overheard recently;
'things i cannot write in the mep (which stands for my electronic pen
by the way):
how much energy it takes for me to talk on the phone. now, who could that
piss off?
it's such a struggle deciding between pissing off or admiting to myself.
interesting perspectives of others filling the gaps of our hearts and minds,
soul food for perspective.
so-i suppose the recent upswing has lasted me, us, through another month.
not that its about lasting but you know that always helps. what is pushing
us
is also preventing us from seeing the bigger picture, often. sometimes
it
really helps to actually listen to what other people say. get involved
in what
they are involved in. P said that too and he must have learned it from
his
mother.
only kidding.
where are we at the end of january? still in southern california for
one,
a fact which is becoming weirder by the day but still less scary.
mario learns to crawl.
people didn't get it before. hmm. i wonder if the process that brought
me
here was a natural one. shit, maybe i've learned something writing here.
well of course i have.
nope there's nothing really 'deep' going on here. no wonder-filled nights
nor sittings on the balconies learning to live together. what we are learning
now is much more difficult to get at, has longer repercussions, effects
which
may take a long time to grasp. most of the weather is uneventful and no
one
is going to tell me that i must find passion in it, no matter how wonderful
the
economy, no matter how high the sky. i know what i know, as he always says.
in any case i am pretty sure that i'm not alone here.
the dream catcher fell down, tsunamis occured in movie theatres, and
helicopters
crashed in the night. this is something i am not prepared to comment on,
but perhaps
Jeannette will know. i can't say i don't believe now.
dreams for the future; portugal perhaps, with deep friends and understandings
atop
cliffs. shit how could we ever complain...?
simple living with simple events. no television, still but cable guys
at the door.
;
;
;
simply put, rocks.
a flurry of activity last night getting months work done in hours. pizza
on the go and finally, a HEATER!! (yes it gets cold here too). cleanliness
now abounds and order is the word of the
day. everything in its place, didn't they used to say? stuff stuff
stuff. seems a constant barage
of stuff, this life we live. should be more budhist but alas. when the
rest of life is upheaved,
some sense of order is nice. comforting.
nothing esoteric, here. just stuff and time-racing making me feel angst
and frustrated.
excited, yes, but angst and rushing. the more i try to slow down and calm
down the
more angst i feel.
perhaps later on i will find more time, more words.
some people certainly do have a nack for 'putting things'. posted on canoe:
"The fun is in the asking by Mondo Alberta , 11/20/97
The fun is in the asking. The unexamined life is not
worth living,
I believe Plato said (?).
Many humans have a thirst for knowledge,
to try to understand our place in eternity.
It seems to be part of the growth of the individual,
to examine oneself and the cosmos.
To try to understand, just a little, of why we are here.
It isn't so much that the answer is graspable or knowable
as there is pleasure in thinking about these things.
The outcome of this type of endeavor can be a personal
philosophy.
One in which you are able to discard the dogmas and commandments
of traditional religions that come from without, and replace them
with a belief system that comes from within - one that is written upon
your heart.
peace "
and my point is that whether you call it religion or personal belief
system, doesn't matter.
they spend hours arguing over there-and they are all saying exactly the
same thing, only
using different words. some have chosen to name it religion some call it
personal belief
system. kind of like what clinton said last night and also related to Jnette's
message of this morning, about journaling and thinking about transition
periods in your life.
[(aside: he has a point-everyone does pretty much want
the same thing, they just won't admit it.
and there doesn't seem to be enough of it to go around. used to argue with
a friend all
the time, that everyone couldn't be rich. i think maybe someone needs to
tell these
people that too. everyone can't be rich. it doesn't work that way.
it's only a dream.
