friendly fortune. No "you will inherit a large sum of cash" or "everyone will soon bow at you feet" in this cookie. It didn't even tell me to sit down first. Interestingly enough though, it still works with the old "...in bed" joke.

Okay, well, I mean, come on. Close encounters obviously come in as many kinds as the mind can conjure. It's not terribly original. It's not inventive. It's not even something else I can't think of right now, to steer you away from the obvious in a half hearted attempt to wow you with my next sentence. No.

It is most certainly one thing: a fortune.

Yikes. This strip of waxy paper has definitely been manufactured with a fortune on it, stuffed into a cookie and sold to me in a Chinese restaurant ran by the Japanese. And an ominous fortune it is. I have to admit, I was a bit concerned when I left the restaurant... what sort of fate was to befall me? I certainly, from that moment forward, had a sense of ominous doom lurking behind me, like some dark shadow... waiting...

**********

Stay tuned for The Return of Fortune Cookie, Part 2... when I get around to writing that up... and it has nothing at all to do with Little Osaka (sorry for breaking my promise), but I'm not completely through it yet, so I don't want to prematurely set it in stone....

...lest I awaken the beast that has only just slipped into slumbering...

RDM and the Amazon River

So, there I was with Ronald D. Moore, and we stood on the bank of the Amazon River. He looked to me and then into the distance at the far bank and said quietly, "Let's go." He then stepped into the river and leaned down to swim across. I followed hesitantly. As we slowly crossed the water I asked him if there were not snakes, piranhas and worse in the river that would attack and eat us. His reply was a confident, "Yes. We'll be fine." Somehow I wasn't reassured. I could see or maybe just sense hundreds of strange and different creatures moving about in the slow black waters below. We still had quite a distance to cover to the far side and I concentrated on making as little commotion as possible, lest I attract the hungry bellies and razor teeth and claws of whatever mysterious beasts prowled below me.

Alas, as we neared the other side, the mist lifted a bit to reveal twisted roots, vines and brush, a very small and muddy shoreline, and a rock face pocked with crevices. Ronald D. Moore was undaunted. It was here, about 20 feet from the shore that I first saw a creature come to the surface. It was a snake and he was (thankfully) swimming away from us. It was an amazing creature, he was perhaps twenty feet long and about as big around as your average arm. He was bright white with a few dark markings along his body and had a sort of small fin along his back. Strange for a snake to have a fin... What worried me was the snake was headed to the same area Ronald D. Moore was leading us, but I'll tell you now that I never again saw that snake in my dream.

Once on the shore we immediately began making our way up the rock face. It was tough, but not too difficult to get to the top. Once there, I saw around me, turned up soil, as if construction vehicles had recently demolished whatever housing or vegetation had occupied this area, in the dark distance I saw a house, or small building of some sort. I think there was a large vehicle next to it. This is where my memory of the dream gets hazy. Ronald D. Moore began speaking eloquently about something or other, and small animals I'd never seen before scurried about as we looked out over the valley.

I was not really sure why I was there, and pretty much just did what Ronald D. Moore told me to, despite my fear of the unknown and of bodily harm to myself. I don't think I really trusted him, I just think I didn't have much will of my own. As you can see, I never made a choice of my own, and never voiced dissent, besides asking if I'd be safe. Maybe that's all I need, just to know I'm safe... or maybe I'm too trusting...

Overheard No. 2

".... wandered into the forest and was attacked by a blob........ some kind of gummy creature........ shows you the blob, then you, then the blob, then you --"

"That's fucked up!"



I mean seriously. I totally agree, it's fucked up. Whatever it is. A gummy/blob creature jumping out at you when you're alone in the forest can't be a good thing. History tells us the likelihood of him inviting to his lair just for tea is fairly unrealistic...

Safe in distress.

I'm reminded of a time when I was a child. I feared whatever followed me as a walked down to my room at night. The hall was dark, the switch for the light at the entrance, far from my room. I stepped fast, but I did not run. If I ran, surely it would seize me then. But I did not linger too long, and I did not look back. For looking back, seeing the monster there would send me into shock, confirming my deepest fears. As long as I did not see him, he did not exist. As long as I did not run from him, he did not attack. As long as I was captivated by fear, I was safe.

Not the first time...

Last night I was shot in the head.

