It makes no sense. I keep fucking things in my life up. Resembling the suicide impulse - it feels similar - though displaced outwards towards others. Too much personal chaos, too much fumbling. Little fouls that refuse to go undetected. I should disappear. I would, but there is nowhere left for that now. The world has become an infinitely visible place. No end to being detected. A life composed of the sound of sirens. The seasickness of disorder.
Somewhat fanatically seems the only reasonable way left to be, to live. This sits on the young like an enticing shirt, on the old like a lost helmet, on the wall as a guitar unplayed.
I brought a gift over to my friend's house last night, a token of my appreciation for all that he has done for me, and sat on his back porch and had a beer with him. We talked of a number of things, mostly work-related, but also of the shifting interests of our own lives. He studied music extensively and has a doctoral degree in the subject. He relayed that he now questions the meaning and purpose of his previous involvement. He has begun to ask himself why he chose "that dream" and what that means to him now in a changing, later life.
Several observations occurred to me on the drive home. Some where I felt lucky to feel the way that I do, others not as much. The ways and methods in which we give our lives meaning are mostly petty and far less significant that the meanings we ascribe to them. Yet if we never realize this then we are - at times, and only some among us - able to accomplish wonderful and nearly super-human things. People create art, help others, work towards improving their world, or even their own situations, quite admirably when not restrained by doubts. I recede and whine and wonder why.
Some others go on killing sprees, presumably to assert an implacable statement about life and death in the hearts and minds of themselves and others. It strikes me as an interesting fact that cops never execute a spree killer at the moment of apprehending him, even "by accident." If we are to believe all that we are told of their nature - cops - then one would think that every now and then one might, quite literally, take "justice into their own hands." I wonder what the public opinion would be of the lone officer that might decide to do so. I imagine that their action would be regarded along almost strict political lines, as most all else. The "good guy with a gun" crowd, I imagine, would be elated and would decry that officer's arrest and likely conviction. Who, I wonder, would denounce the act.
The hyphenated phrase "extra-judicial" has always tickled me for reasons that I can't quite explain. Or, can not explain very well. It reminds me of an old phrase that I used to say all the time to people about drugs: "If a little bit of fertilizer is a good thing for your lawn, then a lot must be great."
Sometimes I wish that I would have listened to myself more along the way. Other times, I wish that others would not have done so.
Well, they did it. That's my update for the day - my friends made a baby. A little girl. Not much more to tell there. I have encouraged my friend, the father, to stop practicing Satanism, but no advice beyond that.
There are some experiences in life where people feel free to comment, for reasons that are difficult to determine. Having children is one of them. You don't have to agree with the prevailing opinion that it is a happy moment for those involved, but to undermine the life choices of others invites a commensurate response.
If anybody is interested in my opinions of those who choose to never have children then just speak up. It's easy, all you need is doubt. I have plenty to say about the practice of reticence and negation. I relish the opportunity, etc.
Two friends are expecting their first baby any day now. I have sworn not to discuss details, so I won't, but they're having a baby girl soon. It is nearly impossible not to share a bit in their excitement and nervousness. Say what you will about the disappointments of life, of which there are many, creating a life has not been a disappointment for me.
Some readers here hate honest admissions that they can not make, or those that they have not yet made. Statistics are wisdom, statistically speaking. Yet there is no such statistical category as personal wisdom. There is only the solace of the anti-crowd; amusing counterpoints to the stated mores and claims of the fierce individual.
Uniqueness dissolves somewhat in the creating of life. It is everywhere ubiquitous, yet wholly unique.
Ignore the voices that barely know the half of the half of it. Meaning does not derive from meaninglessness, conjecture, nor critique.
Being counter does not mean what the word necessarily suggests. One must also add to contribute, to count.
They both happen to be close friends of mine, these parents of tomorrow.
The father is a partner in a musical project that includes examples of our proudest collective moments in dance music.
The boy returned to school this morning, no afternoon after-care, but a full four hour day of school, two days a week to start. Mom and Dad are hoping that we return to five days a week soon, with after-care until 4-5pm every day. It may come as a nasty shock or pleasant surprise to have a little bit of extra headspace and quiet in the house. Who knows. If mom returns to work in the city, even one or two days a week, it might save the relationship between us. Dad is over all of it and desperately wants some space and time and peace for himself. It is difficult to care about others when there is so much noise coming from every direction. Every nerve feels brittle, vibrating with an increasingly steeply pitched set of anxieties.
