You can take your teardrops and drop 'em in a teacup, take 'em down to the riverside, and throw 'em over the side, to be swept up by a current

Janelle called as the ramifications of Matt's pending departure sank in. She did her best to offer perspective and encouragement but under the glamour of low spirits, none of it rang true. I had just been born into a dark, unforgiving place. The Universe was piling on, adding insult to injury, and it wasn't fair.

After I got off the phone with Janelle, I knew I had to make a decision: give up or rise above. I chose the latter. I put on a Wayne Dyer talk I found on YouTube and listened in bed. It helped. The following morning I awoke to another day of rain and wind. My body let me know right away its opinion that I stay in bed and not venture out. I had work to do at the courthouse in Cambridge, so venture out I did, and as I walked block after block through the horizontal rain, I began to revert to my pre-Wayne Dyer state.

I finished my work in Cambridge and headed into work. The parking lot was full and there wasn't a spot to be found on the streets nearby. I ended up parking several streets away. More walking through the tempest. When I entered the office, I was chilled to the bone. Raw, bedraggled, broken. I should have been in bed.

I felt as if I was becoming more sick.I still had all of my Christmas shopping to do; I needed to be hale enough to do that. Again it seemed like the Universe was piling on. I couldn't catch a break. Alongside the chills and fever were thoughts of my father, ever-present, mocking. He was so close; his face and voice were vivid, ghostly portraits (Oh, to see him again....) A deep melancholy overtook me; I resided in a  fevered nightmare; a pure, unfiltered nightmare.

And then.....

I desperately grasped for something positive. In my mind appeared the words "nam myoho renge kyo", the Buddhist chant I had previously used in meditation. It gathered momentum like a train leaving a station and I clung to it. I seasoned the chant with the simple affirmation, "I want to feel good". I felt better almost immediately.

And then....

About a half hour later, grace descended upon my weakened, battered frame. My mother called and I went out to the lobby to talk with her. We shored up Christmas plans and spoke about a couple of things. I wasn't going through this alone, the call reminded me; I needed to be there for my mother and my sister. I felt nourished with a renewed sense of purpose.

And then.....

I got off the phone with my mother and went back to the office, nam myoho renge kyo on autopilot in my skull. A few minutes later, Tim walked in and said, "I can't believe it - look outside!" I did and saw that the sun was out. The sun was out! How could this be. Only minutes before, we were being battered with wind and rain. A glorious sight.

And then....

As I took in this new development, Marcy asked if I'd like to use some vacation days to cover the time I had missed. I didn't think I'd have enough, but she seemed to think I did, so I told her to please go ahead and cover as much time as was possible. She said, "Well, you've got 13 days available to you, so you can easily cover all the time you missed. And plus, Jeff wants to offer you bereavement pay". I had always thought I only had five vacation days; this was good news.

"Oh, and Jeff meant to explain to you why you have two checks this week. One is a year end bonus", she added. More good news. I felt a lightness I hadn't felt in....well, too long. I got up and went outside. I stood under the blue sky and tears of relief streamed down my face. It didn't escape me that I had come out the other side of a literal and metaphoric tempest. I had emerged an altered thing; mended, stronger, bewildered, and still thick with grief.

I'm still sick and I am still coping with my father's death, but I'm putting my spiritual training to use. I had employed it early on, but eschewed it when things became too grim too quickly. My dark night of the soul continues, I suppose, but when the sun came out that day accompanied by other positive news, I was able to regroup and see things clearly. I sought refuge in the Bhagavad Gita and gained comfort and strength from it.

The Beloved Lord said:

You have grieved for that which is not worthy of grief, 
and yet you speak words of profound knowledge.
The learned grieve
neither for those
who have passed on,
nor for those who have not departed

Never, truly,
have I not existed - 
nor you, nor these kings
who protect the people,
And never
shall any of us
ever cease to be,
now or forever more


I love you, dad.

Intermission

In the night of tiredness let me fall asleep without fighting
Trusting you and trusting me too
Let me be prepared by not fighting what I can't fight
Trusting you and trusting me too

That I want you and only you
Let my heart say this over and over
All other desires that distract me
Day and night are false and empty to the core

You'll help me close my eyes at night
And things will all be good and finer in the morning

From dawn to dusk I sit here before my door and I know that all of a sudden
The time will come when I'll see you
And all my dark desires I denied or I gave into
Will become part of the thing I give to you

- Rabindranath Tagore

Bad wind came, blew down my home, and now the green grass grows

It's fair to say I'm going through the most challenging time in my life. It has also been the worst, but I've learned through cathartic experience how totally our thoughts, what we place emphasis on, determines the way we perceive the world. If I focus on my situation as being the worst, I omit, or marginalize, the terrible beauty, love, caring, and growth that have been part of it.

I say this tonight. Yesterday, and earlier today, I would have told you it was unequivocally the worst time of my life and whatever positives that could be taken from the situation were minnows in a leviathan sea. I was at my lowest point. I had never felt as weak, beset, angry, and afraid. Things changed this afternoon. Before I get to that, though, we must begin in the dark.

Wednesday was my first full day back at work. I was still in the maw of the virus that has been having its way with me and probably should have been home in bed, but we were having our Christmas party and also I recognized that my absence had disrupted the work flow and I wanted to contribute however I could. I made it through the day and I pined for my bed and its blankets almost every minute of it.

Yesterday was more difficult to get through. My energy, pleasingly high earlier in the day, waned dramatically in the early afternoon. I was trying to maintain, but it was a losing battle. I was still feeling ill (my ribs felt on the precipice of breaking from all the heavy coughing), the weather was lousy, there was a ton of activity at the office (two closings happening at the same time), and, oh,yeah, I was still grieving over my dad's death. It was all overwhelming. More than once I had to leave the office and weep in the restroom.

I stopped at the grocery store on the way home and bought some fresh chicken soup. I had looked forward to this meal all day. My body craved it, begged for it. When I got home, I had the soup heating on the stove before I took my jacket off. All I wanted to do was eat and then go to bed. Matt came in the kitchen and told me he had just got off the phone with his boss. He had been fired.

It had something to do with a coworker who was a cancer in the workplace. She had conspired against him, he thought. I was in no condition to delve into coffee shop politics, but I did feel bad that he had been fired, especially so close to Christmas, so I did my best to be sympathetic. As he spoke, I wondered if it was just his shit luck that has seen him breeze through about five jobs since he moved in last spring, or if it had more to do with him as an employee.

Not long after telling me the news of his firing, Matt told me he was going to be moving out at the end of the month. He assured me he wouldn't leave us in the lurch like Rae did, that he'd pay through January and pay whatever bill money was due. Thoughts of going through another round of interviews and everything else that comes with finding a new roommate assailed me. With everything else that was going on, it was too much. I felt beaten, angry, spent. Defeated.

 As low as I've ever been.


--

This post has grown much larger than I anticipated. I'm going to have to divide it into two posts. I'll be back.

Turn and face the strange

So I did get walloped with a virus and it could have arrived later or not at all as far I'm concerned. As the day progressed yesterday, it set up shop and went to work on me. First came the tightness in the chest (it had really begun on Sunday, but only as an advance scout) which was followed by severe chills and aches. I lay in bed last night shaking uncontrollably, painfully aware that exactly a week ago at that same time, my father was going through a similar struggle.

Did I expect I'd repeat the same fate as my father. Not really, but it did cross my mind. The whole experience was very strange. I listened to Ram Dass lecture about death and felt better about things. He spoke about our unfortunate relationship with death as a society and shared a funny story about going to his mother's funeral tripping on acid. Prior to that, while she had been withering away in the hospital, he had been frank with her about the situation, that she was soon going to pass. Rather than shield her from the truth, he prepared her for the transition. All of this buoyed my spirits, helped remind me what I was dealing with, but it was all very strange, as I mentioned above. I stayed up all night, pretty much, thick in the delirium of fever and the pain and wonder of my new, fatherless reality (O' Dad, why did you go?).

My plan was to move on to The Tibetan Book of The Dead, an audiobook read by Richard Gere, but I was in no condition to make much sense of it. I slept between shivers and wondered if indeed I was going to make it through the night. The probability that I would was high, I suppose, but I would have said the same thing about my father's situation. Oh, the mind does like to frighten. I was so out of it, however, that I wasn't afraid of anything.

Today was spent mostly in bed. I watched Life Is Beautiful and continued to battle the shivers and other symptoms. To say it was a fun-filled day would not be an accurate assessment. It sucked, it still does; I'm a little pissed at the Universe for leveling me with this bullshit in the middle of my grieving. What's next? I'm afraid to think upon it.

But then Janelle called and made things better. She announced that she had dropped off some soup on my front porch. It took me about twenty minutes to gather the will to make the trip downstairs (at that time, I was shivering like a motherfucker). The soup helped immensely. So did the card, so did the cookies, and so did the pictures of my Baby Boy Z. I don't overstate the matter when I say what Janelle did for me was an act of heroism. And just in time.

I ache. One day at a time, I tell myself. If I allow myself to cater to thoughts about being sick and melancholy on Christmas, I become depressed. It's a slippery slope, one I've slid down more than a few times lately.

One day at a time.

Driving down the highway through the perfect sunny dream, a perfect day for perfect pain

I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a nasty bug. I hope I am wrong; it would be a mercy to have one less dark cloud bearing down on me. Same time last week my father was feeling the same way; a nasty bug he had, but manageable. He went to bed around 11:30 and never woke up. My mother found him the next morning laying on his side wrapped tightly in his blankets. He was still warm, but he had left his body hours before. He was 69. Too soon.