It is the newest dream in my memory, and one of the most memorable yet. But not the first in which I was shot through the head. There was another dream I was shot in. I died in that dream. Yeah, they say if you die in a dream, you die in real life, but I didn't. It was terrifying, make no mistake, but the dream continued in a bizarre inhuman fashion... Maybe the description of that dream will see life in another blog... but...

In this latest dream, I did not die, however the results were extremely gruesome and very terrifying. I was struggling to cope with being shot, bleeding everywhere, flesh and bone dangling. I was a bloody mess. Somebody wanted me dead.

I was actually shot twice. The first one glanced me, or grazed me, or something, but did little damage, like being punched or hit with something, but the second shot...

The second shot, I don't know why it didn't kill me. It went through my head. It went through my brain. It splattered my flesh. It cracked and shattered my skull. It matted my hair with the fluids contained in my cranium. My brains were certainly damaged.

Yet I was alive. I don't know why now, and I didn't in my dream. I was confused there, as much as I am now. I can't explain how I could survive, and I think of those shows on TLC or Discovery where they show people surviving bizarre trauma. In fact, my attackers seemed quite disturbed by the fact that my skull could be opened by a bullet and yet I still lived. I think, on my part, there was some acceptance of the fact that my brains were smashed, but I could still reason and I still had motor control of my body and that was enough, whatever damage or loss there may be, it was enough still, to survive...

So I ran. I ran like a motherfucker. Shit. I was just blasted through the fucking skull and I was still alive. I was delirious. Desperate. I ran into some kind of shop, like a department store only smaller. It was bright, but at night. Maybe there was jewelry, and perfume. Possibly clothes. It was definitely feminine.

And while the people there were rather concerned, they were reluctant to help. In fact they did not help. I tried to escape my attackers, yet they followed me everywhere I ran to.

The results of the dream remain unknown. Like so many dreams, there isn't really a start, middle and ending, like the movies. Just senseless events.


I was alive, last thing I remember....

Terminal 3

I noticed the other day, after landing at LAX, that in Terminal 3, where gates in the 30's are, the escalators going down to the baggage claim are the only escalators I've been on where the handrail moves at the same speed as the steps. Every escalator I've ever been on the handrail moves either faster or slower than the steps. That always bugs me.

But as an added bonus, that freaky long, tiled, and fluorescent-lit hallway that takes an hour to walk down always reminds me of THX 1138.

...which is the best movie ever.

Overheard No. 1

After the banana encounter, I crossed the street walking towards the building in which I work. There were two black men standing on the corner talking. I only caught just a sliver of their conversation, but it made me smile.

".... with it's five blades."

"You'd take the top of your head off with that shit."

What the fuck are they talking about ?

The only five bladed weapon I know of is the Krull Glave, and what are the chances they know of it too ???

The last banana

I parked my car this morning, in the lot at work. I gathered my things and locked the car, and began walking to the building. As I weaved through the sea of parked cars (which is actually misleading since I parked in the smaller of two lots and it only holds about 30 cars), I saw a co-worker walking into the building also. He waved at me and gave me a friendly smile hello. I see him on occasion although I don't know him, and I don't think I've ever actually met him. But I did notice that, among his coat and assorted personal belongings in his hands, he carried a banana. And I thought to myself, 'Hey! I have one banana left on my desk. I'm totally going to eat the shit out of that banana.'

I just ate it. It was delicious.

Life is short...

If you're not going to laugh and have some fun, kill yourself.

Drooler

I woke up this morning and my cat, Motor, jumped up on the bed next to me and started making biscuits. She can be a bit sloppy and affectionate when she gets like this, but it's cute, and even though I was only half awake I started to scratch her back. Well, that really got her going and she stumbled clumsily closer to me as her nails caught on the blanket. She stood right over my face with this dreamy look in her eye and before I could fully awaken and move out of the way, she drooled into my right eye.

Food in the fridge...

I just went to the bathroom at work.

A co-worker came in, and set his day planner down on the small table that is in there. As I was washing my hands, I glanced over at it. I wanted to know it's location because the table is placed under the towel dispenser and I didn't want to drip water all over his day planner. It was set on the far side of the table, well away from the towels, so that was a relief, but as I was looking at it I noticed he had a post-it note in green stuck to the front of the day planner. On it was written "Food in Fridge."

I'm glad other people have to write themselves notes to remind them of the most mundane and tiny things. Sometime I feel like I need a post-it that reads "Remember to Breath."