I taught myself to play I Can't Go For That (No Can Do) on the acoustic guitar today. Yes, Hall & Oates. I know, but it is fun. What can I do? I am defenseless against pop music.
Easy, ready, willing overtime
Where does it stop?
Where do you dare me
to draw the line?...
Yeah, I'll do anything
that you want me to do.
Yeah, I'll do almost anything
that you want me to, yeah...
Then there are some other lyrics. The chords don't change. Just slight dynamic emphasis as the chorus repeats.
They're not that different from Steely Dan or Cat Stevens - Hall & Oates. It's an era of songwriting in which, after the melodies have been committed to memory, the emphatic subtleties are the only things worth noticing, which becomes tiring after those have been exhausted, also.
I can't go for being twice as nice
I can't go for just repeating the same old lines...
How much futility is one person expected to endure, I wonder. Everywhere there is much and in many directions. Life can be quite boring when you put your mind to it. I am reading a book now, I am almost ashamed to admit. It is wrong think, or posits itself as such against the current social backdrop. Well, I should finish reading it before I write about it. I might accidentally advocate for it before it has had its chance to adequately disappoint or lose me. I'm trying to give everybody a fair listen, you see. I have a renewed sense of commitment to being fair minded, or trying. This is a great practice if you're not drinking, impossible otherwise.
I love getting drunk and espousing my opinions. Truly. Few things bring me as much satisfaction. I've noticed it often in others, too.
At a friend's suggestion I watched a Netflix series on Formula One racing. Every now and then I like to surprise the algorithms that are watching me sleep. I devoured all three seasons, so far. My son started asking me why I was so suddenly into car racing, and what did it mean for our future. I told him that everybody should be briefly fascinated with whatever is possible.
I don't have an explanation for anything any more. The friend also relayed the final months and weeks and days of our mutual friend, how his body was found. There should be services that will help you administrate your own departure from the world. Imagine disappearing. The fantasy of vanishing.
I took a few pictures of the same familial subjects. Don't worry, they will run out soon. There were only a small handful. We were outside, at the boy's baseball practice, so I briefly lifted the personal moratorium on photography. I took none that I like, only a couple that are passable here, where the rules of artistry have been lifted, an island of aesthetic limbo.
This is the section of my life known as "personal interest stories."
I sit here, finished with work for the day and wanting to go get a beer, but not wanting to be or get any fatter. It is the perpetual conundrum. CS addressed it the other day. Why must so many of the things I love be bad for me? It's a mystery. I'm just relieved that I like vegetables as much as I do. Hopefully those will always make me happy, when they are free of salmonella, listeria, and E. coli. I like soup, too.
Things move up and things move back. Everything starts to fall towards a semblance of a familiar place again. The baseball season is under way - AA Little League, which I found comical. Dads have stern talking-tos with their kids learning to play baseball, upset that they didn't do well. Demands to toughen up. You can see the anxiety in the kids' bodies, the fear of not performing well as they go to bat. You wish that you could help them, to tell them anything that would change the feeling, though not entirely sure if the child on the mound would send you back to the dugout, either. It's a tough thing to watch. Then you see the parents, usually the fathers, and you know at least a part of where it all comes from.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
I anxiously await to hear from my CPA. To see if there is any magic that he can pull that will prevent me from giving all of my money away to the government. The more he looks through my records the more he asks me why I don't have a financial advisor. I have mismanaged my money for no reason, and now much of it will need to be given to the government. They are very against the things that I have done, which was just put as much as I could in savings. He has hinted that there might be some good news, but then he went silent for several days.
Ah well, I was only going to buy a new car or a used house. My life lacks direction from too much waiting.
Raquel just now asked from the other room, would I like to go eat oysters?
... my heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.
My life is falling apart again, or so it feels. Everything is a race to something that is rarely ever done on time. Every day a struggle to find some peace and space of my own. I would take a week long vacation every other week, if it were possible. Though even the vacations take a week from which to recover. There must come a time in the lives of many as they age and age in which death becomes the only thing new or interesting left to do.
Neither greedy nor satisfied. Here I am, there I run. There are books that I should rush to re-read.
The title of tonight's post was a personalized license plate idea, but of course the state of California has so many character limitations.