"relatively speaking, i'm nothing without
you, you are where i've been before you are where i'm going to."(J.D)]
yes yes, my life is defined by transitions. all written down, recorded,
compiled and spit out.
but i suppose it would be an idea to try and see my predefine transitions
from another
perspective. what a mind-blower to be able to see things from another perspective.
someone should come up with a pill that lets you see things from someone
else's eyes,
if only for one moment. now that would change the world.
san entire newspaper goes
by and i read the weather. nothing familiar-nothing forgein.
the people i know here do not read the paper. no mention of it at all.
what slot does that
fit in to? i doubt i could just let things go, undefined. just the thought
of what j said, not
always understanding why-makes me very uncomfortable. not completely in
control?
never.
yet, there's a time for not understanding. let's talk of art. drawn
towards the abstract,
the marginal, the absurd. no definitions from my mouth, there. if you could
know what
people pay loads of money for; grids colored in like color-by-number in
order to have
the most acurate representation. but i digress. (speaking of digressing,
what is the
meaning of defer?)
what are you going to say, today? energy needed for going on. not finding
it in my
shivers now. thinking of what i could do, given resources. thinking of
wanting out of
here; looking forward to whatever change may come with excitement. change
for
the sake of change, yes that is what i want. space. air. something green.
this place
holds neither nor. not a city, not a town. wastelands of stucco. it's not
that i hate it
but that it hates itself. little pride, it is resting on the edge of its
laurels, holding on
for dear life. relying on anything plastic and everyone who needs something
to cling
to. they all need something to cling to. frail of security and chasing
their tails. like one
big lab experiment, 66.6 % of them behave within the norms. this is the
part for which
i feel most dismayed. of course because i must count myself in there. do
i want out?
i don't even know. i don't even know.
i will arch and stretch my little rat-spine now-the creaking one that
gives me a head rush.
i'll look around this cold place, warmer by the curtains and watched over
by ramona,
and think about everything-as far as my neuronal networks can take me.
i really don't
want to go to australia or do i? nah, i don't. i'd like to dance or do
art. then you don't
gotta define nothing. stop defining nothing. dancing can take on many forms,
poots.
take your pick and get up.
,
pinpointing some very interesting concepts about these 'foreigners',
why do i feel so bady to
criticize? i always believe, of course, that i was 'one of them'. yet how
could something be
farther from truth? and of course, therin lies the conundrum. ha what a
joke on myself.
grabbing important things and boxing them up-putting large labels on them
because
small ones are harder for everyone to understand. and then, of course,
using the labels
to sell themselves. tiny little mass-marketers. packaged products of all
of what was put into them. "i'm christian" (read: 'not only
am i white and speak english').
it's a beautiful system, who's to deny? i can see why many would embrace
it.
(hey, i'm not here to pick fights-just to understand.)
identities defined by a handful of criteria external to themselves.
as canadians, i'd
guess that our identity, more internal - is more personal; ergo, harder
to define.
so in the am getting up earlier than is 100% healthy for me, i wallow
through ups and downs
trying to chase the tryptophans away, staring at curtains with no conclusions.
bottom of the
mug now cold fingers, cold brain, not too sure of much. color printer still
not used, not really
worried just wishing i was warmer because the cold has me staring into
blank spots. the water
pressure is low and that annoys me. it is cold over there too but at least
is smells pleasantly of
apple cider vinegar.
chilled now, to the bone. need that heater and FAST.
i really do love this opportunity. even though i'm getting very very
frustrated. oh no that
reminds me of that terrible 'pms-go away' or whatever the hell it's called
commercial.
because your career may be ruined by it, ya'know. maybe even your website
too....
can't relax so cold. chills. staring staring wasting precious time.
mornin' Rams!
ah, forget it. can't think.
a poetry contest.
disturbing images on the television.
some delicious, rich-tasting coffee on my lips.
a color printer.
burning desire to do something greater, more intricate.
what is the difference between them skimming over life and the way i
choose what is important? who's to say. i am not here to judge, but i do
like to watch.
and america really has afforded me certain luxuries.
the next part is the struggle. where the road splits and the signs are
larger.
awoke early this morning already immersed in the past, after spending
last night in the future. familiar faces passed me by as i lay under layers,
thin cracks of california sunshine painting the wall. voices clear; images,
lost. dizzy in a mind-warp of what was then and what is now, i gave up.
still unable to decide just how magical a time that was, it is what i prefer
to leave resting. a time when decisions were based on ideas discarded,
friends now no where to be seen, and remnants of my endeavors hanging
on the wall. "where are they now?" beautiful and bold;
we probably all
thought we were the king and went our separate ways.
artist:jnette
it is difficult to be a non-static. my opinions, desires,
change but keeping track of them is so difficult. it is so easy to stick
with the old ones, more familliar, they comfort. sometimes there is just
too much to summarize all at once. this is what i strive for however-what
will result will be good.
friday has arrived quickly and things are messy again. more things. but change is good. movement at the workplace-little stresses but none intense. to relax my shoulders, pick up that tennis racket. the java harsh today, buzzing my brain and annoying the smooth muscles, i rub my eyes and itchy forehead. not wanting to move, it's cold. but i must and i force myself.
gosh, was that day in washington a year ago already? many miss her. i hope i never do.
