Take a sad song and make it better

On the highway today, I must have had an angel on my shoulder. Maybe one one each. I was on my way to Cambridge to do some work at the courthouse and  thinking about Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, a book by the Tibetan Buddhist, Chögyam Trungpa, I should have coming in the mail. Then my thoughts turned to God (I try to commune as much as I can, even if it's just checking in). I reached over for my phone or to grab my water - I don't remember which- and when I looked up, traffic had come to a complete stop ahead of me. I hit the brakes hard.

I had been in the passing lane, but that changed. The car spun out of control; tires screeched. Around and around I went, thinking first My mother's car is about to be totaled and then I am not getting out of this in one piece.

When my car finally, mercifully, came to a stop, I was now two lanes over to the right and perpendicular to the road. Unscathed, I took a moment to exhale before realizing I was still in significant danger. The car had stalled and it took a couple of attempts to start it. I pulled over to the brake down lane and tried to regroup.

I assessed the landscape. At least eight cars littered the highway, at rest and askew. Patches of black tire marks told the story of the chaos that transpired. Yet there wasn't a single collision. Not even a fender bender. This should have turned out a lot worse. Logic dictated as much. But yet...

It was surreal. Everyone just sat there for a moment probably bewildered like me at the unlikelihood of their fortune. The scene seemed to warrant some kind of acknowledgement between the parties involved, even if only to marvel at the outcome. Instead, everyone straightened out their cars and proceeded with their journey.

What occurred could have been random, but I don't believe so. I don't toss out the word miracle very often, but it applies here. I drove away, breathing hard and saying Fuck, Fuck,Holy Shit, over and over. I laughed; my knees shook; a part of me felt like crying.

 I shall live another day. I am grateful.

Janelle was in Davis Sq. earlier this evening. We met up at Mike's Pizza and drank Newcastles at a table outside. What a lucky man, able to spend time with someone I love so much when I could have ended up in the hospital or a morgue. This life is a floating bubble with delicate skin. We see death as a far off thing, which gives us the ability to take things for granted. I'm not as afraid of dying as I used to be. In some ways I look forward to it. To me, death is not final; it is transition. Still, I'm not keen on going any time soon, which is precisely why I'm cancelling my three week trip to Sierra Leone.

 I am going to bed. Good night, my peaceful lambs.

Mon Legionnaire

I had trouble getting to sleep last night. I lay in bed, fretting about concerns that shouldn't have been worth the time. Counterbalanced to this was a clear, golden voice of light, calling bullshit on my cloudy, erroneous thoughts.You know  this is a one way street. You know that if you continue subjecting yourself to this inner torment you will only get more of the same. My ego, exposed to the light, convulsed and attacked and howled. A battle ensued. At some point I fell asleep. I woke up and returned to the tangled, tightening web of  misery. And again that clear, golden voice of light chipped away at the ego's misdirection and deceit. I finally fell back asleep. It was some time after three. I was spent, but I woke up this morning feeling hale, like I had overcome something significant. I'm pretty sure that I did. At the least, a battle was won.

Earlier tonight, I hung out with Spira. A dark section of our past was projected onto the present, diagnosed and mulled over. It was not a pleasant experience overall, and maybe not productive, but it ended well. Neither of us held onto whatever feelings were stirred up. We watched an episode of Louis and laughed while I ate the leftover sushi she didn't want. I left  fairly late, marveling at how perceptions, so often unique to the individual, reinforce the illusion of separateness we maintain. Maya is a hell of a drug. I suppose you could argue the opposite; if you do, I won't try to stop you. I'm tired, it's late. I have no fight in me, child.

Time for bed. I probably won't meditate, but I've been communing with God all day, probably irritating him with all my claptrap.Who else is so tolerant? Billy is, I think. Still, I may squeeze in some passages from the Gita, which honeys my soul, my mind, my heart. A gorgeous piece work.

And so are you. I'm not just saying that - really, you're effin hot. I shall dream about your hotness. And tomorrow will soon be upon me. I'll work and then meet up with Amanda at some point. Sleep well, toddlers.

Hip-hip for the lift, hip-hip for the drag, I want them all in my bag

Sunday. I woke up and practiced yoga for an hour. I tried, and was somewhat successful, not to let the disarray that surrounded me agitate my mind. Afterward, I ate breakfast, meditated for an hour, and enjoyed the quiet that has been surprisingly predominant all weekend. When Matt got up around two (he might give you a run for your money, Kreg) and turned on his stereo, I gathered some supplies and walked over to the park, where I sought tranquility over skater punk.

The park was the image of serenity. Scattered about were people laying out in the sun. I read from the Bhagavad Gita  and then listened to Pandit Jasraj summon divinity on my iPod while I languidly watched the sun shimmer and wink through the swaying branches above me. I stayed  for a few hours and left when a birthday party broke out about fifty feet away from me.

Last night I hung out with Mara. Before watching Inception, which she had never seen, she filled me in about the guy she's (sort of) seeing. She really likes him, said they've got great chemistry; the only problem is that he doesn't want to commit to anything beyond casual. Which is fine, but when she mentioned to him that she was going on a date this weekend, he suddenly showed more interest in her and floated the idea that it was possible he might be more smitten than he previously thought. Call me cynical, but I'm willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that once he feels secure she's not seeing anyone else, he'll return to keeping her at arm's length. Needless to say, I advised her not to settle on this situation if she's looking for something more. While she's focusing her energy on him, she can't direct it towards one that suits her desires. Of course, I stressed, whatever advise I dole it out is informed by only one perspective: hers. I tried not to speak from a position of a complete knowledge of events, but at times it felt like I was. Beware the nettles of advice giving! Still, my overarching point, that she should never settle no matter who's she's dating, got through, I think. Will this one come around? Will he someday look at her and say, "I think I'm ready to take this to the next level", as he tenderly reaches for her hand? Time will tell.