I tried to negotiate and get a plate composed of Diabl*w but civil servants are hardly yet trained to recognize the unseen metaphorical value in wildcard vowels. No witness could ever mistake the getaway car, I explained.
They have no stamps to represent the asterisk where the customizations are labored and honored. It is in the state prisons, you must understand, they possess no tilde, either.
The manager insisted I substitute a - hand, heart, star or + - I begged them, please ... use the + twice, 45 degrees at a time, with your most skilled prisoner overseeing the double heat-molding. No liberal would ever mind. We are friends. It is fine.
Yet, and always, there is bureaucracy to curb the most misunderstood and helpful ideas; freedom compress the rest; slime precedes shame.
What have we done - eats coast, wets coats - freedom compress the rest; slime precedes shame.
.
.
.
Being smart is not good enough, so far. Not only is it not that, it's impediments, hindrances to the wagons, targets to lost arrows, fire near matches, in returning inwards, online obituaries, having no paper.
Such the blessed curse - anti-venom that begs for cures.
For this we love sores.
Horror screams to those who can't speak but can scream and scream.
Terror, silent, noisy,
crowded with void
Credit willingly annoyed.
Couples charges denied
it seems
I am the owner of this comic book shop. Fighting an animated partner. Bought and taught with arguments and insulting offers, disagreements in an unlit parking lot. Drive away with boxfuls of victorious colorful wounds. Many years beyond meeting, the strip mall is gone. Time is further and further away than me.
I am not a curiosity. I am like most everybody's curiosities, fast and molasses.
That is that and was just always there. Now it's here, now it's shown.
Shame is Time's son.
Easter's struggles are thus gospel.
Super:
More loco than a powering motive. More ing than ive.
I was trying to get a new job, but not trying very hard at it. Or rather, I recognize that if I took life more seriously I would have done more to prepare for the interview process. I didn't, and I accept the results. I didn't get the job. The hiring manager was a friend. I felt bad for him, having to deliver the news.
I'm not at all unhappy in my current job. It affords me the Swiss, German, and Japanese watches that I like.
That's right, I like Japanese watches, also - Seiko, Casio, Vaer. There are many. Everything the Germans can do the Japanese can do less expensively. Or cheaply, if you possess that sort of anti-Asian sentiment that is so popular right now.
We are living in a material world, and I am a material man.
Some girls romance
Some girls slow dance
That's alright with me
If they can't raise my interest then I
Have to let them be
Some girls try and some girls lie but
I don't let them play (no way)
Only girls who save their pennies
Make my rainy day
We are living within a material plan, and I am the material man.
The third thing I notice in the picture above is the caution cone hiding in the vines, separating the figures. It's hiding because it has yet to move to the front and center where it belongs. Give it time. It can be used as a bullhorn, too, and it likely will one day. I know how bullhorns work. If you whisper an innuendo into one end, it will emerge as a fully formed truth from the other. The inverse works also, as long as the small side is held up to the right person's ear. Otherwise, the lies are all lost.
Ah, yes. We're all sick, the whole house. Not Covid, thankfully. Seasonal allergies, but unpleasant nonetheless. I wonder how much longer I can write here without taking any new pictures. I am reading a book that suggests that I should take all of my cameras out of their boxes and bags if I wish to form a habit around regular shooting. It must be true, as I packed them all away the last "fire season" we had here in Sonoma and they have not been unpacked since. No pictures have resulted from the cameras being stored away. That's just the science of it. Those are my conclusions.
I have read that more than half of the brain's cortex is occupied with processing visual information. This is one reason why people commonly close their eyes when they meditate. It offers a "freeing" sensation from visual activity in the present tense. Then, there are just the gentle breezy reminders for the mind to shut the fuck up and leave me alone, and then voila!
Oh yeah, I got hit by a car. Enough time has passed now that I think I can talk about it. It happened in August, of the year before Covid. I wrote about it here, but CS very rightly encouraged me not to write any more than I did. I think I even took one post down, as I admitted some fault. When you watch the video above take note that the driver sped up to make the changing lights and at the last few seconds crossed over into the oncoming lane of traffic. Then there is, of course, the collision. I walked out of the trauma center about three hours later.