"and it goes on and on, watching the river run, further and further
from things that we've done-
leaving them one by one, and we have just begun-watching the river run,
listening and learning
and yearning, run river run" (loggins and messina?)
chatting with Germans, connectivity problems in certain ways, but not
in others. a click click here
and a click click there-my logic is sweet, sometimes. mom on the phone
at 7:33, banking and
ice storm news, all is back to normal. commisioning artwork to new newyorkers,
confirming
reservations with vancouverites, and spending my days supporting losangelinos,
how more
connected could my world be?
topsy turvey in the maunfacturing industry! and possible clutch
problems, eeks. time passes and brings people; new and old
back into my life. many rolling days now-events pile onto each
other to form clusters. but groups of events are fun to organize.
bubbly bubbly despite the evening of discontent.
and prayers for pia. bow my head.bite my lip.
clarity comes as soon as i feel i no longer need it.
vision, without looking.
perseverance, in time.
is that what they meant by having faith?
who in their right 12-year old mind accepted that?
how was i to know? did anybody? there you go, another paradox.
shit.
surrounded by mysteries we are, and there's another.
does everything have to make so much sense?
my brain hurts.
.
.
.
.
"it's dark at four pm in Leeds
the steeples pierce the skylight
as the last of it bleeds;
the empty sounds of another day as it recedes,
into the shadows
until it's nothing"
indigo girls
.
.
.
.
.
stiff ribcage as i stretch hard. itchy chin. morning comes. infused
and clear, time is at a premium here. visitors came and went, little piles
of mess here and there now. avoiding anything which could be even mildly
labelled as 'work'. spent an evening submersed in wonderful music and food.
thinking of past things but not so deeply. connecting a bit with others.
trying to stay afloat. chills.
hanging things on walls gives life. making me want to hang everything,
everywhere. cover the
walls which when not covered are bare, lifeless, cold. cover them.
7:39 now more chills.
jan. 18th
later
there used to be those nights where i'd pick up my address book and
phone people. i can't even do that here. detached. you thought you
were detached?
it's a haze of what i remember and what i don't. some things are
obviously clearer than others; even particular moments. some i
feel bad about forgeting, others are stuck . certain things will
always be clear. certain situations, gone forever.
it's all a mish-mash. is this home now?
do the memories make it home? shivers run up and down my spine
as my subconscience decides not to cry. the music that is making
me feel this way is so old. it's so past it's prime. a seventeen year
old bright guy tried to share it with me oh so long ago and i didn't
get it then. why do i wallow in it so? something about her voice
draws you in. makes you feel like the whole world wants something else.
just kind of says, 'it's ok to feel that way'.
capturing this now is interesting.
it is a time of reflection, into the past. listening to these musics
and they make me stop.
grabbing my heart strings; not tightly, not lightly. just holding them
in place so i look up
and stop. only long enough. i won't let it be sad, i won't let the past
control me. yet the
fact that i feel intensely is very important. want to convey that, want
to round everyone
up and let them know. i'm not even sure i want you to know which past i
refer to; it was
not a distant one, yet it is very much the past. thinking of that place
where i learned of
so many life things that i had wanted to know about for a long time. it's
as if dreamt,
now. as if telepathically inserted into my life. "i would do this
as one point" "I will do
that" at yet another. is it me, making it come true? no, they're not
tugs of real sorrow,
of real pain. no tears will come, as i tough now or is there something
i deny?
for the moment i don't want to know. everything we live now will one day
have
this same bittersweet ringing to it. what can i do. let the bell toll.
perchance, to live. can't we all evaluate? how can music be so sweet,
i say.
how can music be so sweet.
wild mushrooms,
port,
and goat cheese.
overheard in checkout line, mumbled through his breath as he handed
the cashier a twenty dollar certificate; "i'm
not much of a shopper...my wife did the shopping..."
my heart sank.