It's almost a week since he passed, but it feels like it just happened. It's still so fresh, so raw. I'm an exposed nerve, have been so for days. Ah, but the warm cloak of support has kept me afloat. Spira was the first person I told. Let me tell it to you true, I was not as steady breaking the news as my mother was when she called me. It took me close to a minute to calm down enough to get the words out. She has been a constant angel on my shoulder. So has Craig, so has Janelle. They've been my mother hens. And my other friends, well they've been amazing. Everyone has (well, almost everyone, but we'll not speak of him) - my coworkers, friends, acquaintances, and, of course, family. In this, I feel blessed. And, if I step outside my grief for a minute, I see the interconnectedness, the harsh beauty and grace of life. And, if I'm able to slow my breathing and calm my thoughts, I feel God's comforting embrace. I am a child in her arms.

For the last couple of days, I've been aching for the embrace of a woman. At first, it felt weird to be thinking about sex given the circumstances, but once I thought about it, it made perfect sense. I just want to feel good, to feel comforted in the midst of this nightmare. Ah, but that type of comfort isn't likely, so I trudge on.

At Spira's after the funeral on Saturday, we were sitting on her couch. It was fairly early in the evening and we were both spent. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what appeared to be a shooting star pass by outside. The window in Spira's living room is more like a sliding glass door and overlooks the park behind her condo and beyond that, interstate 93. It is a broad, clear view, and if it weren't for city lights, the view would be even better.

After watching this green orb wink out of existence after three or four seconds, Spira called out, "Did you see that? What the fuck was that?". I had expected her to say something more like "Did you see that meteor?" or something else that would neatly explain what we just saw. She's not one to hastily label any aerial phenomena as a UFO without exploring other more reasonable possibilities first, which was why I was surprised at how perplexed, and even spooked, she appeared.

Once I thought it over, I was equally as surprised and perplexed. What we witnessed was not normal. Here's why: 1. The orb was green (I guess that could be normal, but I've never seen anything like it) 2. It was below cloud cover, which I'm pretty sure would rule out a shooting star or comet or meteor, though I could be wrong on one of these counts 3. Not only was it below cloud cover, it flew lower than the planes and helicopters we subsequently saw and used as frames of reference 4. It disappeared. Spira immediately went online and looked for an explanation. She found this, among other things. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_fireballs.

I don't know what it was, but I would be remiss if I didn't admit that I formed a connection between it and my father's death. Was it a sign from him? A farewell? I don't know. I do know that the mind excels at making connections and deriving meaning and that is what it did here. I'm not saying it's impossible that it was my father's doing (Whitley Strieber has written extensively on the connection between the deceased and the UFO phenomenon), but I doubt I'll ever know for sure what it was. All I know is that two events occurred on the same day that never happened before: my father's funeral and this green, low-flying fireball. My normal life, already disturbed profoundly by my father's death, had been shaken more by this event.  Our lives are built around distraction. We shield ourselves from the mysteries of life, from our mortality, but, really, for all intents and purposes,we are as clueless about the Universe as we were when were mere apes. It's almost like the more we learn, the more mysterious things are. And that is not a bad thing, if we look at it openly. When Krishna shows Arjuna his true self in the Gita, Arjuna is shown something vast and terrible and wonderful and incomprehensible. Awe, on the grandest of scales. Reality, as we've constructed it, does not reflect the true scope of existence; I'm not sure it comes close at all. But there are glimpses, and perhaps more, that can be revealed to the keenest of eyes.

I sit here bewildered and grief-stricken. The veil between the world we've made for ourselves and the nature of Krishna has parted, briefly and barely, and I've been reminded of the magnificent scope and mystery of life. Below is an excerpt from an older blog entry that recounted a family vacation in Maine. Everyone had gone to bed and it was just my father and me.


We've become closer over the years, and I enjoy the time we spend together. He's opened up to me more of late, and I get the sense that part of it has to do with the ticking clock. We reminisced about the days when I was a child and he was younger than I am now. He spoke with some regret about the friends he's lost touch with, the brothers of his past made wraiths in the night. As he spoke, he shook his head at how unnecessary it was -- they didn't grow apart because of a falling out, some event that left no other outcome. No, they just became less important to each other and it didn't need to be addressed. It happens all the time--I've been through it.

I followed him onto the deck and we looked upon the stars that stood vigil over the bay like ancient sailors. "When I was a kid, maybe about twelve or thirteen, one of my friends asked me, "What lies behind the stars?", he said. "That really bothered me. I thought about it for days."

"Did you come up with an answer?"

My dad gazed at the sky's mystery, his answer already in his eyes, and said "No, I never figured it out. But I did come to terms with not knowing."


Oh, dad, I miss you so much. You were as much a friend as you were a father.

'Cause people let me tell you, it sent a chill up and down my spine, when I picked up the telephone, and heard that he died

Last Tuesday, December 11, my father died. I was at work when I found out. I had been there for a little over an hour when I felt my phone vibrate. I saw that it was my parent's number. I let it go to voice mail and stepped out of the office to check it. As usual, I braced myself for potential bad news before listening to the message, but I expected that it was my father returning my call from Sunday when I had called to check in on him (he had caught a cold and hadn't been up to going to my grandmother's 95th birthday party), but I still found myself tensing up a bit.

It was my mother's voice I heard. "Hi Kevin, it's important you call me back as soon as you can". Fuck. I called her back, knowing something was wrong. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but dad passed away last night".  She could barely get the sentence out. I told her I was leaving work to see her. I went back to the office and told Marcy I had to go. She was on the phone. "Is everything alright?", she asked, cupping the phone. "My father died", I said, in disbelief that I had just said those three words.. She asked if I was okay to drive. I told her I'd be able to, but the truth was I had no idea about anything at that moment. I was in shock.

The ride to my mother's house is a jumbled, nightmarish memory of sobbing, pleas to God, and pleas to my father to imbue me with the strength to be strong for my mother. I remember the thick anguished wailing - "Oh, Dad, why?...why?.....don't leave me....." - but everything was scattered and stirred up; an awful tempest. There was no order, no structure to my thoughts and feelings. I somehow made the twenty minute drive to my mother's house.

Oh, this is so hard and I need to stop. I'll return, but my grief is still profound and I can barely organize a thought right now. Maybe tomorrow.

And he looks to the clouds all pink and disheveled

O' Monday, your rain and fog made staying in bed a serious consideration, but I rose and met you as valiantly as I could and you weren't so severe. Still, I'd like to see your back; thoughts of the weekend already begin to form as the fresh memories of the past one retreat with the tide.

Saturday was Tracy and Ray's second annual pub quiz. Like last year's, it was a success. They put a lot of effort into it and it showed. I was at their house a couple of months ago and Ray was already hatching ideas for the event. Evidently, one of his ideas wasn't figuring out a way to make my team win. My teammates Mike, Kristen, Scott, Eszter, Kat, and I acquitted ourselves with grace and dignity and refused to resort to the cheating and skulduggery the other teams engaged in and hence didn't seed very high. We are victors, though, in our heart of hearts, in our very souls.

I ended up staying over and when Ray and I were discussing the quiz this morning, I discovered that there were segments of it I have no recollection of. Paper airplanes? There was a point in the game we made paper airplanes? Where was I? Why can't I recall? I must have been distracted. Damn it, I just figured it out: I was drugged! I knew heading into the game that because I was on the winning team last year that I'd be a target for the unsavory wretches on the other teams that would do anything, including have sex with Satan himself, to achieve victory. But seriously: drugging me? Ah, children, you've yet to learn that a pure heart can never be vanquished. And that is why I forgive your transgression and will not pursue the matter.

I'll tell you what: I played with a bunch of different kids this weekend and, consequently, my body feels like it just went through a couple of paintball tournaments. At breakfast yesterday, James was having a great time spanking my bottom whenever the opportunity arose. Ray told him not to, that it wasn't polite, but the kid couldn't help himself. At one point, he said to Ray "Can I spank Kevin just one more time?" figuring that if he asked nicely, his request might be granted. Fortunately, Ray said no. And while James was in spank mode, Faith was all about tickling. I might take my case to Dr. Phil; I'm sure he'll be doing a show on bullying some time soon.

After leaving Tracy and Ray's, I headed back to MA to attend my grandmother's 95th birthday party, where there was a plethora of children. I won't go into details, but I got my ass kicked. I came home and took a nap. When I awoke,  I wondered where the weekend had gone. While the party was fantastic, I wasn't able to spend much time with people. Hard to do in that setting. Ah, but I do cherish what time I had with them. That is all you can do.

You know what? I could probably go on, but why waste every one's time? See ya' on the flippity-flip, ye rat bastards.

Must be like the genesis of rhythm

I just discovered it's Yoko who sings "Birthdayyyyyyy" after Paul's "I would like you to dance" and "take a ch-ch-ch-chance" throughout the song "Birthday". I love The White Album, especially its warm production. Every instrument sounds amazing. I was just listening to some Daniel Rossen and nodded in approval. "Well, played, Danny Boy", I said aloud. "You love The White Album as much as I do."

Sexy Sadie, she's the latest and the greatest of them all....Ah, what a song. I sing along as I type. The Beatles still occupy the throne. But you know that.

I wasn't terribly put out, but not much came easy today. One step procedures became frustrating medusas; but they were handled and, if you'll forgive the slightest pat on the back, they were handled like a champ. By me. A foreign entity, unsolicited but not unwanted, entered my being as a feeling faintly recalled. What was it? Yes, I have it now: it was resourcefulness. Unbidden, it arrived early in the day and every hurdle I faced was handled, as I say above, like a champ. I fear it has left me, though. If so, will it ever return?

Oh, I don't know. Bye.

You help me close my eyes at night and things will all be good in the morning

Fred pretty much only eats a raman noodle dish of his own creation. I'm not sure of all the ingredients and measurements, but there are kidney beans (his cupboard shelf is stacked with cans of them); a variety of fiery Asian sauces not meant for the weak-willed (I'm thinking of you, Billy) ; and, of course, the coup de grace: raman noodles. There's more to the operation ( possibly even less) - mushrooms? meat? -  but one thing is sure: he eats this dish for breakfast and dinner just about every day. I don't know what he does for lunch. Anyway, the point is he loves this meal, derives great satisfaction from it, and while it concerns me how much sodium he's taking in (read the back of a raman noodle package - holy effin shit!), I'm happy he's maximizing the simple pleasures of life. We take whatever joy we can find in this vale of tears.