The mind branches...

Jean was talking about Icelandic dialect, and I can't remember what got her on that topic, I think perhaps I was jabbering on in some lame accent in an attempt to talk about something.... no wait.... it was definitely something I was saying about Iceland, and dammit if I cannot remember what my point was...

While she was describing the dialect to me I asked her about her schooling. She attended CalArts at some point, and I was curious about her studies, and how she came to know certain people and what events brought her to that point in her life, at which point ---

I realized that in mid description of both Icelandic dialects and CalArts schooling experience, that I had interrupted her twice, and was doing so now, a third time, realizing my own train of thought that was following some strange branching path, that, as she said something, it triggered an association in my mind, which, I think, is normal for most people, although, I seem to have a need to follow that branch immediately, letting go of the current topic before the new one slips away. So without hearing her out to finish her talk, I stop her and immediately impose my new thoughts on the discussion, which made her think of ---

Smoking forest rangers. Her and I were in a fantastic scene in improv where we played a couple of foresters who smoked. by smoking, I mean we started forest fires. We were quite the grizzly pair, and many times throughout the scene we were confronted by minions of the law and our situation was precarious, yet we also, with nonchalance, skirted any ill fate from our subversive actions against the land with which we were trusted to protect. A sad and yet funny situation. So much like real life I think, which made me think of ---

The walking around exercise we practiced in improv, where we, as players would simply walk around and carry on conversations about real things in our lives we had experienced, was not a scene, but a real story from our real lives, and at some point, Peter had all the other players step off the stage and Jean and I had continued our real conversation, and at this point we began an improvised scene. We continued, in an honest manner discussing these things in our lives, which I can only remember included something about band in high school and people who played horns, and at the same time, improvised some sort of scene where we were a couple in a grocery store. It was very real and believable, with many layers, complex characters, much like real life. It was a fantastic and deft way to expose us, as improvisers and students, to the higher complexities of character and scene creation.

At this point we realized how far off I had branched from the original topic, without ever resolving the topic(s) we started with, and we began to hunt backward to the start.

I don't know that Jean ever got to make the point she had about Icelandic dialects, and writing this now, I can't even remember what I was doing that made her bring it up in the first place.

So I guess all I've discovered here is my memory isn't as sharp as I'd thought and I interrupt people while they're talking. God, I'm a jackass.

unhope

hope is for those who have none. for it will surely never come. those who seek it, do so in vain. hope is the symbol of that which you long for, the description of that which you do not possess. for hope possesses the hopeful, like a sickness. a siren-song, it overcomes the light in their eyes, it overcomes the vitality of their life. hope saps them into inaction, to drift like derelicts amid the darkened skies, like so much dead wood, trapped in an inland lake. for those with hope, they are delivered only despair.

for those that receive what they wish, have no need for hope.

I used to believe this. I never hoped for anything, or perhaps I feigned that I did not. But I've learned that I lie to myself. I hope for a lot of things. I've found that often, I have nothing but hope. I can't decide if I still believe this, because if you have hope, then you do not have what you hope for, and if you have what you've hoped for, you no longer need hope. What is hope then? Some kind of emotional prosaic? A sort of mental rocking to and fro of the mind to give solace?

As Dante saw upon crossing the Acheron, the message at the entrance to Hell: "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." Of course this refers directly to Hell itself and not our mortal lives, at least as far as the story is concerned, but I can't help but wonder... Is hope ever a promise that is made good on? Is hope benign or benevolent? Is it something worth aspiring towards? Always hopeful for something? I presume those with hope, hope for something good, for others, or for themselves. I guess that people also hope for bad or evil things. I'm not really sure what the nature of hope is, after all this. It seems a circle that leads me back to the paragraph at the top of this blog.... a circular nonsense. I'm hungry, so I eat, I eat, so I'm not hungry. If you have food, you do not have hunger, how can you hunger, when your appetite is satiated?

It's only the starving that hunger so.

I find myself embracing hope now, as I had shunned it before. And I taste my own bitters words, knowing that I may indeed, have none.

Will you pass through this night?

I came home last night and stood in my hallway for like 10 minutes before just sitting down on the floor. I just sat there. Everything was quiet, it was around midnight. I had turned all the lights out except the one in the hallway in anticipation for going to bed. I suppose it was misleading to say I came home and stood there. I'd actually been home for an hour or so, and had done a bit of emailing and drank some water and let the TV run, as if it was a faucet, and not actually using the water for anything.