"...she passed away"
and all of a sudden, the bag of doritos, chicken thighs, canned corn and
head of cabbage had a whole new meaning.
the guest room is full - er - half full, and the sun rose this morning.
i cannot tell you what a christian is.
i can't even tell you what's news. concepts distorted by too many people,
watching
what someone else calls news, awaking this morning and feeling as though
i'd
dreamt it. or, is this whole thing a dream. yes, in one sense it is.
buzzing around now, there is some movement and that is a good thing.
activity. inertia. pushes me forward, finally. little bubbles of joy rising
in
my gut. reasons to get up. things to create. ahead, all. but the ability
to
see things from both sides never evades me.
learning about our neighbors. learning about ourselves.
yes,
for the time being my perspective is a different one. some things are turned
around and some things are crystal clear. makes for a beautiful image in
one sense, yet unrealistic in truth. something i cannot live, because i
am not above it all. i am a part of it, a cause of it, essential to it.
we weren't meant to see things this way, leaves us frustrated and unsatisfied
with what we have...or do not have. would i have chosen differently, of
course not. i chose this-slowly, step by step, increment by increment.
each small choice takes evolution in a direction. it doesn't know what
direction it's going in, so why should i?
no, i cannot tell you what a christian is. you will have to find out
for yourself.
little scraps now, scattered for me to read. i bend over the warm mug
and see...
"i must admit, the highs are higher and the lows lower." relative?
absolute? who knows.
it seems that way now. i'm sure my 14-year old me would disagree. why do
i say so?
when high, the world is mine, quite literally i think. hm, London, Paris,
take your pick.
when low, chiseling my world into a dark corner where there is no point
at all.
J says, don't define everything.
but it's gotta make sense i say. there's gotta be a reason and i gotta
fix it. one of the
stimuli (or lack thereof) in my life is causing it, and i can know what
that is and change
it. shes says you can't always know what it is. perhaps i say. perhaps.
so driving yesterday i was dripping with clarity. defining everything
in my path
and coming up with statements like "i like the Indigo girls".
wondering if we can
ever understand the different feelings that poserful music evokes in other
people,
why it affects them at certain times in their life, and if these two are
related...
now, it doesn't even matter what i have scribbled on the receipts. funny
thing,
that's what matters now. shit is life ironic eh?
i guess i am jealous. i'd like to create something which has enough
self-generated
power to affect people like that. perhaps i think that if i can define
it, understand it,
i can do it. of course it takes more than that but who knows...it can't
hurt to try.
i'm honest with myself, i'd like to think. as much as anyone. but it
doesn't mean
that i'm going to write it all down. Graeme thinks I should, and maybe
he's right
because i do wish i lived in a world which would allow that.
but i don't.
things i don't remember...
| Indigo girls | "fax paper slipped under
the hotel room door like food for the prisoner, or the prospect to the whore well fed and half-way drunk, i ache myself for more until i'm shadows of myself, until i'm nothing... sixteen black churches burning on the tv, all the way from texas, to tenassee a politician locks my eyes and says to me; there is no crisis here, there's no conspiracy" |
back on track, albeit groggy. picking up as i go, helps. understand that certain topics are taboo here; especially ones which feed us. unfortunate, leaving me with only broad generalizations about this place and the style of business. which was my mission to begin with. once again, i figure it out and no longer want a part of it. when will something with any truth to it, appear? my only respite, you gotta do it yourself. but what if the system works for you, the rest of it i mean.
the ups and the downs all around me now, like i was explaining last night, if the ups are good enough they can take you through the downs. use the energy to turn it around. that's how they do it. parasite yourself. inject yourself with it. but not too much, because it turns on you. how do they keep a balance? or do they?
listening to friends in a soho loft-and still feeling 'outside' of it. reading and re-reading her words, eloquent and literary so much more than she seems to know. spiked with friendly sarcasm, tack-sharp wit, and a smoothness like nobody's business, i'm hanging on to every one like a work of art.