John Zorn's Film Works plays in the background. It recalls the days of merrymaking and kinship at our Dinsmore house in the distant hills of Nashua, NH. Those were some times. I was there at the end, when the house was sold from under us. Villains! Ah, but nothing lasts, child, nothing lasts.

Today was the last of the string of warm days; I appreciated the respite from the pervasive chill; now it's back to the frosty, bleak realities of winter. Time to put the heat on. I grew up in a house with two fireplaces.  It wasn't often we had a fire - my dad seemed to think it was too much work, though he'd never admit as much -  but I fondly recall how much I enjoyed having them. Sitting by a fire is a powerful meditation, an activity that runs thick in our veins the same as it did when we were more ape than man. Tell anyone who's never been camping how sublime it is to sit around a fire and they probably won't relate. Tell them about the enchanted language of fire, of it's hypnotic beckoning, and while they're listing a hundred and ten things they'd rather do, they're concurrently judging you as a bit touched in the head. So be it. In the meantime, I'm thinking it might be a smashing idea to appeal to my parents that we have a fire going on Christmas. Maybe even some chestnuts. How seasonal!


I still haven't watched the latest episode of The Walking Dead. I'll do so tonight if time permits. I'm a little sleepy; maybe I'll just do some reading and  call it a night. Ah, but that's probably not going to be the way of it; I'll likely stay up longer than is necessary as I often do.


See you on the flippity-flip, you lonesome nightingales.

That cat's something I can't explain

Monday, and considering it's unfortunate position in the order of work days, it wasn't a bad one. The weather was accommodating - it was nice not feeling chilled to the bone for a change - and work moved at a steady, productive clip. The only downside was my mental state earlier in the day. My thoughts were erratic and I was having trouble being direct in conversations, or to put it another way, I was not making much sense. Not a new development, this disorientation - I've been through it before - and despite its alarming qualities, it wore off eventually. And as clarity blossomed, I gave serious thought to changing certain aspects of my lifestyle that may have contributed to the delirium.

I saw Life of Pi yesterday. Some movies need to be seen on the big screen; this was one of them. The 3d wasn't intrusive, it was artfully rendered; many of the images were breathtaking. It was also a deeply spiritual film, but not in a preachy, creepy way. Oh, Ang Lee, you've done it again. Go see Life of Pi, my dear ones, or something really truly awful is going to happen to the Golden Retriever population. I'm serious.

I've mentioned it here before that I've modified and expanded my yoga practice, but what has gone unmentioned is how fucking strong and horny it's making me. Ok, maybe I'm overstating matters a bit, especially as concerns feeling horny, which is not to suggest that my libido is a wilted thing, only that I can't with any certainty say yoga has increased it. Anyway, physically, at least, I've been feeling pretty damn awesome as a result of my yoga practice. And the idea of becoming an instructor has risen to the surface more than once. Who knows.

I've been reading The Shining and Moby Dick. It's a safe bet I'll finish The Shining first, despite starting it well after Moby Dick. I'm not going to lie to you: Moby Dick could have used some trimming. The writing is fantastic and there are sections that are sublime, but there is too much cetology and not enough story. I guess I'm just an uncultured bumpkin. At least according to my mother, that is. 

At some point, I may watch an episode of Saxondale, but first I'll watch The Walking Dead. Who will die tonight? I don't know and I don't care. I'm chiefly concerned with absorbing some violence and excessive gore and hopefully some explosions and people in states of perpetual terror. Does that make me a bad guy? It does, but I haven't sunk so low as Billy. Not yet, my friends. Not yet. There is hope.

Tonight there's going to be a jailbreak

I just took my yoga practice to another level. I don't even have the words, which is just about right because it went beyond words. There was clarity, mindfulness, almost no thought, fluidity. At times, and I'm not even joking, I felt as if there was a samurai warrior superimposed over my being. I could see his face (o' those leopard eyes!) every once in a while on the back of my lids. Was I receiving assistance from a disembodied teacher? Or had I called forth an archetype? Who knows. Good timing for a breakthrough; had a long, productive day and needed to turn the nozzle on the old safety valve for a bit. Yoga is a hell of a drug.

I started the week feeling like I had a decent grasp on handling the new car or, to be more specific, handling the change over from automatic to manual transmission. My first two cars were the latter, but my last two were the former; it had been a while. Driving home on the highway last night, I thought about what I needed to do if I had to come to a complete, sudden stop. The idea is to remember to get yourself in gear so you don't stall out, if you haven't already. I learned over the summer how perilous it is to be stationary on the highway with a legion of cars barreling towards you. Anyway, almost immediately after thinking that, I had to slam the brakes (I was at roughly the same spot as the previous incident). I didn't stall out, but I had to act quick and shift like a mother fucker because I had hell hounds on my trail. So why did traffic come to a complete stop? No idea. It picked up moments later. I'll chalk it up to imbecilic drivers who would be suited grazing in a pasture somewhere than operating heavy machinery. Fucking dicks.

As I say, I began the week feeling like I had a good grasp of things, but over the last couple of days I feel like my skills have regressed a bit. Trying to shift from fourth to fifth gear getting on the highway tonight didn't go very well. What I thought was fifth was actually third. The car let forth a gravelly yelp and I hurriedly rectified the situation. And I stalled out a couple of times yesterday. Oh well, these things happen. I'm sure it will all come back to me. I just need to smooth out my form.


It gets later in evening and I'm getting tired. A busy day today that found me hoofing around Boston in the morning and multi-tasking like a champ back at the office. I will sleep like a calf with a bellyful of milk. Before that happens, though, I'll try to work on some music, dick around online for a spell, read from The Shining.

May the force be with you.

Stroke me, stroke me

Been waiting years for this. Dr. Ketchum has been a polarizing figure in the Bigfoot community. Will her findings have merit? I'm doubtful - every Bigfoot related bit of news is fraught disappointment - but what's been leaked so far is intriguing to say the least. I'm going to bite my tongue until more news comes out, but I'm pretty excited. If the DNA results bear the weight of scrutiny will I feel vindicated? Will I expect apologies and gifts from those that scoffed, that laughed at my interest in Bigfoot, at my conviction that they exist? As you know, I possess a pure heart and am loved by all creatures great and small, so yes, the answer is yes. I will expect nothing less than groveling.

Could be these creatures are almost as human as you and me and even Billy.

Follow this link:

http://www.dnadiagnostics.com/press.html

She knew when she landed, three days she'd stay

I awoke from a nap yesterday and headed to the grocery store on a whim. I picked up some snow crab sushi and a couple of other items and made my way to the express check out line. I snaked through the crowd of people lodged between the registers and aisles. I dimly noticed someone about three feet away walking towards me through the din. One of us would have to move or we'd collide.

We made eye contact. Recognition; a former friend. I heard myself say "Hey, Adam" out of sheer reflex. His only form of acknowledgement was a grin that had no humor or warmth in it. He never slowed his pace; he was past me in a matter of seconds. Guess he didn't have time to stop and chat. Waiting in line a few moments later, I reflected on what happened. Man, that was not a friendly look he gave me. I thought upon how unfortunate the whole affair is.

Unfortunate. Sad. Irreversible. I hope I'm wrong on the last count, but it doesn't seem likely we'll ever reconcile. He loathes me (I think it's safe to say that's not an exaggeration), but I do not loathe him. Up until I found out he wanted nothing to do with me, I thought we were still close. He was, and still is, one of my favorite people and was probably my closest friend. I never felt as much ease with anyone else. As much as I sometimes want to resent him for this whole business, I find that I can't. I still regard him as one of the finest humans I've ever met. I consider myself lucky to have been a friend of his for so long. I wish him well and hope he'll someday be able to see things differently.

There is much I'm leaving out. I've debated whether to even touch upon it at all. There is a  psychological component and other things that I'd rather not share. While I feel it would be justified for me to really get into it, to lay it all bare under the glare of scrutiny, I stay my hand. Something about that psychological component and the fact that I want to respect his privacy while expressing how I feel. Who knows, though; I suppose at this point it really doesn't matter what is said. Ah, it's an odd situation, this; best leave it where it belongs: in the cob-webbed basement of the past.

Anyway, to quote Mr. Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."
--
I had several dreams last night about being at the Overlook Hotel. I read a lot from The Shining yesterday; it made sense. I don't recall them being bad dreams, which is kind of strange. Hey, I'm not complaining; I'm in no rush to be plunged into nightmares. I'll read some more tonight. I'll let you know how my dreams turn out. In the meantime, I'll watch the latest episode of The Walking Dead. That should balance things out. 

Peace and love to y'all!

I've been searching for the dolphins in the sea, and sometimes I wonder do you ever think of me

The long weekend is almost over. I hardly knew ye'. Ah, but time marches on and so do we  along with it. To that end, let's kick this post into gear. First, we cover Thanksgiving, perhaps the only holiday no one can find fault with. Mine was a fine one, despite the lousy commute to my parent's house. It took me over an hour to get there; it should have taken a little over a half hour. The traffic I faced, which I believe had more to do with shitty drivers and their shitty driving choices  than overcrowding, put me in a foul mood. I frothed, I entertained visions of thinning out the herd with Old Testament style vengeance, and, throughout this fever, I found myself laughing bitterly over how off the mark I was from embracing the spirit of Thanksgiving. Ah, the absurdity! When I finally arrived at my parent's house, most of my composure had returned, but I was still a bit frazzled and probably kind of a dick for a short spell. It happens.

My intention had been to arrive early so I could transfer my belongings from the Camry to the Forester, which I would be driving home. Even Spira, who I figured would be delayed by the same traffic, beat me; she had the foresight to avoid 93. Seeing her and Missy D, my sister and her family, my grandmother, and my parents warmed my heart and the red haze of stress and tension dissipated beyond my perception.

