Uncensored Belligerance

I was having the most wonderful day the other day. The sun was shining a bit brighter than the day before, I am sure of it. I had just received a healthy donation to my cause from several longtime friends and supporters. As I crossed the street I was able to help 12 separate elderly bridge players across a seven lane highway (where they were going, who knows? I did not question their motives. I simply helped along). All of this was satisfying. If one more thing had not happened to me that day, I could have gone home happy. Happy-ish. Happy-er. I watched a fly die. It landed on my nose. Puked one last time (as flies do when they land and test for food) and said, "Please remember to do a thing or two, though they do not know you. And seek a place to dance, whenever you have the chance." Then it died. I kept it on my nose for a few minutes. Wondering at it. Where did it come from with my message? How did it get those words for me? And how did it know my tendencies for the wonderfully kinesthetic?

I don't know. But I care.

And twelve pages pass by. Without anything written on them. So I dream up a beginning for them, and continue until what's writ comes along. In the beginning all kinds of things happen. Not a thing or two is out of place. All is born from natural inclinations, tested by a stress of life, and then all continues on.

All is worn and worn and worn. And some is won. Some is fun. Some is disastrous and that is known.

Another day has passed this way, and all mention need be made of its occurrence.

Unconscious response.

Wherefrom do you come?

In the middle of the moment, there is action born from guilt. With hesitation and contemplation the seeds are sewn well shut. In the midst of vast, green fields, there lies a youthful fawn. Sometimes there's just a moment's width of time, to celebrate what's mine.

Holding Hands Whilst Riding Side By Side on Motorcycles

She thought it'd be a terrific test of our trust in each other. Going 60 and holding hands. We inched closer to each other on the open road in the desert. No one around. I reached first. Proving something. She turned her head. Smiled at me. I wish I could have seen her eyes beneath her sunglasses. That smile got closer. She reached her hand. Touched with tips of fingers. Steady. One hand holding fast to the bike. What about hers? Tugging with the tips of our fingers, eager to get that grasp. Her mane of blond hair whipping in the wind. She edged closer. Whipped too close for a second. I grabbed her arm. Almost too much. Her arm instinctively compensated for the error. She dashed back the other way. I still had her arm. Scared shitless. Her balance was mostly towards me now. Off the bike. Her arm couldn't stop the turn, so the bike shot right out from under her. And the rest I'm sure didn't happen. If it did I shouldn't remember. I won't. All I know is I held on. I kept my end of the stick and I promised to never let go. And now the nights are at home. It'll move on and I'll move abroad. I won't accept a test. The test should be endurance. Should be grace in motion. Should be every evening. You risk your life and lose everything. At home on the couch you risk only a bloated stomach from charred salmon. And at least there's an afghan to share. To warm.

Invariably, it becomes cold

Not everyone can be as excited as an artist on a recording. Regina Spektor is so lovely. So fresh, so sweet, so everything. She is always glad to be singing in my ear. I am not, however, always happily receiving it, though I may want to. Sometimes even Barnibus II needs a break. He was just leaving work, where he makes a healthy living chopping heads, to head home and see his wife. He was not anticipating her being happy with him. He had recently chopped the head of someone she knew. He suspected she loved him, but Barnibus wasn't worried. His father told him how to tell if a woman is going to, or has cheated on him. Their left toe grows slightly larger than the right one. Hers had remained small and dainty, so he was unconcerned about that, but not about her mood.

Barnibus II rounded the bend (all bends are, and should be, rounded) and saw his cat lying on his front porch. It woke as it felt his presence. "Whoa there, fella (Barnibus was only a fella to Smithry his cat). Miranon just threw the baby out with the bathwater. Go check and see how it is."

Barnibus II couldn't believe his ears. Would she really let their baby die on the back porch? Maybe. So he checked. And saw. There was the baby. Red hot from the sun, looking like a blazing piece of coal. They hadn't even named him yet.
"Ha!" There came a shout from behind him.
Barnibus II was now prone to rage. He was highly susceptible as it was, but here it flowed quite smoothly. He saw Miranon. She looked gleeful. She looked like she'd proven her point.
"I have no words," was all Barnibus II could say.
Miranon kept her gaze aimed straight at him. Barnibus was tenderly approaching his child. He smelled of cooked flesh. One finger laid on the child, and the skin fell right away. Smoothed away by the least motion or touch against it like the fragile skin of a cooked chicken. This was the closest thing Barnibus II could relate it to. He yearned to pick up the child, but all he could do was feel tremendous agony and fear. The baby's eyes flickered open for a moment. Still alive. Pain showed through those eyes. It coursed through his body quicker than blood. Barnibus II decided. He marched. Right up to Miranon. Grabbed her. Pulled. Forced. Down to where the baby was. He sat on her. He took out his axe. The tool used to end so many lives. He was only quiet. Rageful, but quiet. Troubled, but the tumult was not outwardly expressed. One slight stroke, separating his child's burnt head from its disgraced body. He could not even watch. He did not. He just knew where the neck was. Miranon too was quiet. Wide eyed, seeking to escape, and quiet. Barnibus II stood up. He walked. Smithry his cat followed him, speaking nothing. Expressing nothing. They walked together until they reached the ocean. And then they stared. Just stared. Deeply stared. Wondered, hoped. Until there was no reason for them to live. And then they stopped that. Not by hunger. Not by thirst. By careful decision. They decided it was time.