7,25 doing ok. infusion about halfway. jazz over there starts to annoy me.
visitors coming soon, adding of course to the cleanliness and to my sanity, i await the opportunity to cook and entertain. have i told you lately that i cook? in my dreamworld there's a restaurant. cobblestone floors - real ones, not the imitations from home depot- nonmatching cutlery and tableware, real non matching ones, not the imitations from a store called "anthropologie" (yes in french), and food cooked in lard, yes lard. who said my french ancestry evades me. i don't.
speaking of which, these anthropologie stores seem to be the latest. clothing/old-looking stuff, probably imitating stores (?) in the 15th century which probably sold or traded everything, we seem to be fed up with new looking stuff. ah, rebels. hey, i'm there. aside from the pricetags, it's actually a decent idea. at the back there was a pile of hooks and whatnot, and i spent an inoportune amount of time trying to figure out if they had been ripped off of walls. ok ok, so maybe imitation cobblestone will do - but not in my dreams.
it's good for the soul, old stuff and variety no? yes.
7:39 and the plane must fly now.
guest rant#2
bitter; and like chocolate, it's heat warms my heart and soul. some
people, like teachers,
wake themselves at 5am and do physical activity. i imagine this too would
warm oneself
and jolt the day back into you. i'm thinking, i'm thinking. just because
it's slower doesn't
mean caffeine is better, but i am quite sure it is gentler. on the bug-eyes
anyway.
essentially, taking all those concepts which i do not understand and
parceling them up.
little packages on teeny little shelves-each one to be examined and poked.
turned inside
out and then returned to the shelf. there is much i don't understand and
little i accept in this.
it's just that sometimes the shelves are full and sometimes they are empty.
black/white once
again.
...sitting on his daddy's lap, with a birthday of august 10, his little
boots used my thigh as
leverage. i wondered if he found the stadium loud. asking questions like
do the Ducks
have teeth, his world makes so much sense dispite it. once the questions
are answered,
a small calculation; and things are pieced together once again. simple.
would i trade places?
"morning comes and i awake;
the flutter of the dove begins
and life again, greets the newborn day
oh! lovely one, oh friend so gentle
your cry suggest it's time to go
upon the voyage to the land of lasting peace
the dove is peace and lasting happiness"
|
bizzarre dreams of lillith-fair
type gatherings, we flew over the city and tried to take pictures |
it hasn't been much for cooincidences. lately.
status quo, guilt, boredom.
just get a life already.
staring blankly at the ground, trying to clear my throat, i am thinking 'what am i thinking'. once, when i was 19, a friend and i said to my mother 'we're bored'. she said 'i can't understand how two girls your age can be bored'...and those words have never been very far from my mind, dangling in front of me like a generational carrot, but a rotted one. the magazine in front of me talks of evolution and the things that will come with new technologies. it's a dilemma alright. maybe half the planet isn't convinced, maybe half the planet is still running around trying to lead the kind of life that is right for 1998. wearing the right perfume - and eating the right amount of unsaturated fat. imagine, this also includes watching the right television shows, am i missing something?
at my age, she had 5 children, ages 13,12,10,4 and 2. imagine if i told her i'm bored, now?
badmanagementbadmanagementbadmanagement. urgh.
clean now and infused; still lethargic. waiting for that injection of
energy, you must know it's coming.
bleached the counters; not to put meaning into everything, but to perform
everything with meaning.
it is all linked, if you choose to view it as such. perspective, as i always
say. is this the power of suggestion, or optomistic comparisons? this is
essentially what is on my mind, for lack of nothing. the spice rack is
loaded now, things await hanging. yeah, that's it. if you want spice, you
gotta go out and buy it. just don't spend too much time wishing it would
come to you. design your house around the spices.
the cleaning is either not done; or done with vigor. same with cooking. some kind of inability to do things without passion. so black and white. but i thought my life was full of greys, bullshit. so that's it then, the ultimate goal; to live in a series of grey tones. on off; binary, yes=no, good bad. i've written alot about this and i suppose there isn't much to do about it. it frustrates me. should i bother trying to avoid it? is it perspective or fact? perhaps this is what creativity attempts to overide. if i hang a painting, it is neither good or bad. and it's not that i'm worried about being good or bad-or at least not at this particular moment. argh.
i've just got so much wasted energy potential, that is the true sin here.
the great ice storm of 98 leaves
us feeling guilty and useless.
it beats with unbridled pride 
washing to shore again and again;
we can't decide if for mercy or for sin;
we crave the power with which it causes
great rocks to turn to sand.