We had a nice meal and, afterward, my nieces played us some songs on the piano. Afterward, I stepped outside and put my belongings from the old car into the new one. I had driven it only once before, but only up and down the street. It had been years since I had driven a standard, but it seemed to come back to me. The test was going to be the ride home which was going to be at night and would combine back road, highway, and city driving. And I was going to have a passenger: my grandmother, who is in her mid-nineties. I hoped the ride would be a smooth one for both us.

And it was. Mostly. At first, it was a little dicey trying to shift and have a conversation with my grandmother, which under ordinary circumstances is not an easy feat. "I AGREE. I THINK THIS CAR WILL BE GREAT IN THE SNOW."

"The what, dear?"

"THE SNOW. I SAID I AGREE WITH YOU THAT THE CAR WILL BE GREAT IN THE SNOW."

"What is great not to know?"

"THE SNOW, I SAID. THE CAR WILL BE GREAT IN THE SNOW. THE SNOW!"

That type of thing happened early on; the rest of the trip was fine. At one point, Nana put a hand on my arm and said, "You're doing great, Kevin. The car hasn't bucked once." She was correct and I felt pretty good about that. It would have been kind of shitty being the cause of my grandmother getting whiplash or worse.

I love the car. I keep thinking of reasons to drive it. I discovered that, while it's an occasional hassle, I missed using a stick shift.  More hands on. I feel so much gratitude towards my parent's, who found the car (my mother spotted it in the parking lot of the gas station they frequent) and brokered the transaction. They made the experience of buying a car so much easier than it could have been. Whenever I thanked my dad for all the assistance, he would just shrug it off and say "Well, we've got a lot more free time on our hands now that we're retired and we don't mind taking care of some things you'd have to leave work to do." Still, they didn't have to help at all, no matter how much free time they had. Driving the car home on Thanksgiving wasn't lost on me. I have much to be thankful for.

Have you ever felt swift and sudden ecstasy, the sort that is so overwhelming you can barely stay conscious? Well, that's what I felt when I heard Les Stroud, aka Survivorman, on Joe Rogan's podcast talking about his two encounters with Bigfoot. That was ecstatic enough, but when he stated that there is a Survivorman: Bigfoot show in the works, I was shot through the cosmos, losing all sense of my former self. Only ecstasy, pure, unfiltered ecstasy. How I made it back, I have no inkling. Anyway, I'm a tad pleased at the news.

Been reading from The Shining a lot. I sometimes forget how masterful a storyteller King is. He's had his off moments, but in this book he really brings his A game. And, in case you're wondering, I have been sleeping with the lights on. Just to be safe.

My listening habits of late have comprised an odd pairing: Emerson, Lake, and Palmer and Grizzly Bear. As concerns the former, it's been  Brain Salad Surgery I've focused on and concerning the latter, it's mostly been Yellow House, their second album. I've wondered how this development has affected my songwriting. I'm not sure that is has, but you never know.

Back to work tomorrow. I'll begin my day in Cambridge and possibly Boston, which is fine with me. Makes the day go by quicker.

Alright, pups, I'm off to do other things. I'll leave you with a pic of me scratching my dear girl's head.

Cheer up, chin up, cheer up, chin up, cheer up

It's been a busy last few days. On Saturday, I went to my parent's house and washed the new car with my dad (he commandeered the hose, while I applied the sponge). The car (a Subaru Forester, if you're curious) was covered with these little poppy seed type things that were a mother fucker to remove (took a scouring pad to do the job and, let me tell you, the job is still not done).  Because I was pressed for time, the interior only received a cursory cleaning; when the car is in my possession, I'll do a more thorough job. The previous owners weren't cleanly and, judging by the sundry crayons, juice boxes, and cracker crumbs littered inside the car, they have children. One thing left behind that didn't qualify as trash was the shit ton of change that spilled out slot machine style from the tray by the steering wheel. I'm hoping there are jewels buried in the seats. There must be. Stay tuned!

I enjoyed spending time with my father; it's not something we get to do very often. We had lunch and talked about things my mother has no interest in, like The Beverly Hillbillies, sports, Curb Your Enthusiasm, whores, that type of thing. Hold on a second: it's possible we didn't discuss whores. Regardless, it was a nice visit; these days, they hold more significance. None of us are getting younger.

Shit, it's getting  late. Probably should have held off posting until tomorrow, but I didn't want to make you have to wait another day. See how much I care about you? Anyway, I've been busy, which hasn't been such a bad thing. I got to spend a lot of time with Missy D over the weekend (I took her to Fresh Pond on Sunday and we had a grand ol' time. She may just be the perfect dog). Craig came by last night and we, too, had a grand ol' time. He also might be the perfect dog.

I've been reading The Shining. I'm surprised it's taken me this long to read it, especially since it's considered one of King's best. Maybe I felt Kubrick's interpretation of the book, which is brilliant, was enough for me. Well, I decided it was time and, after a few chapters, so far so good. I hope there's some karate in the book; it's one area I felt the film was sorely lacking.

Not exactly sure why, but I felt melancholy today. I really didn't want to be at work, didn't really want to talk to anyone. A long session of yoga after work righted the ship. Had a nice discussion with Fred afterward, followed by dinner and a shower. Feeling better. 

Thanksgiving approaches. I'll let you know how it goes. If I don't post before then, I hope, from the bottom of my pure heart, that yours is a fine one, spent in the bosom of good tidings and kinship. Me, I'll be alone in my room with a Tyson frozen dinner and M.A.S.H reruns on VHS.

Namaste.

I need a fix 'cause I'm goin' down

When you feel as chilled to the bone as I do right now, the only thing for it is to listen to some Caetano Veloso. Specifically, I'm listening to Livro and my bones have warmed considerably. It's a wonderful album; you should listen to it always.

But it's on to The Beastie Boys and Check Your Head. MCA's ghost looms; the other day, I found an issue of Rolling Stone with him on the cover; he had just passed away; it was his eulogy And then I started thinking about death as I sometimes do (Do you think about death? How often, I wonder. Hmm...). But my purpose for listening to the Beasties has more to do with raising my energy than anything else. I'm tired - it was a long, active, day - and I'm pretty sure I just want to watch some Beverly Hillbillies or read or sleep. I question why I endeavored to poke away here, but here I am. I guess this is just my way of telling you I love you.

Speaking of love, I was drafting a cover letter at work today and the template I used was a letter I had typed last year. As I modified it, I noticed something that produced a chuckle, a tee-hee if you will, from someplace deep within my very soul. This is what I read above my signature: "Very truly yours". I'm positive it wasn't my idea to include that sentiment; I'm rarely that devoted to complete strangers; most likely it was a relic from an earlier letter someone else had typed up. Perhaps this person felt strongly about the recipient of the letter; we'll never know. And so I laughed and laughed, the child within me as free as something else that is free, like say another child, only freer. You find it funny, don't you? I mean, how could you not find it profoundly amusing? Very truly yours? Why would I say such a thing to someone I don't even know? Hilarious!

The new car is within reach. A few (hopefully) trifling matters to contend with and then I'm in the clear. Stay tuned!

I consider myself someone who's comfortable being alone, but man have I been feeling the cold lack of affection in my life. I'm speaking exclusively about the kind of affection couples engage in. Who doesn't want the occasional hug or rusty trombone? Oh, why did I have to take it there? Is it possible I'm making light of something in order to alleviate my embarrassment over feeling as needy as a babe alone in its crib? Of course it's possible. Anyway, I need affection like anyone else and lately I've been feeling the need more than usual. There is no shame in that. Ok, perhaps there is some, but it is not a shameful amount. Maybe I should finally accept all those date requests I've been putting off.

Off to something else. Had biryani for dinner and now I'm hungry again. I wish I had a bag of the freeze-dried mangoes that Trader Joe's sells. I ache for it like a junkie.

I'll leave you with a clip of Jeff Green posterizing Al Jefferson. Watch it twice before bed and once in the morning. If you do, at some point tomorrow you will discover that you're no longer a cravenly wretch.




Pleasant dreams, Jacobite scum.

Lonely is the night, when you find yourself alone

They say it's a good thing to listen to Edith Piaf on a Monday, especially if it's Veteran's Day. Who says that? I'm not at liberty to say. And, to show that I am in agreement, I'm listening to her lovely, tragic voice transmit from another time and another place. So long ago and right this very instant.

Got out of work a couple of hours early today and hit the yoga mat upon my arrival home. It was a challenging session; at times it was strenuous, but most of all it was therapeutic. Among other things, I practiced a variety of plank positions and, consequently, I'm feeling strong enough that I think I could kick Billy's ass. But will I? That will be pondered another day. In the meantime, we carry on.

A new song. It's coming together smoothly and sounds more East than West. I'll attempt to record some vocal tracks tonight. Ah, but it needs lyrics. Forgot about that. Damn.

On a related note, I may soon have some news regarding a musical endeavor. I know you're on the verge of wetting yourself over the possibilities, but I beg you to be patient as I'm not sure when I'll be able to speak on the matter. All I can tell you is that it involves the medium of rock and roll and involves other people. And, most importantly, this endeavor could see me getting laid like John Holmes, the X rated Nigguh.

Watched War of The Worlds last night. I fucking love that movie and I think it's a shame how overlooked it is. It's nearly perfect, it is. I feel like it should be a priority in my life to educate people about the greatness of War of The Worlds. One of Spielberg's best, I do declare.

Finally got to see video of the Minnesota trackway that was possibly, but most likely, made by a large, bipedal, undiscovered primate we like to call Bigfoot. I'll present it below, but a word of advice: ignore as best you can some of the commentary made by one of the admins at Facebook Find Bigfoot, who posted the video. Occasionally their analysis is spot on, but too often they make definitive statements and, in this field of research, it's almost impossible, even ridiculous, to make definitive statements about any aspect of it. For example, they'll state that not only is a blurry figure in a video clip a Sasquatch (when it could be a fifteen year old in a dark hoodie walking home from school), they take it a step further and explain it's behavior and motivations ("Notice how the Sasquatch tilts its coned head as it passes the tree. What it's doing is signaling the other Sasquatch that an intruder is near by. .