Miranon lived on. For a bit. How long do you think she lasted? Precisely that.

View from on Stilts

I wonder what it's like for a couple to wander through the last legs of life together.

I saw one today. Man with cane. Woman holding on to man. Who needed the balancing?

What do they think of as they sit together in their apartment. Their energy is spent by noon. What do they say to each other? What is their relationship like? Do they feel that warmth for each other? Could they be caught up in their own troubles? What would it be like to see your life partner sitting across from you at mealtimes, knowing they were a few short years, or even less, away from taking a break from it all? How sad I find that realization to be. How quickly all things have gone. How soon things pass. And the way it was. That will always remain. And if they search, perhaps they can still remember. Their first meeting. All the things done right and wrong. All the triumphs, all the sadness, even the hurt. And now back it comes. All went well. I know a man who's lost a son and mourns for him every day. A life dedicated to another life that was. What honor there is in that! Do we remember all the times? How we seek to relive them! So we learn to stay in the moment. And take things sense by sense to remember them best. To live fully in what is now. To stand at this very moment in time and be proud of who we are, who we've met, what we've become.

And then it will all fade gladly from our thoughts.

A leap into the wind taken from our minds as our old eyes close. And then we've truly made it.

READING IMPARTS KNOWLEDGE!

How cool is that?

Whenever I walk into Barnes, I always seem to find something I want to read. So I almost always walk out with something too.

I have to recommend most highly the movie Half Nelson. Amazing. Ryan Gosling is perhaps the most organic young actor I've seen. It's stunning.

Let's get on with it!

Me's nights which are so steep. Me's days which still are deep.

I knew this guy once. He started a pile of socks by his bed. Started stacking them up high. His name was Me. I only knew him for a little while. We grew apart over the years, but I remember, among a few other things, that darned pile of dirty socks. I don't think his room smelled like them. It smelled like something altogether different after a night's sleep. But I remember the pile, and I thought, "How odd that there're socks just stacking up here. I saw him taking them off before going to bed. That is how the pile started. Before a nap too. Sometimes he couldn't tell which were used and which weren't. So what could he do but put on a new, clean pair? That's better than risking some day or week old sock being on your foot, only making smelly feet smellier.

He never really talked about his pile. I mean, who would? But it was right there when you would open the door. Me would be at his computer, checking email, writing one or listening to Bob Dylan or growing old. He did all those things a lot. Time just seemed to pass him by. He'd look up out the window and see the window looking back. So where did he look then? At books, movies, things that didn't look back, but that he could see into clearly.

Who cares if it wasn't good form to keep banana peels in a bowl by his desk? Me did it anyway. And a little toy block with the first letter of his name wedged into the crotch of a bunny on top of his speaker. That is what it is.

And two nice little glass paperweights that Me's sister gave him. They are beautiful, and he has never found a way to repay her. She got them in Spain. He was surprised she would think of him.

There's an eraser on his desk that he uses to take away things.

There's a bottle of Instant Hand Sanitizer on his desk. A not so subtle hint from his sister. That was one of the lesser appreciated gifts.

On the corner of his desk, there is a little piece of paper folded in three. Like a leaflet, promoting dreams. He keeps it there to remind him. Shines a light on it too. The shadow gets so big and draped against the wall.

When coherence baffles him and chaos makes sweet sense, he takes a smooth dive into bed. There he lays until it does him no good. From there he rises.

The time on the phone says the gettin's good. It's a promise given by someone who also thought it might be cute for him to have a pumpkin ring.

Me thanks you.

Ubiquitous Cantaloupe!

Job Title: Executive Assistant to the Primary Regional Nose Picker

Job duties include, but are not limited to:

-Picking noses at an extremely high volume in a fast paced work environment
-Facilitating training of novice nose pickers for deployment throughout the company for the benefit of the whole.
-Arranging travel for the Primary Regional Nose Picker [PRNP] (avoiding holidays and anticipating high pollen warnings so as to minimize the detriment caused by her absence).
-Maintaining a phone log of clients
-Corresponding with International Primary (regional or not, depending on development and intelligence of the country and if their technique is up to date) Nose Pickers.
-Maintaining PRNP's passages to allow for maximum flow at all times.
-Other special projects to be assigned.

Desired Skills:
Easy recognition of leadership in the Nose Industry.
Ability to work overtime hours including hours that seem outlandish and obscene.
Ability to multi-task with changing priorities.
Proficiency with MS programs.

Basic Qualifications:
Minimum 3+ years in support of a prominent nose.

Eligibility Requirements:
Must not be allergic to anything.
Nose must be approved by physician and examined for its aesthetic and functional value.
Must love dogs.

Interested candidates must submit a resume online, with recent nose photo attached. Nose must be natural and unaltered in any way.