Sometimes I feel so detached, and I don't know, it's like I was just sitting there feeling my life. I don't have a better way to put it. Like falling into ice cold water and instead of flailing and thrashing about shivering, I just surrendered to the chill. I felt very calm and in the moment. Still. If I was happy, I'd say peaceful, but I don't think that word applies.

I stood upon a frozen lake at night, dark clouds a low ceiling, walls of barren trees, like blackened skeletons circling. They maintain their distance but I see no opening, no exit. No light in the dark wood. And I slip into the freezing black water. Sinking. I'm sinking.

Now this is all very dark and dramatic, but you must understand this is a metaphor. This is required to properly convey the feeling. Sometimes a word or two simply will not do. "I covered myself with a blanket, and I was warmed." That's nice and you get the point. "The blanket wasn't large enough to cover me, and I curled into a ball." Oh, you didn't know that did you? "The blanket was thick, and had a furry texture to it that produced lint, but also held the heat and kept it close to my body. It felt almost like a pelt, sort of primitive." Hmm, not bad, you're getting a bigger picture. How about this? "The blanket wrapped around me, I felt calm and secure. My mind drifting through the gates to sleep and gentle creatures leaped through a beautiful nighttime forest in my dreams." How pleasant.

So, in fact I was merely present in that moment, sitting in a most improbable place for a human to be sitting, in my home. And these are some of the things I felt. Some were internal. Others felt like the stuff of the planet, massive below me, my life and all that I am, everyone alive everywhere yet quiet, maybe even ghosts of the dead swirling about, and heavenly particles rocketing in their divine clockwork play through my very body. No ticking of the clock was present. No sky circling, sun rising or falling. Just a perfect moment.

It wasn't altogether a bad thing.

I wonder if that's what zen feels like?

5:33 or 7:08

I alternate.

For about a month, I woke up at 7:08, every god-fearing morning. 7:08 happens to be 1 minute before my alarm goes off. It also boils down to the number 6 in numerology, which can be a positive nurturing thing, or negatively, bitter and jealous. It also refers to the Hexameron.

5:33 is a more recent occurrence. And for about the last two weeks I have alternated between awaking at 5:33 or 7:08 a.m. In numerology this is the number 2, and it has to do with relationships, and is the opposite of unity, the number 1, which is the perfect number, I think.

They add together to 8 which is a pretty heavy duty number. It has to do with Karma. I'm not going to expound on Karma at this time, but if any of you are familiar and believe in it... well... you can fill in the gaps for yourself.

I do find it interesting in how these numbers, 6, 2, and 8, relate to actual events in my life and what I feel I need to learn at this point. But what is really intriguing to me is not just the fact that I can find something in my life to correspond with these numbers and their explanations (I suppose most or all of us could find something, coincidence or not) but in how they are layered. I noticed 7:08 first, so I take it's meaning first, followed by 5:33 (I have a special fondness for 33, not sure why, like how some people are haunted by 11:11, which I also have been lately, maybe I should factor that into my calculations... note to self... ) and then the sum of the two and it's meaning. In my life, the Karmic implications of these two numbers is very apparent. Interestingly enough, 8 also corresponds to Capricorn, which is my sign. I know I'm not explaining any details of my life at this point, you'll just have to take my word for it on the meanings. But quite literally, the first number begets the second, and the third number encompasses both of those. For me.

I should confess I know nothing about numerology, and any numerologist that comes across this blog is welcome to correct any fallacies I have presented.

What is peculiar though, isn't my pretentious fascination with a bunch of numbers that I see every morning upon waking. It's that, even with the recent Daylight Savings Time shift, I am *still* waking up at those two times. I'm not coming awake at a certain point in the day, I am coming awake corresponding to numbers on a clock, which, when you get right down to it, is pretty arbitrary. My internal body clock immediately shifted itself by one hour to match DST, a clock, not the earth or the rotation of the Heavens.

What the fuck is with that?

Grey guts.

This is about addiction.

I'd like to say that this isn't something that's familiar to me. I'd like to say my recent experience with addiction was a new one. I'd like to say all kinds of shit that appears to be clever and inspired. But mostly it's just sad. Mostly it's just like taking off your clothes. Not hot sex. Not passion. Not ideal. Just naked. Hair, blemishes, knock knees, scars, pot bellies, whatever you have. It's what you are. It's what we all are. It's what we all hide.