Anyway, there's not much analysis in this video and to the extent any is provided, it's fairly sound, even plausible. I'll let you make your own mind up should you choose to watch the video, but I don't think a human made those tracks. It's possible it's a hoax, but hoaxers usually don't go to such great lengths (miles of trackway) to fool us. I'm not even sure a human could leave tracks like that (deep, deep snow, long strides). Give it a looksie, if you dare. At the very least, you may find it interesting.





Ok, now that you've come to the unavoidable conclusion that those tracks were created by a very large biped, not human and definitely a Sasquatch, I can end this post feeling like there's still hope in the world.

Or something like that. Peace, you rabble-rousing C-suckers!

Our haven on the southern point is calling us

My listening habits over the last several weeks have been narrow, which is to say I've been pretty much only listening to Grizzly Bear and Yes. Regarding Grizzly Bear, it baffles me that it took me this long to embrace them. For whatever reason I never gave them a proper chance; something I suspect had to do with feeling like I had to choose between them and Fleet Foxes. Don't even ask. Anyway, I adore Grizzly Bear the way I adore Yes. They don't sound much alike, but their level of ambition and depth is virtually identical. Round of applause for these magnificent bastards!

My lust wasn't as ubiquitous today. I'm not saying that is a good or bad thing; it just is. So let's move on to politics. Like the rest of you, I'm eagerly awaiting the election results. Who will it be: Obama or Romney? No one knows. Anyway, I'm distracted by my roommate Matt's booming voice bellowing from downstairs. He's either really quiet or really fucking loud. He's a startling dude to be around sometimes.

Alright, I'm out of here. I'll work on music, watch Blackadder, read from Moby Dick, that sort of thing.

Good night, you milky moonbeams.

Two and two always makes a five

The commute home from work was dark and snowy towards the end. I eagerly sought the confines of home, where I planned on getting warm and relaxing. Ladies and gentleman, the plan has come to fruition! Well, almost; I'm not feeling that warm. Must be a product of age, this increasing susceptibility to cold weather. That, or the heater is not producing like it used to. I'm thinking a space heater is in my future.

I spent a good portion of today consumed with lust for a woman, but I'll stop there; to expound would cause discomfort to me and most definitely to you. So why even bring it up? Why do I tease you so? Here's the plain truth: I felt, because it was something I was consumed with for almost the entire day and possibly right this instant as I type this with startling speed, that it was worth noting. I also felt, because many of my readers are toddlers and adolescents, I should withhold  the details of said lust. Children aren't able to process that much sexiness.

Man, I'm not feeling warm at all, despite being bundled up like an Eskimo with the flu. What is wrong with me? Maybe this is a sign I should move to a warmer climate. Is the moon as tropical as they say it is? If so, I'm packing my trunks and some suntan lotion and getting the eff off this planet.

Since you asked, I am quite intrigued with the current Celtics lineup. KG is back, The Truth is healthy, Jeff Green is back, Jason Terry and Courtney Lee (two great acquisitions) are on board, Rondo could easily have an MVP year, Jared Sullinger could make a significant impact as a rookie, Avery Bradley and Chris Wilcox will be back, Darko could prove why he was a top draft pick, Brandon Bass will probably be even better. Should be a good season, but I'll miss most of it. No cable TV, son.

 So what did we learn tonight? 1. I can't seem to warm up 2. I catered to a primal urge for almost the entire day at the expense of things like focusing on work that I was being paid to do and I'm too cowardly to go into depth with you about it. 3. I'm intrigued with the current Celtics lineup.

So, yes, another riveting, thought-provoking post. I would never insult you with anything less. Now go take your tops off and run across lawns and up and down streets with your arms raised above you and whoops and hollers jettisoning from your maws. If enough of us do it, the world will become a much nicer place.

Hope you all got out and voted today. Now we wait and see who will occupy the throne.

Adios, banditos.

Everything in its right place

Today was a mixed bag but predominately positive. Most of my interactions went well; a couple involved flirting, others were lighthearted, and, even at the RMV, no assholes. So what made the day a mixed bag was waiting for an hour and a half to be served at the aforementioned RMV. The clerk was sweet, though (she referred to me as "honey" at least twice - guess I'm sweet, too) and I was able to advance one step closer in the process of getting my new car. Also preventing the day from being pleasant from top to bottom was my commute home from work. Let's leave it at that.

Here's a question: When you hop on Facebook and say to yourself, "I think I need to remind everyone to get out and vote even though virtually everyone else on this site has already posted as much", are you thinking clearly or are you being a bit of a fuck? Really, if people need seventy eight reminders (or guilt trips?) that today is election day and if you don't get out and vote you are profoundly more evil than the world's most vile and abusive satanist, then maybe these people shouldn't be voting; you know, because they're idiots.

Ah, I guess I'm just being a grump about it - it's not well played to fault people for trying to be good citizens - but sometimes I wonder (late at night after the tears have dried up) if some of these reminder posts make any kind of a difference. Do I ever stop and ask myself if I'm making any kind of difference by posting nothing at all? Nope. And then there are other times, like after a fresh kill, when I think people should shut their mouths and stick to posting pictures of their dogs, cats, and babies.

A long, vigorous session of yoga tonight. Felt great. I think I'll meditate later, too. I've had some inner turmoil of late, but I've been feeling better. There are ups and downs, fluctuations. All you can hope for is that you meet each situation authentically. In other words, do your dharma, son.

I'm thinking a shower sounds good right about now. I may watch Murnau's Sunrise later on if time permits. Probably, though, I'll work on music. Someone asked me the other day if I've been playing with anyone. "Almost", was my reply. That's the way it's been, near misses and vague scheduling, but I'm confident I'll eventually find people to collaborate with. I'm also in the market for people to conspire with, but that is a discussion for another time.

G'night, you downy lambs. And don't forget to vote tomorrow; you'll feel like a titan.

These thoughts I have seem to pass me by like a cloud

I saw Cloud Atlas earlier today. Roger Ebert's review swayed me. I knew little about the movie, save that it was based on a book, told six separate and possibly interconnected stories that spanned centuries, was highly ambitious, featured Thom Hanks and Halle Berry, and  a lot of people found it to be profoundly confusing. Not a bad foundation as far as I was concerned, but my interest wasn't piqued enough to make an effort to see it in the theater. When I read Ebert's glowing review, I figured the film was worth checking out sooner than later, so off I went to The Somerville Theater with the hope of having my entire being pulverized into psychedelic oblivion. That hope wasn't exactly dashed, but it manifested in a manner far less intense.

I won't provide my own review, but I will say that I enjoyed the film quite a bit and it has stayed with me. Say what you want about Cloud Atlas, but one thing is certain: it is thought provoking. One of Ebert's correspondents, Omer M. Mozaffar, wrote a great piece about it. In it, he opines that the film is about love, among other things.

...  the film's ultimate binding force, binding together the entire galaxy, is true love. But, anyone who knows the Wachowski films, already knows this point. The whole "Matrix" trilogy leads us to this point. As is true in the "Matrix" films, the true love this film seeks is unbound by any constraints. Here, lust also becomes a constraint against love. This movie, however, takes love further. In some of the threads, that true love is a deep love between two equals. In some of the threads, it is the love of a parent and child. In some of the threads, it is the love of the rescued for a rescuer. In some of the threads, that love is loyalty to fellows or humanity.

But, the love of "Cloud Atlas" is not merely something rational, antiseptic and platonic. Rather, it is compulsive. Again, it is a love that someone cannot, not have. In Rumi's language, it is fire that ignites life. It is not mere wind; it is fire. And, anyone who does not have this fire, need not be alive. In the film, anyone who does not have this fire, has probably surrendered his/her humanity to the above-mentioned cages, waiting to be devoured by the conspiratorial system. That love is something that reaches into the most intimate places of your being, and cannot exist without connecting with someone else. That love becomes something produced by the two of you, yet not belonging to either of you. It is a greater work of art than even a masterpiece composition.

 So, the film is ultimately asking if you have ever experienced that true boundless love. I do not think that I knew love until the births of my daughters. Until they arrived, I was essentially an ascetic of sorts, detached from the world. And, they arrived and became my world. And, through them, I was exposed to love in all directions. I think every parent understands this. And, when I follow the story of the two Wachowskis, I find myself thinking that I am witnessing a special, true love between two siblings. In another time and place, a related pair would have split. I wonder, though, how many of us find that fire of love in another person, where physical union becomes a taste in that transcendence.

Of late, my mind has been heavy with the idea of the love Mozzafar describes. I can't say I've known it, though perhaps I've been close, and that has been a source of sadness in my life. One thing Cloud Atlas illustrates, though, is that our lives can change quickly and dramatically and not always for the worse. And that's what I tell myself whenever I feel the pangs of lack. Not sure I want a bunch of mewling, screeching toddlers to remedy that lack, however; a girlfriend/wife and a kick ass dog will suffice. Ok, maybe a kid or two, but they'll have to measure up to the young, Sixth Sense era, Haley Joel Osmont or they'll be summarily deposited on the doorstep of the nearest orphanage. 
 
So go see Cloud Atlas; your soul, if you have one, will be invigorated. It will thank you for the nourishment. With so many remakes and reboots being spewed out of Hollywood with the excess and mess of a bukkake party, it's nice, even cleansing, to see something this ambitious and moving being produced. And, now that I think of it, there are at least three other films I'm interested in seeing in the theater: Argo, Looper, and Flight. A renaissance? That would be pissah!

It's chilly. Turned the heat on for the first time since last winter. We made it to November. Not bad. Probably could have done without tonight, but there's no point in being uncomfortable, which we were starting to feel. So let there be heat!

And let there be coffee. I made some earlier with the french press Spira got me for Christmas last year and I want more. See ya later, gators.

Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud

There are people, some of whom I know, that 100% believe this planet is not going to be inhabitable in the coming years due to climate change. Whatever they believe the cause(s) to be be, they forecast the same grim outcome. With such a belief, you'd think that would hold them back from having kids; you know, because essentially you'd be introducing a human being to a life, perhaps a very short one, of misery and horror, and that would be a bit of an assholey, downright evil, thing to do. Yet these people, the ones I know at least, are respectable and caring and not evil assholes. So how is it they act in a profoundly contradictory different way than their character would suggest?

Well, my bonnie readers, it's like this: People are contradictory and often more selfish than selfless. Even with the belief that our species is on the verge of extinction, it's not that hard to convince yourself that "Maybe it will be our little boy or girl that fixes the climate and saves mankind" or that "Maybe things won't be as bad as they're starting to look". How about this: maybe you just really want to have a baby and are willing to tuck away a belief or two that might, if available, be meddlesome enough to prevent that from happening. Huh? What about that? That's what I thought.

Anyway, as I said, we're a contradictory lot, us ego-dominated beings of energy hurling through the cosmos, lost to our true nature, what we once were. Angels of light, we soar towards.....

Whoah, hold up! Starting to get all New Agey there. My apologies. Maybe it's because I've been reading from A Course In Miracles again (After the inner strife I'd been going through, it was needed.). Anyway, all I'm saying is that some people have kids despite their belief that our planet is rapidly becoming a horrible place to reside upon. And I find that odd, but not that odd. Oh, I don't even know what I'm saying. If this post is offensive to you or you hate its guts for making no sense or you think it's preachy or judgmental, you'll get no argument from me.

Alright, cohorts, off to other things. Halloween was last night but I had almost zero involvement with it, except I did watch the most recent episode of The Walking Dead (That new character, The Governor, well, I'm not sure how I feel about the acting job being done there. I don't know, but my guess is the guy is English or Australian. It seemed his accent shifted several times throughout the episode; it was distracting. Anyway....).

We go together like a storm and rain

We await Sandy, the hurricane-superstorm-apocalyptic-juggernaut. Signs of its pending arrival are here like advance scouts from some devilish army. The wind is picking up, the rain dumps down and retreats. We could be in for it, besieged. I'm supposed to record at the courthouse in Cambridge in the morning, but I just spoke with my boss, Jeff, and he's not sure if that's going to happen. We're going to have to wait and see how severe the weather will be. One thing is certain: we're going to see a lot more of these frankenstorms.

Around eight o'clock this morning, I got a text from Spira, which I could barely read because the display on my phone is damaged. All I could make out was "Call me!". There didn't seem to be much more in the message, so I took it to be important. I called her back and she told me the word in the message I missed was "brunch" and that it would be in honor of her friend, Leah, who is moving to Nashville. I said I was going back to sleep and would call her when I woke up to let her know if I'd be going.

When I called her, they had finished eating and were going to take the dogs out for a walk. We worked it out that I'd pop in for a visit before they did. In the lobby, shortly after I arrived, everyone came down with their dogs and proceeded to head out the door. Because I was wearing shorts (I wasn't expecting to be outside for very long), I opted out of the walk, which I had thought was going to happen after I left. Spira explained that she was under the impression that I'd be accompanying them and then and said, "Well, we dressed appropriately" and led everyone out the door. My options at that point were to wait in the lobby, wait in my car, or join them on their walk, which, if going on past experience, was not going to be a very short one. Oh, and another option, which I eventually went with, was to leave.

I told Spira I was going to wait in my car,. She said, "ok", and continued on towards the park. I've known her a long time and I'm confident her outlook on the matter was "Come or don't come; I'm not going beg you". And I respect that outlook; if she felt my actions were the result of some adolescent need for attention, then I can see why she wouldn't want to have anything to do with it. I went to my car and thought about how to proceed. It didn't take long. I called Spira and told her I was leaving, that I had better things I could be doing with my time. "Ok, bye", was the gist of her reply.

As I drove away, I stewed a bit over the situation. I could have been at home, sipping coffee and working on music instead this bit of business. I wasn't expecting to be treated like royalty, but something more than indifference would have been nice. All the same, I'm over it and understand that the other side of the coin has its story to tell. I'm sure from their perspective, I'm a colossal jerk for up and leaving. I can accept that; I did what I felt was right for me. There will be other situations with more favorable outcomes.

Anyway, I don't intend to belabor the matter. I'm home and still have the bulk of the day at my disposal. The situation didn't work out for whatever reason. So be it. Let's watch some Boardwalk Empire!

Hello, is it me you're looking for?

I don't feel much like writing, which is to say I did but now that I actually have to extend effort, however slight, my enthusiasm sloughs off my bones and I feel drowsy. How dim my bulb too often gets has been a concern. But I'll continue; who knows, maybe the fire in my belly will be stoked from its slumber. Somehow I doubt it, but we'll see.

Taking inventory. That's been the modus operandi. It's a taut thin wire I've been walking on, delving into the past and assessing how it informs the present. It's an easy thing to lose balance and fall into the abyss of regret and milky sentimentality, but I continue steadily on. Still, the venture has not been without some measure of pain and anguish. Despair waits in the wings, eager to take over. Don't let it, o' pure-hearted one! The clouds are already parting; stick with it.

Enough with being cryptic.It's my own bullshit and the only one who can sort it out is me. You've got your own, you can do without mine. In my last post, I assured those of you who relish quantity as much as quality that a longer post would be forthcoming. That is still the case, but it ain't happening tonight. So let's wrap things up like a champ.

My yoga practice has evolved this week. I've altered my routine and one of the results has been a body that feels like a singular functioning thing rather than a series of parts, some creaky, some robust. I'm feeling strong, son! Tell Billy anywhere, anytime. I'm ready for that mother fucker!

It's comical to me how grossed out people get when they hear about someone peeing in the shower. These same people don't clean their assholes when they shit; what they're doing is what we've been taught as Americans: smearing. That's right, they're smearing, not cleaning, which, if you think about it, is way grosser than peeing in the shower, where the pee is washed down the drain, no trace left behind. If you stepped in a pile of dog shit barefoot, how would you remove it? Would you take a dry paper towel to your foot and smear the shit on it? No, you'd wash that shit off you foot like a civilized human being. You'd use soap maybe. See what I'm getting at? You'd CLEAN the foot, not smear shit all over it like some half-witted imp. Anyway, you get the point. Note to self: explore why the topic of shit makes frequent appearances in this blog. 

I'm out of here. I'll watch some Boardwalk Empire and do other things; some sexy, some cerebral, and some secret. That's all I can say; my attorney forbids any more.

Good night, ye mewling pups of autumn.

I'm taking whiskey to the party tonight and I'm looking for someone to squeeze

I'm back from a yoga class that kicked my ass. When it was through, I was drenched in sweat. Jenn, the instructor, seems like one of those authentically happy people we don't encounter nearly enough. She taught a great class; I'll make sure to take more with her. While she guided us through a series of vinyasas, Sigur Ros and other Icelandic sounding artists added a fitting, misty soundtrack that coated us like dew. The class kicked my ass, I say, but I'm grateful it did. There are things going on that are pregnant with stress; it's important I take care of myself so as not to feel overwhelmed.

I took a hot shower when I came home and I'm feeling pretty blissed out. I think it's time to watch an episode of Boardwalk Empire, which is one of the best shows I've ever seen. Fucking HBO! Always bringing the ruckus!

Sorry for the short post, but don't fret: I'm confident I'll be presenting you with some overlong, bloated, and self-indulgent posts soon enough.

Fare thee well, ye bonnie lads and lasses.

They don't live too long, just a flash and then they're gone, we'll laugh at them and watch the sun go down

Earlier this evening, as I spoke with my parents in their living room, the earthquake hit. My mother jumped out of her seat - she thought a mouse or some other, larger and more bitey, rodent had begun scaling the back of it in order to enact some foul deed upon her person - while I wondered if a small plane had just landed on the house. My father didn't feel a thing. My mother and I were incredulous: there was no way he didn't feel that; he was only five feet away. "Didn't feel a thing", he said. I haven't figured out what to make of this. Best not to linger; off we go.

After yoga class last night, I asked Spira how she felt about it. "It was pretty good, but some guy - I don't know if it was you or the one in front of me - stank to high heaven. It was guy odor - you know, that horrible b.o. guys get." I took no offense at being suspected of something so unflattering and foul - we've known each other too long - but, and believe me I'm not trying to be boastful, I'm pretty sure she would have handled it a bit differently if I said something similar to her. Although, she didn't seem too offended when I broke it to her that she was the one stinking up the joint and her pungent aroma reminded me very much of a sub shop dumpster baking in the intense heat of summer. Anyway, I don't think I was the stinky guy, but in the interest of full disclosure, I should note that I did have six bowls of three alarm chili followed by a few soft tacos at Taco Bell earlier in the day. Don't tell me you haven't followed a similar trajectory before; I bet if I burrowed my head into your armpit, you'd reek of chalupas.

There is more, but there are other things that beg my attention. Not masturbation, you psychopaths. Okay, maybe masturbation. Anyway.... Adieu, conspirators.

Come on beautiful, we'll go sit on the front lawn, and watch the fireflys as the sun goes down

Here is the feeling, and you recognize it maybe only dimly: unhindered and unadulterated, it is joy-permeated expression. True expression, that engulfs, the way the sun would a fly, anything that would interrupt or sully it. We could call it free expression, but the word free does not apply here, because to be free, you have to be free of something. I use joy-permeated as a descriptor, but cautiously, understanding that for there to be joy there has to be the opposite of joy. For our purposes here, it will have to suffice, though it may only hint at what I'm trying to convey. I suppose that's all we can ever do when we consider the profound.

One of the reasons (and there are several) I'm fascinated by the video I'm about to present to you  is because it is a wonderful example of that feeling and a reminder that it is available to us. Hearing a baby's laughter reduced in pitch to the point that it sounds like an adult sounds odd, even creepy, but only because it's rare we hear an adult who does so with such purity and abandon. When we do, our first inclination may be that the person is not right in the head. And perhaps by society's standards we may be right. Sometimes the world just plain feels inside-out.