Thank you for your interest! May the snot land where it's not!

Dancingly Fatalistic Tendencies

I asked a woman today if she had any Dancingly Fatalistic Tendencies. I was surprised when she said yes, and then added that she had not one or two, but ALL possible forms of Dancingly Fatalistic Tendencies!

Can you imagine this? I cannot. So I asked her to elaborate. She said, "well, I'm experiencing one right now. I feel quite like bashing my own head in after talking to you on this hot, sweaty day." I remarked that I wasn't the least bit sweaty, and she swore a devastating revenge upon me. Thankfully I was by a kennel and she was afraid of dogs. I made one gesture towards the door of the building, and she shrieked and was gone. I still owe her 20 bucks, but she'll get it back in one form or another. I should be nicer to Mom.

Look what time it is! It's time to do other things!

The one true benefit of being tall is that I can reach the oatmeal on the highest shelf. That's where the highest quality grain is. Little known fact.

Enjoy the extra hour of sun! And for all you carpetbaggers out there, rejoice! I don't know why, but there's gotta be a reason.

I'm going to name my first son (or perhaps daughter) Puddle Jumper Extraordinaire! Perhaps if it is a girl, I'll name her Wading Wanda of the Wallowing Fields. That'll be a mouthful for those good ol family talking-tos. They'll go to all the best schools, develop egos larger than Texas, and eat only Kashi cereal and food from Trader Joes. They'll be magnificent! They'll be encouraged mercilessly! They'll be hopelessly antisocial! Maybe we'll move to England and they'll ride horses all day long (they'll own a stable each) until their very buttocks' are completely inoperable. I'm sorry teacher. I can't sit today. I've been living too extravagantly recently. But I've brought a king sized bed and several servants to attend me. I'll just while away your lesson plan in the corner over there. Thank you.


Oh, the future will be magnificent! Filled with more contradictions than a female plumber! I think only men can get plumber's butt.

If anyone knows better, PLEASE let me know. For I must KNOW THESE THINGS! The future of the world, nay, life in all its forms, depends on my acquisition of this knowledge!

Have a week that thunders the gods from their thrones!

The Bridge to Nowhere is starting in the Middle.

Eureka! Worlds have been created, oceans have been crossed and mountains ground to dust all through the power of my pinkie and thumb rubbing prints silently but swiftly.

My brain feels quite full right now. That's when the silly really turns on. When fantasy just might as well have free rein...as if that wasn't what I was going for anyway.

Here's what I will do: close my eyes and type.

I like a lot of you. Perhaps all of you. Humanity is something I want to understand. I've been doing so much inward looking these days. Today I decided to put down a lot of the burdens I've been carrying for oh so long. It's not easy and perhaps not that quick, but I think visualization goes a long way to setting things in motion. I've been doing lots of that these days. Plus I've been reading tons of books that are taking me on an introspective journey. I decided a while ago that I wanted life to be surprising beyond my wildest dreams, and it surely is. There's always so much more, and I want all of that. I want eyes to see, ears to hear and a mind to interpret.

I've got a cool little story going. Last weekend (last Sunday to be exact) I sat down and just started out with something in the handwritten journal I keep. I expected nothing, and almost wanted nothing. I didn't really feel like writing because I didn't think anything would come. But I kept it up for just a bit and was suddenly dragged face first into a really compelling and personal story. It's amazing to me. So totally surprising and touching in so many ways. I can't wait to do more on it. I'm almost a little afraid to do more of it. But I just will keep with wherever it takes me. I named this thing (or the URL) Harold and Charles Jr. I'm so excited for these characters. Boy, now I'm really fired up about it. I hope I'm able to share it at some point. I think it could be something really great.

Should I now go on and on about the greatness that is me? NO!

I'm really glad for the life I lead out here. Boy is it interesting. Total changes in all ways. It's really felt lonely and crappy at times. This place really isn't the easiest place to make personal connections. I've met great amazing and sensitive people from my classes, but these are people I want to work with, and I've put work way ahead of social life. Friday there was a surprise party for a fellow Paramount Page, and he is way cooler and has a more generous spirit than I could have imagined. So much different than I thought of him at first impression. And I really felt included with these people! There's something new around here too! Wow. So I feel great about that. I met some really great, creative and hilarious people. And incidentally, I have splinters lodged in my left hand from climbing just two rungs up a telephone poll. I didn't even feel them go in! But there they are. I got the biggest bits out (none were too huge) and now I just hope the rest will push their way out as my skin does whatever it does to heal itself.

That TV show Lost is super melodramatic right now. Ew! They ought to spend more time with it, get better people to act in the lesser roles and maybe try not to be so glaringly elusive when it comes to revealing plot points! And Sawyer needs to quit posing and acting like a model. Why don't you whip that hair out of your eyes again until Kate is drawn irresistibly (and inexplicably) into your sappy embrace?

Here's to real, spontaneous and organic living!

Let's all embrace the porcupine and spend a day at the hospital! Who's with me?

With arms that could reach up and pull down all the stars but I just don't want to,

Aaron the Triscuit Eater.