july 1999 this
many entangled parameters
i am watching my values, my way of seeing the world,
become outmoded. that's all.
narrating, as i watched the men chat.
i remembered the budha pond, it's water silent, not trickling.
instinct urged me to plug it in, midsentance.
that's when the book began. these are men i thought.
i'm sitting having dinner with three men.
they're talking about taxes, and probably interested, as my mind wandered about the terrace...
july 11th 1999 night.
welcome.this is the mEp.today, i thought of something really neat to write here but then my mind became diverted with a bunch of other crap, as it tends to do. ricky martin is ole ole ole-ing in the other room but i've managed to keep my slippery long nails in touch with the keyboard and my eyes fixated on this tiny screen, this machine old and grey, which i love so dearly and which keeps me in touch with the rest of the planet, even if in a digital sort of way. because you don't know that even if i'm a network administrator by day, i still hang on to this piece of archeology for dear life.
there's many thoughts rummaging, well in reality they aren't rummaging at all are they.
because most of those cool far-out early days are gone. the early days of life, of chantal and eight is enough; of newness and fruedian classes; of drinking for the first (ok thirtyeth) time, of gawking at boys and of dancing downtown; the days of perusing the huge libraries, of meeting people from different places, of working for a huge corporation; making friends with directors there,
no, now we'refalling in love with "beautiful strangers"; pouring tanqueray gin martinis; pouring or drowning, i don't know and shit, we even moved to california and even that doesn't seem exotic at this particular fork-road...
i walk around this beautiful city; i know it because i know it, and sentances come to me. sentances that should be written here; but the passion to write just the right stuff is squuezing it's way thru, yeah, thru crap that i can't write here...
and even though the sink in both the bathroom and the kitchen are scrubbed, "my mother god rest her soul" "put your arms around me baby" but i don't listen to this stuff all the time, it's just that we're quite well-rounded and it doesn't necessarily fit in. people don't understand it. they function best in ruts, the one-track kind that let's them package things, hey, i like to package too
cross-legged; here i sit. reminiscing; bowing my head; wondering; learning;
hurting; loving, in my own private way, i've begun to read. i used to read.
perhaps all these wonderous life-things got in the way. there are still
haunting questions. maybe they're found in books. good books. gin martinis
and the like.
i almost wrote voraciously; but that would have been only a slight exageration.
i guess it's not just that i don't feel like a typical anything, perhaps it's just that i know i'm not a typical anything. nor are you, nor you. everything i know to be true has washed itself away at some point or another; in some form or another. those books i read (voraciously) in that huge library, when i was just a juniper, those books that taught me what depresses me now; those ideas, powerful as they once seemed - pale in comparison to ... to what, poots? to submission? to laziness? to indecisiveness? to life as we know it? ah, i don't know. let's leave that one alone for now kay?
there are people, that even though i don't write about them, don't talk much to them, don't even KNOW them for cripes sake, have such a powerful effect on me. people whose faces come to me regularly; whom i still think of as i type these words; have influenced me so much in this part of my life, have changed how i look at things - and they probably don't even know it. i guess all i can say here is that i hope they know who they are. some of the smartest, wittiest, most interesting people ... :-)
and now i ramble.
it's just quiet, it's just that it's quiet. no buzz, no flow, no-thing, and it's summer. that place i work is killing me. it's so dull!!! but i'm not the type to complain about work nor blame things on work. but it is a dull place. no gossip, no news, or maybe it's just me? sterile software engineers fill the hallways, they appear friendly enough but that's the extent of it. There, I said it. i feel much better :-)...
talk more later, i hope. this felt ok.
poots; montreal, july 11 sunday night.