Monday, May 12, 2014


Barkley, the pup, is alive and well.

I had a friend ask, worried, because of the picture and the odd choice of text in yesterday's post

I had stayed in the city and just picked an image out of my phone. I have been reading Paradise Lost intermittently and had nothing to say of my own, so I just used the famous first verses.

No light, but rather darkness visible.

Barkley is fine, and much loved.

He is one of my favorite models and his image recurs here often.

I don't know why I try to stay up late any more. I was only out until about 1am on Saturday night but then I felt depleted the whole next day, even though I achieved my minimum 6 hours of sleep. Still, it throws my body off.

As CS has said many times, nothing good happens after midnight. I enjoy the day too much now to spend it emptied, flat. It just doesn't seem worth it any more, to lose a full day only to explore the darkness. I tend to find the same things over sand over there in the shadows, nothing but more shadow. The many colorful characters of the evening no longer sustain my fascination the way they once did.  

Though, in truth, I did have a good conversation with two old friends. We talked of the wonder of the physical world. The durability of matter. The mystery of life, its temporal nature. We made travel plans in secrecy, a midnight journey, the crossing of borders through jungle. Then, we walked home and I prepared my air mattress. Living as a wanderer from house to house is more comfortable now than ever before, the owner of air mattresses can enjoy relative luxury and comfort.

They probably existed when I was a kid but I was not aware of them. I'd sleep poorly on couches and awake with a stiff neck and sore back. The couch would often be one or two inches too short so I'd have to sleep on my side with my legs curled, or put a pillow underneath my knees to try to make the spacing work, my t-shirt over my eyes to keep out the morning light.

Ah youth, my skeleton was made of rubber.

I forgot to get an air mattress when Rachel and I went tent camping several years ago. She was not used to roughing it and I think the loss of comfort came as quite a shock to her. I remember our first morning waking up together, at Canyonlands, after a night in the tent and her looking around at our campsite. She said nothing though her eyes said everything. 

What sort of person does this for pleasure....

One man's paradise, I guess, is a woman's discomfort. One man's junk, a paradise garage.