So here it is. I've watched it many times, I'm not afraid to admit, and I'll watch it many more because it is a view into that other world that tickles around in our brains like fragments of old dreams. More simply put, it makes me fucking laugh real hard. If you're not similarly affected, then I suggest you take inventory of your life. This is gold, readers. Forget therapy: watch this twice a day, upon waking and before sleep, and you will be enlightened in no time.

We haven't served that spirit here since 1969

Advice, commands, observations, accusations, sundry:

1. The High Llamas are playing- their epic, Brian Wilson flavored Hawaii- and it occurs to me I haven't listened to it in a long time. It's a great album.

2. If you want to be kind to your fellow man, offer assistance if he's occupying a urinal or stall near you. "Need a hand, friend?" or "Take a load off and let me do the work; that's what I'm here for" are along the lines of what you should say. This works for dames, too (except as concerns the urinal, of course). I'll have none of your accusations that I'm gender biased.

3. I guess I'm not in the mood for Hawaii, as great as I claim it is. Back to Grizzly Bear's Shields, which has been in heavy rotation. Sleeping Ute is a standout track and conjures Yes's "Gates of Delirium", something I never thought I'd  have occasion to say.





4. Watch Boardwalk Empire....NOW!

5. What's made me more content over the last several weeks: wasabi mayonnaise or God's love? Well, let's see....HA! It's a trick question: they are one in the same.

6. Someone recently told me about their anal fissures and, despite not being told to keep it a secret - it was brought forth casually to the conversation - I'm going to go ahead and treat it as such. I don't know what I'm getting at, why I'm sharing this; perhaps it's just my way of letting you know you can unload your anal fissure issues on me and I won't utter a peep to anyone.

7. I used to work with this guy named Chepo who once told me that when he was a youth in Puerto Rico, he used to steal chickens from his neighbor. Sometimes, he said, the neighbor would eat dinner with Chepo's family, unaware that he was eating stolen goods. I told Chepo my experience growing up was quite different. I did eat chicken fairly often, though. There is that.

8. Coming up: new car. Finally.

9. Have you been telling all the ladies that I'm a venereal disease infested worm and abuser of women? It must be the case because otherwise I'd be getting it on with all sorts of them almost all the time. Not cool, man. Not cool.

10. Time for some Boardwalk Empire or maybe some Guy Maddin. Maybe both. I'll keep you posted.

So I'll walk out these wandering dreams, up the north road dressed gold and green

There was a time last week when I felt something was amiss, an inner agitation I couldn't put my finger on. Then it struck me one morning as I entered the rest room at work: I hadn't seen, heard, or smelled The Shitter in days. That should have been welcomed news - who wouldn't want a respite from his prolific, noxious shitting?- but, as it happened, I discovered his absence left me feeling slightly bereft, as if lurking beneath my disdain for him, a part of me felt a measure of kinship with, or, at the very least a dose of sympathy towards, this cherubic lord of the toilet. Absent or present, he's been a haunting influence in my life.

About a day later, I entered the rest room and there were his spotless white Nike's on display under the stall door. I can't attest to where he had been the last several days, but, damn!, did that son of a bitch make up for lost time. Just about every time I went to the restroom, which was about once an hour to pee, he was there, ubiquitous, stinking up the joint with his foul, sinful waste. And today was no different. Any feeling of kinship or sympathy was washed away with the cold realization that The Shitter is a malevolent force in this world. Look past the countenance of doughy innocence! Think not upon the sad state of affairs this man's life must be in because of all that shitting! Not true! His actions are premeditated and cunning; nothing leaves his factory but with his permission. Keep clear of this agent of Lucifer! I say the following with the utmost conviction: if I had a gun with two bullets and was alone in a room with Hitler, Pol Pot, and The Shitter, I'd shoot The Shitter twice.
--
I watched Dreyer's La Passion De Jeanne D'Arc with Spira the other day. The film had such a profound effect on me when I first saw it; between Dreyer's inventive and often stunning cinematography, Richard Einhorn's moving score, and one of the most transcendent acting performances I've ever seen by Melle Falconetti, I was left awestruck. I thought about it for days, electrified by it like the buzz of a first love.

Spira slept through just about the entire film. Once, when she was awake, I asked her if she wanted to stop the movie. She said no and fell back asleep. When it was over, she woke up and half-jokingly berated me for making her sit through a silent movie with "mellow" music with the lights off, as if it was my fault she couldn't stay awake.

I had hoped the film would have had a similar impact on her as it did me. Obviously, it didn't, though she did claim that she liked what she saw. I had no problem staying awake, but I can see why she didn't. I've fallen asleep to through films before; we all have. Still, I lamented not being able to share my enthusiasm about the film with her. It's okay, my tastes aren't very conventional; I've gotten over how it limits shared experience.

Anyway, if you haven't seen it and want to watch something different, inventive, and transcendent (at least in my estimation), have a go. It's worth it for Falconetti's performance alone. She wasn't acting, she was channeling.



--
Had a nice long weekend. Went up to Mike's on Saturday to attend Pumpkin Fest with him and a stellar lineup of friends, some I hardly ever see. When I left my house, it was sunny, the birds were chirping gaily. When I hit NH, ominous clouds appeared and the closer I got to Mike's the darker it became. When the rain hit, I wondered if we'd have to forgo Pumpkinfest. It poured like a mah'fucka! But, alas, the rain subsided and the clouds parted and we were able to attend the festivities. Good thing: I had begun to wonder if I was heading towards a Heart of Darkness scenario. Kurtz!

Ah, but it was a merry time! At the festival, we splintered off into groups and explored. I don't know why, but I didn't get any fried dough, despite having a mild hankering for some recently (last time I tasted its unholy goodness was when I was a wee lad). Maybe I found the prospect too daunting. It's possible. Anyway, there were other shenanigans, but they're not meant for you to know about. Sorry, but the last thing I want to do is besmirch your innocence with tales of debauchery. You don't want to end up like Billy, do you?

Off to watch some Boardwalk Empire. Maybe I'll play some music and read from Moby Dick. We'll see. Best get crackin'.

G'night, you sweet and tender pups.

How many mics do we rip on the daily?

I woke up feeling lousy. I had at least two sneezing fits before I left for work, during which time I thought reminiscently about the summer when my head wasn't so thick and my breathing was unobstucted. Another day with the cold, but I'm feeling better. After work, I hit the yoga mat to the sounds of Lisa Gerrard and, despite some congestion, I had an abundance of energy and was absorbed in the session. Afterward, I made a salad with kale and baby spinach and other assorted goodies, including some extra-extra firm tofu I got at Trader Joe's, which has ruined me for all other less firm tofu. I'm not going to lie to you: I don't feel as fresh as a summer fig, but I'm on the mend.

I'll tell you what: I'm never again going to take dating advice from Willem Dafoe. Alright, I will, but I'm going to be a bit more wary when I do. I almost got slapped in the nuts trying out the following on an unsuspecting fraulein:




I must be feeling better because my loins were humming all day. Ah, but nothing came of it (there's a pun there, but I'd never stoop so low as to suggest it); still, though, the loins hum. Maybe it's time to explore Craig's List and its casual encounters section. I'm sure it would be a fruitful endeavor. I might even meet my future wife.

I'm tired, but I have things I'd like to do before I surrender to the mattress. Craig will be stopping by and I'd like to spend some quality time with Moby Dick. And, if time permits, I'd like to work on some music. Maybe try to restore my sickness- ravaged  voice back to its former glory.

Adieu, my bonnie lads and lasses.

Autumn has come to my home town

This cold is being a real asshole; I thought I'd be rid of it by now, but it lingers. Anyway, it could be worse; and besides, I was getting tired of being able to smell and taste stuff. The other night at Veggie Galaxy with Spira is a prime example: not knowing whether the open faced seitan sandwich I ordered was pleasing or not was refreshing. The texture was appealing; there was that. Anyway, I'm on the mend and soon enough I'll be back on the streets crackin' skulls.

So I've been watching a ton of The Sopranos, listening to a plethora of Black Sabbath, and reading up on bizarre missing person cases in our national parks and forests (courtesy of author and retired cop, David Paulides). And I've been sick. Surprisingly, my spirits have been generally positive, and why not? The Sopranos rocks and Sabbath brings the ruckus. And as far as people disappearing under bizarre, possibly supernatural, circumstances in remote locations goes, well, who doesn't like a good mystery? Yet, I've made sure to counterbalance these activities with less dark ones, like meditating and watching shows like Curb Your Enthusiasm. The goal is not to tip too far into the camp of gloom. But we know that could never happen, considering I'm illuminated by a pure heart and am always kind to puppies, toddlers, and certain primates.

When I'm better, I've really got to get off my ass and make some decisions about this life of mine. Time is less of a friend the older you get. Yes, let's make some decisions, I say. Inertia has had its way with me for too long. I'll have to ask Billy which direction he thinks I should take.

In the meantime, it's more of The Sopranos, I'm afraid. And definitely more Sabbath. But I will meditate and read from the Gita or A Course In Miracles. Balance, my friends; it's about balance.

Lost in happiness I knew no fears, innocence and love was all I knew

The sickness lingers, but it has weakened substantially. It had all the markings of a typical head cold, but it moved to my chest the other night and things turned ugly. I was so uncomfortable, I couldn't sleep. I ended up watching Herzog films (The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser and Nosferatu The Vampyre) until I finally fell asleep around five. Even when I had started feeling worse earlier in the evening, I had every intention of going to work yesterday, but after virtually no sleep, hell no.