My father is an addict. He is an alcoholic. He beat my mother, and me. Although I don't remember much about that time. I remember enough. I'd like to say he isn't a terrible man. But I just don't know. I haven't spoke with him in 5 years. I don't know why. I guess it would be more accurate to say he hasn't spoken to me. He has not communicated with most of his family, if any, in a very long time. I guess that's what he needs. I can't really say. I don't know why. I'm told he is doing well with his addiction, and that is definitely a good thing.

But for me, I guess the damage is done, and I notice that addicts don't really come clean (to turn a phrase) very well, and face up to the people they abuse. They generally consume the ones they love, like they do their drug of choice, and once that is done, discard what is left of that person

My wife is an addict. She smokes pot everyday. She uses several other recreational drugs. She has used them enough to have to hide when she uses them, to lie about using them. She used them enough to become verbally abusive with me. Enough to fight with her friends, and family. I lived with this for several years. One year without it, while we were separated. She is 36 years old and claims that the most important thing to her is being a mother. A coke snorting mother I suppose. I'm not judging you drug users out there, I don't really care what you do. But for me, it doesn't work. I've tried it, it was fun. But I don't need it to have fun. I can do that without drugs.

Really what it comes down to is self medication. Something, somehow, is inside of her, that she needs to cover up. Some people get prozac. She chooses cat tranquilizer or pot. I can go on and on about how empty she is when she's high, how it's like being with a body, but not a person. Indeed, I've written many pages on it already. What I'll do with that I don't know. It probably doesn't matter. It's a painful experience to have someone choose drugs over you. Every time they look you in the eye and lie to you about their drug use, it's betrayal. It's infidelity. So what if she lays with another man? Here she is, looking at me, at our union, our trust and breaking it, saying, snorting coke or dropping ecstasy is much more important to her than being honest with me. She is betraying me in her heart, not just her body. And because she can't go a day or a week, or month (for fuck sake) without drugs, she never really knows her own feelings. She never really sees the pain she is giving to those around her.

My addiction?

I'm addicted to her.

Sticks, with twigs

I realized that I don't categorize my blogs. How can I? I only have like 7. I can't say that I have exactly 7, it could be 8 or 6. I could type out those numbers, which is correct grammar I think. But none of that matters.

What does matter, is that you've read this far, and will soon be rewarded with knowledge and power. For you see, sometimes, something that is important can be right in front you, perhaps, not simply there, but actually handed right to you, placed in your hand, by some benevolent force, or some other run-on sentence.

It can be innately important, or it can simply represent something else, which carries some kind of value. To you, or to your group, maybe to someone else, through you, or maybe carried to them inside your pocket, if it is a tangible thing.

But what is truly amazing is the human ability of self-deception. Yes, self-deception, your old friend. This tangible, or non-tangible item, placed in your hand, metaphorically or metaphysically, can be, with many commas, and little effort on the part of the recipient of such an item, ignored. Looked over as if it wasn't even there, never mind it may not actually be there unless it is materially manifest in nature. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is a redundant way to describe it's nature.

The real question is 'why?' Why do you do it? Why do you overlook, sometimes willingly this thing placed before you? It is important. You need it. It has been delivered to you in your moment of need. At the very time, when nothing else can help you, possibly save you, from something, you act as though it isn't even there. Is this a conscious decision? A willful ploy to increase one's own difficulty? Some terrible blog with question after question pondering some kind of existential nonsensical self aware trivia? Who knows? Do you?

Be aware, for this happens to all of us more than you know, probably more than even I know. But the universe is trying to help. When it's not trying to harm.

Phantoms

As I drove home last night, I was thinking to myself how certain things have become superstition to me. It was a moment of clarity where I saw myself from without and understood how, like a caged monkey rocking back and forth to comfort itself from the torture of it's masters, my mind races to assemble some sort of sense in an otherwise random existence. Vague enough?

I've been trying to talk to a therapist for about four days because I'm concerned for myself after allowing an unhealthy person to get into my head for so long, and perpetuate an abusive relationship, you guessed it, for so long.