The hospital bill: just north of $50k. The only universal health care that I support is that some other entity covers the bill, comprehensively. I have this video because it was a Tesla, and the fool driving it submitted it to the police as "evidence." And sure it was. It showed that I was not entirely to blame. Teslas are very quiet, and low profile, and sneak up on unsuspecting cyclists as they are innocently trying to enjoy thiner day. The next time Elon tries to kill me, he had better use SpaceX.
I knew I felt bad last night, unrelated to the video above. I was becoming ill. A sinus cold, I hope. All day I have suffered in different positions. My body sore, my mind besieged with minor miseries. It is a lucky thing that the sickness did not strike until Wednesday night. I had a challenging Mon-Wed, but it is now over. Tomorrow I die. You'll hear from me again on Sunday. That is the modern power of NyQuil, my cherry flavored savior.
I have been busy. Occupied, rather. Focused. It is engaging. Engagement is good. Right? Isn't it?
I should find a picture before I write any more. There we go, a portrait of the boy. What could go wrong now?
I have gone easy on taking portraits of the boy and his mother, an effect of covid and sheltering. It suddenly feels somehow invasive. The boy is changing, too. I do not wish to make him unnecessarily self-conscious. I do like taking pictures of him, and of Raquel.
I am writing this post out of a strange sense of guilt and dedication. I have not written in a while, and time starts to haunt. I have so little to say. The things of life have worn me down.
I drank champagne after work. A mood took me, now the sugar has. Then what?
I am still out of pictures, and out of time this morning. I must pack my stuff and get ready to go to the Denver airport. Then, the drive home from Sacramento. It took me a few years to discover this, but the Sacramento airport is the same amount of driving time from our house in Sonoma as the San Francisco airport, and the drive is much more pleasant. You don't get to see the city, or the Golden Gate Bridge, but the drive is more pleasant, fewer stop lights, simpler on the mind.
I will eat a late breakfast in the airport since my buddy will be dropping me off about an hour and a half before my flight. He has an errand to run that has a clock ticking on it. So be it. I don't hate being in airports and on planes the way that I used to. I have come to peaceful terms with the experience.
Some of the most comical experiences of my life have happened on planes. People are crazy, and I am very much at one with them on this. They make up stories that don't hold together, and I struggle to match them. I'll drink and tell them that I am flying to perform an exorcism, or that I used to be responsible for cutting off the hands of child shoplifters in Morocco.
When I'm in a more benevolent mood I'll say that I am a lawyer who fights unjust evictions - pro bono. Or, that I am traveling with the ice-packed heart of a boy that just died in a car accident. The team is trying to save a little girl in Tulsa.
Anything, really. You can be anything at all, if you just set your mind to the lie.
The boy's birthday was almost three months ago, but I have run out of pictures to use, and who doesn't love birthday cakes?
Only the evil among us, that's who.
Everywhere there is the danger of people discussing race. It seems that if you subscribe to any belief at all that people of color are and have been oppressed then you are "the woke" and must the resisted at all costs. Little matter that there is enormous objective evidence of this oppression... If you mention it then you are wrapped up a Critical Race Theory, a thing that you must be too stupid to understand. It's a bizarre world. Apparently the only way to not be a racist is to denounce anybody that cites the existence racial bias or oppression. It's called neo-racism, and the smart kids simply love it.
There is much moral and intellectual hysteria on social media. Now, I love moral hysteria as much as anybody, and simply relish the intellectual kind. That's how God occasionally speaks to us, through his messengers and prophets when they are in their spiritual delerium. When they come stumbling out, they speak the truth. I've done that a few times at Burning Man, to much imaginary adoration and applause until they turned on me with the stones.
It is only through spiritual and moral certainty that documentaries such as this one can be made:
Okay, that's all for me today. I am preparing to go for a bike ride with my buddy. A nice, long wholesome bike ride through the country. Maybe we will stop and get a beer or two with lunch. It is my last day here.
Well, I know how much the fans of this page have been clamoring for some action leisure sport shots. So, today is your day. That's me, looking stylish and athletic, at Vail - Blue Sky Basin, to be exact. Yes, I know that there are many who find the very existence of this newly opened set of runs a contentious matter, but when you're paying good American money to enjoy the artifice of freedom you can't let yourself get wrapped up in all that noise. I am eager to bring Raquel and the boy back here, now that I have explored the region and verified that it is safe.