So I called work and told them my sad tale. Afterward, I tried to catch up on some sleep, but my neighbor, Steve, decided it was a good idea to use just about every piece of power equipment in his arsenal for just about the entire day. Lawn mower? Check. Hedge trimmer? Check. Leaf blower? Check. Snow blower? Maybe; I didn't look. Anyway, my point is that Steve can be a real jerk. Didn't he know I was sick and needed sleep? Of course he did, on account of the fact that we share a psychic bond. I'll repay him in kind by fire bombing his house. Tit for tat.

Ok, wee ones, I'm done with you. I'll provide you with a more intriguing post some other time but, seriously, you should be grateful for even a crumb of my profundity. Really, every word is precious. Anyway, I'm going to go relax. Do what thou wilt.

Too da Lou!

So I leave the ways that are making me be, what I really don't want to be

I came home from work yesterday, practiced yoga, ate a kale salad packed with more nutrients than is allowed by law, chanted for a half hour, and then.....well, then this head cold I'm in the throes of descended upon me with quick and wicked glee and proclaimed, "No matter how well you treat your mind, body, and spirit, there's not a god damned fucking thing you can to do to prevent me, you lost little child!". There was nothing I could say in response. That son of a bitch was right. Well, perhaps I'll be able to shake this cold quicker than someone decidedly less health-minded than me. Maybe it's because I'm sneezing and spraying as I type this with sinuses swollen and ready to burst and a head thick and throbbing, but I'm not sure that will be the case. We'll see.

Can't a little magic, something unexpected and sweet, something that makes one exclaim,"This is why we get up in the morning", befall me? Really, just a little something, nothing too big. I could use it. C'mon, Universe, whaddya say?

Ok, I'm done. I guess I'll go lie down and read from Moby Dick and maybe re-listen to the Damien Echols interview I heard on NPR yesterday. I'll probably meditate, too. Then I'll sleep the sleep of the weak and infirm (and damned? No, I'm not there yet) and have all sorts of strange dreams. Tomorrow is another day and I hope it finds me feeling hale and well met. For your sake, and Billy's, you better hope so, too.


Aloha

Follow me across the sea, where milky babies seem to be, molded flowing revelry, with the one that set them free

When I found out I was going to record at the registry in Cambridge today, I decided I was going to follow through on an intention born from the no-mind of meditation. So there I was this morning, my work finished and about to leave, wondering if I squandered an opportunity. And then one presented itself and I went forth with my intention.

About a year ago, a new title examiner began working there. Amidst the bustle, she stood out. Her full-throated laugh rose above the din of rote registry chatter and, much like her singing (loud enough to be heard, but without the suggestion of attention seeking), it was heard frequently and welcomed by me. She had sharp eyes imbued with spirit and dark, reddish hair. Pretty. I found out her name was Maureen.

I spoke to her only twice. The first time was when she came over to use the computer next to the one I was using and asked me what I was listening to on my iPod. "Led Zeppelin", I told her. I went on to explain in a jerky, dorky manner about the carefully thought out play list I had put together. I asked her if she was a fan. "Of course", she said, as if it couldn't be otherwise. The next time we spoke was when we met on the stairs in the upper reaches of the courthouse. We exchanged brief hi-how-are-you-doings and went on with our tasks.

She hardly occupied my thoughts; I only saw her about once every two weeks, and despite the intuitive affinity I felt for her, I really didn't know her. I've learned the dangers of flights of fancy and I rarely cater to them anymore, but when it came to me one night while chanting that I should tell her I appreciate her laugh, it felt right.

The idea may have grown from the disconcerting news I had read about the arctic and subsequent thoughts about everything going to shit. Scary, but also liberating. Rather than cower in some corner waiting in dread to die, why not say, fuck it, may as well enjoy myself before we're thrust into oblivion? So it came to me to approach a virtual stranger and pay her a compliment. And to do so without the weight of expectation. It would be enough for me to just assert myself and say YES to life in a seemingly small way. If nothing came of it, so be it.

I was at the registry this morning for about an hour and Maureen was there, but she appeared to be swamped with work. And because I had determined to let whatever was about to happen, happen organically and without urgency or force, I figured today wasn't going to be the day. Once I completed my own work, I called Marcy and told her I was headed to the office. After that, I called Ray to secure our plans for the weekend. When our call ended, I saw Maureen standing by herself a few feet away from me. A window had opened.

I walked over to her, surprisingly a little nervous, and .....

"This may sound a little weird to you, but I want to tell you how much I enjoy your laugh."

She laughs. This makes me want to say, "That's the one", but I don't. Instead....

"Sometimes if I'm here and I'm a bit crabby, hearing your laugh cheers me up."

"That's so sweet. Thank you."

Someone needed her attention and we parted ways. I felt enlivened. I felt like emitting a whoop. Not because I had  just asked someone out, because I hadn't, and not because I felt like I had a shot with her, because I have no idea if I do -she might be married for all I know. No, all of this was as I said: to assert myself, to say YES to life, to engage it, but maybe even more to brighten someones day, if only a tiny bit. Anything positive that stems from this is just gravy. If we never talk again, that will be fine. If we fall in love and wed, well, that will be fine, too. No expectations. Life moves according to its own script. Dharma.

At the registry, I had been reading from Moby Dick.

"....this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way - he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. "

Yup.

Good night, readers.I await the uploading of what is being called a incredible bit of video of a Sasquatch. I know not to get my hopes up, but I'm eager to see it.

All our lives we sweat and save, building for a shallow grave, must be something else we say

I just finished reading Jennifer Egan's brilliant A Visit From The Goon Squad. Its themes of aging and the loss of innocence moved me in ways I wasn't prepared for, but I'm not sure it can be said I was prepared for anything. I went into the book knowing it was lauded, but not expecting anything from it. It's a very good book. J.E., you are a titan of the written word.

Had a dream last night that mostly took place in a very large house I was staying in. It was late at night, Craig was there hanging out with Bruce Springsteen (I remember thinking, "Oh, Springsteen's here", in such a way that suggested A. he'd been around before and B. he was a bit of a pain in the ass), a horde of hipsters invaded the premises, Matt among them wearing a mask, and chaos ensued. Outside the house, Matt pulled out a gun and applied it to the side of someones head, execution style. I yelled "No, Matt!", but he didn't hear me. My body tensed in anticipation of the gun's report and my mind braced for the gruesome shock of seeing someones brains being blown out. Nothing happened. Matt ran over to a fence and doffed the mask he'd been wearing; he was smiling as if it were all a game. I made my way through the ghostly throng of revelers towards Matt with the aim of chastising him, but I never made it.

Time leaped forward. It was later in the morning, the sun was out and I was entering a church. I saw Janelle in one of the pews, there was space to sit next to her, but I sensed she was waiting for someone else and sat near the front between two women I vaguely knew who seemed to be interested in me. I awoke before the mass began. I wonder about those women.
--
Stopped by work this morning to pick up some docs I need to record in Cambridge tomorrow and then went out to lunch with my parents. We went to a new restaurant in town, where I had an avocado and tofu sandwich, and later, back at their house, we talked about the swift, unstoppable current of technological progress. My mother reiterated how distressing all this change is to her. She's not alone: there are many feeling overwhelmed and disoriented by it. Ah, but life is nothing but change; every single aspect of it is stamped with impermanence. We can choose to avoid this fact, but the fact remains. I didn't say any of this to her. She knows, we all know, but we deny it, look the other way. Instead, I told her how sexy she's looking these days. No, I did not say that, either, but I might the next time I see her. Don't judge, readers.

When I came home, I practiced yoga for an hour and then made a salad with kale, mixed greens, chopped watermelon, organic red grapes, red onion, grape tomatoes, avocado, mushrooms, shredded carrots, and crabbed meat with my new favorite, wasabi mayonnaise. Needless to say, I feel as hale and robust as a mountain goat ready to mate with his one true love.

And now, I leave you, but I will be back. I offer you the sage words of Kiss to sustain you until my next post.

Well, we work all day and we don't know why
Well, there's just one thing that money can't buy  
When your body's been starved feed your appetite 
When you work all day, you gotta "Uh!"all night

So close up the honkey-tonks and throw away the key, then maybe the one I love will come back to me

I don't have much for you tonight. I'm about ready to hop in bed, watch some more of Herzog's Signs of Life, perhaps read a little, and then lose all awareness of my body and my life as I know it and burrow inward, ever inward, to the realm of sleep and dreams. Where will I venture tonight? I hope somewhere that finds me making love to someone sweet while misty angels fly about, gossamer and free.

Today went by quickly, but it was taxing. I visited registries in Worcester, Fitchburg, and Lowell, which took up most of the day. I hardly ever do that much traveling for work, but one of our clients hired us to record a Power of Attorney at every registry in the state. A lot of driving. Tomorrow, I head into Boston and then Cambridge for more recording. At least those registries are close by.

When I came home from work, I made my first ever batch of lentil soup. It came out pretty good; I'll fine tune the recipe with subsequent batches. I should try using a cauldron. Where does one acquire a cauldron? Hmmm.....

I practiced yoga tonight and it wasn't a revivifying session. It did, however, reinforce the even frame of mind I maintained throughout the day. Not every session is going to be transcendent, but they're almost always worthwhile.

It's off with me. I look forward to having some money in my wallet. I'm looking forward to buying some food and other essentials (I can't wait to get at some roasted cashews). Next week will find me making kale shakes in the morning. I hear they blast you with so much energy, you orgasm through every orifice with such explosive force the spasms can be felt within a ten mile radius. And I'll also be continuing to reduce my bread intake, which at this point is almost nonexistent, and I'll once again be saying, "Get thee behind me, Sugar!" as I phase that awful, yet so very delicious, substance out of my diet. We take things slow, children, so as to institute lasting change.

Good night, readers, and pleasant dreams. I hope your sleep conjures the warmth and security you felt as a downy infant in your swaddling clothes. And remember to meditate if you have even the slightest interest in evolving as a conscious being. You can chant like I've been doing or you can keep your big mouth shut and just sit there quietly. There's no right way to do it, but just do it or something bad is going to happen to you and every one you care about. And Billy, well he'll suffer the most.