The therapist and I have exchanged voicemails for four days, and on the last day I began to think, "Maybe it's not 'meant to be'", or perhaps "It is more valuable because it is difficult to overcome the difficulty of making contact." Then I thought to myself how absurd I sounded, and how desperate I seemed for some kind of meaning.

I just want to talk some shit out. And I'm *really* busy. And the therapist is *really* busy. I have no evidence of destiny writ in the stars, or on ancient scrolls, deigning to reach down and steer the course of my life.

And what's funny is moments after I had this visit from clarity of mind, the therapist called, I answered, and now I have an appointment to talk with her.

So there was no hidden meaning, or difficulty to overcome, some metaphysical obstacle to surmount.

Or maybe once I realized what a mind game I was playing with myself, I had in fact overcome the very obstacle I am describing as non-existant....

******

I got home later that night and saw, for a moment saw a little ghost of a light in my vision. It was only there for a moment, it was about the size of my thumb, and about two feet in front of me. I was tired so it was most likely a mind trick, but it made me wonder....

And speaking of being tired, I turned on the TV and sat on the couch, and proceeded to drift off to sleep, and at some point later, I felt a person, someone familiar, close to me on the couch. She leaned in, as if to be closer and it startled me awake. I could feel the air compress between us, I could feel her heat, I could feel her eyes looking at me. I felt her weight on the couch.

I was a bit disoriented for a second after waking, and then realized it was just a dream. Or a phantom.

25 years of marriage is hot !!!

Well, Peter and Lois of 'Family Guy' are my inspiration for relationships. It's no secret I wish to be a family man, and these two really have it going on. Now, I don't know exactly how long they've been married, but there is a commitment there you don't see everyday... and I have no doubt they'll make 25 years and beyond.

But really, it's my own mother and stepfather who've made it 25 years, and for some reason, that is just amazing. They been through the thick and the thin, and they've earned their marriage every step of the way. They love each other, and to me, they are becoming like buddhist masters of marriage. When you focus on something for so long you become deft at it. They wield their marriage like a Neo wields the Matrix.

But, as much as I love my mother, Lois is way hotter.....

fortune cookies and porn

It's not a clever blog title, it's just a sampler platter.

I realized the other day, there are two types of people in the world. Those who keep their fortunes, and those who don't. If you don't know what I'm talking about, well, it's fortune cookies. We aren't very far from the topic line, so try to keep up.

I keep my fortunes, so I'm one of those. The fortune I got the other day states, simply, "Enjoy what you have, hope for what you lack." Well, I mean, that's pretty sound advice, and while I agree with it, it's not really a fortune. But don't get me wrong, I don't feel screwed out of an actual fortune. I think, perhaps, on some metaphysical level, this is exactly what I need to hear right now in my life. I have much to be thankful for, and I should not sacriface that in the face of whatever loss I've been through recently (see the divorce blog, however incomplete it may be). And not only am I still rich with friends, and things, and myself and all that I am, on top of that (!) (this is where it gets good), there is the promise of more good stuff to come. I mean, when you spin it like that, that's a damn good 'fortune' cookie.

On the other side, I told Rebecca tonight, that when we get off the phone, I'm going to put on some porn, get high (I don't get high anymore), and cry. I didn't watch porn either. So I guess all I really did is cry.

Some shit you just can't escape.....

p.s. I saw Opeth tonight at the Wiltern...... they melted my face off. I bow to their superior rockatude.

So I said to Marquis...

... and I offered him use of this so he'd have a blog to post, but he wouldn't have it. And I understand, as he pointed out, that he has a level of integrity to maintain in his blogs. I don't maintain that same level of integrity, and so...

It's good to know, that, if you buy biodegradeable laundry detergent, you can, if you wish, pour that shit out right on the ground and it won't hurt a thing. If I was rich, I'd buy like a hundred jugs of biodegradeable laundry detergent and pour it out right in the parking lot of the store where I bought them. For no good reason....

It's like...

...planting flowers in a dustbowl.

Do they flourish? Transform the dustbowl? Are they overwhelmed by the cosmic dustyness, itself a thinly veiled reference for the lack of life giving sustinance? Will they bring color, bright greens, yellows, oranges even (!) to the grey pale dustiness, the grey dusty blueness of the sky, itself devoid of life, a mirror, reflecting the aforementioned dusty bowl? Will the flower push up and crack the cement like dusty bowl's floor, sending cracks in every direction, shattering the land and the sky?

Well?