In truth, I'm glad that I came back. The last visit here was strained and I spent much of it distracted, self-involved. This visit was mostly more fun. As I improve at snowboarding it means less of a daily strain on my body and more enjoyment. It's still a physically demanding sport, but it helps when you learn how to fight it from happening less. Proficiency at the sport helps conserve leg strength. We rode about sixty miles in three days.
Today, I plan on only resting and eating, maybe a little afternoon wine drinking. Possibly a bike ride this afternoon. Last night my friend made braised short ribs, asparagus, and salad. I paired it with a Cabernet Sauvignon from the Decoy winery. Not quite within my new "no red meat" diet regimen, but who can say no to such deliciousness? I am on vacation. I slept for many hours and awoke feeling that I had done the right thing. Now, I must fight off the calories.
This trip has not been all laughs. Yesterday, we were driving home from the mountains and we just so happened to drive by the supermarket in Boulder where that kid just killed ten people, including a cop. There was a big vigil outside the supermarket. We kept driving on, the road was lined with hundreds of emergency vehicles, many with their lights on. We realized that it was a procession of some sort for the cop that was killed during the shooting. As we sat there in traffic all the cop cars with their lights on drove by, then eventually the hearse that carried the officer’s body, covered in a flag. It was all very surreal, an unexpectedly powerful thing to witness.
What can be said about those things by me that has not already been said. It seems that almost everybody is against spree killings, but nothing can be done. Nobody is ever truly safe from anything. My joke above about exploring the region to verify that it is safe confirms that.
When I try to imagine the thoughts and feelings that go through a person's mind leading up to and then conducting a spree killing, all that I can usually come up with is that the killer wishes to see people in helpless terror. To know that he is the cause of that helplessness and terror. There must be much more to it than that. Because if that's all that it is then it would probably happen even much more often.
I know how cherished my vacation pics are. That is what I will bestow on my fan base today. Followed by a lengthy opinion piece, an exploration of which watches are the best to wear snowboarding. Give the people what they want! That's what I always like to say.
I feel truly terrible this morning. My buddy and I stayed up and drank last night. Today we are supposed to do the Blue Sky Basin trails. They can be seen just underneath the word "Legendary" in the above picture. These trails are not for beginners, a group in which I like to still count myself. There are only Blue and Black Diamonds there. I have been assured that I have really advanced in the sport, and that I am now squarely in the "intermediate" category, but I know better. I can feel how little control I have over the speed and direction of the board and myself upon it at any given time. I am never very far from tragedy or an airlift off of the mountain.
But, it all makes me feel younger. Death or disfigurement seems a small price to pay.
We stayed up arguing politics, which went really well. We are both lifelong liberals, whatever that means anymore. Don't let the Tom Brady, Buccaneers' jersey fool you. Some mutual friends bought that for him as a gift. It is not a political statement. It is the only time that I have ever seen him wear a sport's jersey of any kind. I tried to point out that both liberals and conservatives engage in a lot of bad faith arguments and that contemporary "liberal politicians" have basically become the GOP-lite. This discussion was very thin on facts and detail but heavy on emotion, opinion, even a little harmless conspiracy.
This is how aging liberals get their kicks, I guess
.
Liberals annoy me so much that, at times, I have resorted to defending Trump. It brings me a perverse pleasure, specifically when it's an area that is so easy to prove your point. Like the claim of white nationalism in his remarks after Charlottesville. The "very fine people on both sides" claim that many major media agencies reported then and now refer to as a settled truth, confirming Trump's support of white nationalism. Joe Biden, that battery-operated corpse, even cited it as his reason for deciding to run for the presidency. Most people are either shocked or dismissive when they read the entire clip.
Some are smart enough to realize they've been duped, some others must enjoy it.
This is not to try and say that Trump deserves defending, at all. He doesn't. I just think it's worth establishing precisely how duplicitous our cherished media outlets can be, and how much politicians knowingly take advantage of this dishonesty. If I can do this at the expense of an old friendship then the taste is even that much sweeter.
I hope you can hear my sarcasm and perhaps even mild remorse in that last sentence. It is no fun to argue politics with anybody, but definitely not an old friend. They're just not making any new old friends any more. It's only the old, broken-down ones that I should learn to get along with.
I may need to practice holding my tongue more when Nancy Pelosi is presented as one of the great defenders of liberalism, and the levee that held back the Trump abuses of power.