.
.
.
i suppose it is undeniable, we have become them; a breed of frustrated artists, trapped in a world we analyze. to whom do we have to admit it, and for what advantage, disadvantage, tribute or tribulation? do we merely continue the cycle or does something really change? either or, we aren't going to move mountains and i'm not sure we desire to do so. i speak of we and i am glad. watching the we from the outside is much more wonderful than looking down on myself from mars. the we is stronger; the we is comforting; the we is where we belong. little gut wrenching smiles adorn my face, tipping my head back and resting it finally, in a position comfortable for my smiling eyes.
i decide who is angry now. i control my emotions. i am free to feel in the way which brings me peace.
this morning's visit into the past is revolting me. of course i never thought i'd be embarrassed by who i was.
i am reading the words on the paper in front of me; words written by my hand, in 1980. as if not written by me, they barely evoke memories, hardly conjure images. is it me, on these powdery-blue pages of august, and the book, aptly titled 'the dream nothing book' is now but a dream for me-and although much of it shaped who i am today, still represents nothing to me. nothing, because i choose to forget if i was ever so immature. interesting selection of people from one page to the next...old friends, bozo the clown, people whom i do not remember. mixed feelings as i leave this world for my world of the past...a simpler, more emotional world. where i wish bananas didn't have so many calories, and describing my every move as if it were my last. it's quite embarrassing, i must admit. some of these books are better off closed. how did i get here, from there? especially to the place where i close the book...?
let's put it back where it belongs.
 |
"could it be that places we've deeply felt for always surface as fiction between a sentence and a set of images?" - K.Joyce |
yep, it's the ordinary. the ordinary wednesday and the ordinary life. so that's it. i can't tolerate the ordinary. status quo, here nor there nor anywhere, i don't want it. always manipulating that little mindset of mine so that things do not appear ordinary. the greens in the park were not ordinary, the palms lining main street neither. my wonderful lamb curry, which required some distinctly caucasian decisions, infused this clean place with an aroma as far from the ordinary; to our noses, as we know.
running late and still not completely infused, there are some slightly uncohesed thoughts rattling around back there. what kind of smarts, and why does it bother us so? related to our attention-filled childhoods? too self centered, or what am i supposed to say? how can i fix things with words? am i? just what, exactly, is it i am trying to solidify here? something ordinary? maybe i am just trying to prove i'm not. hmmm.
now let's see, what is a Christian?
in the bedroom, celine wakes me up again and again in this city. singing emotions which penetrate hearts like soft knives, this is one song i must turn off. one set of feelings i am not ready for at 6:35 am, on any day. i can't imagine who is. perhaps they shouldn't play it in the morning? i would regulate that. why sensitize some and desensitize others?
and then over in the kitchen, i'm imagining a gathering of everyone i've met through the internet. faces crisp and vague, invisible and imagined; we're all in a room, gathered to interact. and they? each of them would have their own set of faces, and each of those in turn. let's say we invite each of their sets, one by one, and watch each of them as they meet people they know this way, until the six degrees of separation rule kicks in. yummy! now that would be a garden, wouldn't it?
leaving the living room, i bring Ramona and her best friend and her bodyguards with me. they are still asleep. now in front of this yellowish screen, his papers still strewn here and there, i must write, fingers semi-cold. and, like my hands, the meter is hovering somewhere in the middle. go on, go back, very similar to life at home. no overwhelmingly good thoughts; no desparately bad ones. it's one of those middle weeks. the lamb marinates, the fan blows the heat around, and the coffeepot burner cools down.
it's clean in here, civility being such a novel, therefore good feeling. i can look around as though it all belongs to someone else. i wonder why i like that so much? what else can i look at to tip the meter? it's all such a head game and i hate that, i hate that, i hate that.
until it works.
1998. yearly things will begin. some i'll remember, some i'll wish to forget. january 23 i met clb.
i dreamt of a great party, a christmas party no doubt, where everyone had fancy first floor european style hotel rooms.
ahh, maybe by doing it, i erase it. yes of course that's the point. now i can say i did it. europe i did before and moving after. i didn't really want to go to europe, although now, how glad am i that i have? that taught me much even though i was not quite ready for it. i guess the key now is how much would it have taught me now?
how is today apart from yesterday? colder, for one. cleaner, for two, and inside? grappling with the concept of just hanging out for a while. knowing there's more. keeping me on the fence, which is better than not. lay around staring at the stucco ceiling, seeing faces while reliving the whole carolyn thing, wondering as i often do if i really do know her and she me, but knowing for some reason, that the connection is permanent. the doubts in the background, if i heard her soft voice once mutter 'ahh' the way she does, i heard it a thousand times...got me thinking of the empathy and wondering about it, about strange encounters and predetermined intermingling of lives. she's quiet of late, but never quiet in my heart.
"where starts my screed but 39,000 feet airbound south and west, henna
burnt mountains below?
a screed to remain honest, painfully so if necessary, yet blossoming with
newness and untold discoveries. from here, the world truly is in my hand
- but is it, or am i trapped in technology?
words will be my freedom, my saving grace, during this journey....or save
me from it, however the case may be. words will color this experience as
only emotions can be painted. i will wrap myself in their definitions,
they artistry, and derive comfort from them, as i have been doing for so
many years."
they call us brave, i say i have words.
-from my screed, september 26th 1997.
today a visitor from the past has arrived. we'll share the space for
untold similarities.
the dust is being cleared, in more ways than one. mEpwords
are solid, concrete.
jazz will become our LA-memories...lulling us into a sense of cosmopolitainism, one that we didn't appreciate as much up north. perhaps this is related to the heat? mothers and sisters on the telephone, the rugs are clean and Ramona is noticably more content. the black washing hung in the sun, and two hungry travellers are about to think about eating. mid-saturday, i haven't even glanced at a clock since early today.
a hundred times since i left, i stopped and heard words in my head - words that somehow i believe uniquer than others. a thousand times i've wished those words could come to me while sitting staring at this monitor - but it would seem that grey plastic is not one of the greatest inspirational views.
i used to hear artists describe inspiration but never believed - or should i say understood, that creativity needed inspiration. perhaps now i do.
t i m e l e s s w o r r i e s
they want to know how i've become who i've always wanted to be. maybe it was just a matter of time. body image takes years to change, - and so does personality. as children we know who we are - we can easily keep track of our personality changes, for they are few.
with a dark wing to my left hovering in front of a baby blue skyline, protecting the falling snow and darkness below it - and the smiling moon pleased above - i scramble to find paper and pen to cohese my thoughts.
a r t
we know what we like what we don't like, and what we want as a child, why wouldn't we. we don't know what comes along with these desires. it is easy to want something that appears in our mind as wondrous, exotic and thrilling. what we learn as we grow older is the baggage that comes with these wants. but, we have not yet lost our 'body image' in terms of wanting these things. like so many other examples, we often want things which serve those things and those things only. the appeal is derived in an of the thing itself. this is fine if you are the thing, but it doesn't quite cut it if you have grown into something else. no one is going to tell you that i have completely grown into something else, nor that i have completely grown up, but i certainly do hope by now that at least one soul would tell me that i am no longer a child.
because he may wear an earring entirely for the look. what i mean, is, that i used to think that the look came with a philosophy. and perhaps still for some, but i am realizing that an earring and a certain cap no longer define a life attitude. people today really know how they want to look but they really don't know why. that's the sad part, and perhaps why i hold on to my older ideas.
remember the culture, it's still there.
don't let them get to you, remember your dreams.
plan food, the future, and the weekend. make curry.
decorate, be colorful.
write, be creative.
create, be alive.
and so, here we sit on a flight bound for Los Angeles, California. i'm finding a renewed perspective, and hoping that it, and a few resolutions will carry me through to the springtime. visitors will come, time will pass. we don't know - apart, nor in our oneness what our future will bring, and although i need real plans in order to wake up in the morning, neither of us feels quite certain planning, nor guessing. 'destination unknown' would be the wisest choice, still. sitting in the living rooms how many times did i want more. but i did. really. and here you have it.
1998.