Almost through watching all the Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes. Thank you for the laughs, Mr. David. And thank you also for keeping Leon around. More laughs on the way: Season 2 of Louis is streaming on Netflix and I'm going to be all over that like crocs on a dumpy hippie.

As you were, my little soy beans. As you were.

You were an expert even then, but not me, not yet

I feel like I've been receiving more favorable attention from women lately. This is a good thing, I say. Last night, I caught one of the clerks at Newbury Comics gazing at me. "Does she think I'm about to steal something?", I asked myself in the two seconds leading up to her catching herself and quickly diverting her gaze. It happened once more. This time it was me who released the gaze. She was cute, but I wasn't prepared to initiate the courting process. This may have the ring of low self esteem, but it was quite the opposite; when one shifts his perspective over to a belief in abundance, one realizes he doesn't have to pursue every woman who shows him even the slightest bit of attention. Still, one walked out of the store taller than when he came in. The ego likes to be liked.

Earlier in the week, I received even more attention from a woman, but I'd rather not get into that situation right now.Not that it's too complicated (it's rather unfettered) or that it would agitate my emotions too much to retell it. No, it's just that I don't want pontificate over something that inevitably may prove to be without substance. It shouldn't, not yet, occupy the forefront of my attention. Or yours, for that matter.


So why this recent attention? Well, my friends, I think it's a combination of things. I'm feeling more comfortable in my flesh, more self-assured. And I'm taking better care of myself physically. Oh yeah, and I possess a radiant, pure heart, that attracts all of God's creatures to me like the strongest of magnets. Then there's my winning smile and my......

I think it was the venerable Han Solo who once said, "Don't get cocky, kid". I shall take his advice.

Last night, I made two worthy, no-brainer purchases. I picked up the latest season of Curb Your Enthusiasm on DVD and Fiona Apple's latest album. I've already watched four episodes of Curb and listened to the album three times (It is pure art and stunning from start to finish. Fiona is one of the best songwriters alive and this might be her masterpiece. And her voice has never sounded better). Bliss.

Now on with my day. I'll see Mara later. It's been a while. In the meantime, I'll get stuff done. Have a joy-permeated weekend, readers. Don't succumb to the delusory trappings of those who seek to sap your energy and feed upon it with grotesque lust. Be a clear vessel! You have the power of discrimination and an inner, reliable compass to protect you from scoundrels.

Peace, always.

Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she's breathing low

Get thee behind me Satan!

Just wanted to get that out of the way.

Today, the first day of summer (I'm not exactly sure it is; Fred told me this earlier), was a hot one - almost cracked 100 - but I hardly noticed, sheltered in an air-conditioned office for most of the day. When I came home, my first order of business was to put my AC in. Then I practiced yoga in the cooling oven of the day and sweat toxins (and perhaps some of God's love) for an hour. A good session and, like the previous one, I was focused throughout; nary a thought had its say.

Ever take a staple yourself? Up until today, I hadn't had the pleasure. My stapler jammed and in the process of  figuring out why, I stapled the pad of my index finger. All the way in, it went. It hurt, I bled. No, I did not cry; not because I have a high tolerance for pain, but because I haven't a tear left to cry.

Awwwwww.....

I just read a story about a bus monitor in New York that was filmed being bullied by a group of students on the bus after school. I watched most of the ten minute video was saddened me to see this poor woman being tormented. A beautiful thing happened, though. The video went viral and an outpouring of support came from all over the world. Money is being raised; as of today, almost fifty thousand dollars.

The focus has shifted now. The bullying, that torrent of verbal abuse, takes a back seat to compassion and support. Say what you want about the Internet, but it has the power to work wonders in an unprecedented manner, as evidenced by Occupy Wall Street, the Kony campaign, and now this. The "news" on TV is generally a one-sided roll call of awful incidents, leaving the viewer feeling helpless and afraid.The Internet is our last bastion of free speech and not a one way street of doom and gloom. This is precisely why I fear it won't be long before our freedoms therein will be inhibited substantially. I hope that day never comes.

Anyway, reading that story bolstered my faith that there are plenty of compassionate, charitable people in the world. The more this type of thing happens, the sooner our baser instincts will dissolve. Kids may not be so quick to be little shits if they know their actions may have swift and far reaching consequences. More importantly, they'll be taking their cues from positive actions because they'll offer more rewards than negative ones.

And now, I will meditate. Good night, hatchlings.

Does not exist, take an exit

When I came back to work after recording at the registry in Lawrence, Amanda was standing by the door smiling, like she had been waiting for me. I smiled back and we shared a hug. I had felt a mixture of trepidation and eagerness when I heard Tim mention last week that she was coming by that Friday to pick up some documents for her mom, but when I saw her today it was evident the ease between us had not waned. It felt like I had just seen her, like there wasn't a gap of years in our timeline. When I didn't see her on Friday, I figured she must have stopped by before my arrival or while I was on the road. It was a let down, not seeing her. I thought there might be a slight chance I'd get to today, but it didn't seem likely and so my thoughts were directed elsewhere.

Which was why I was surprised when I opened the door and almost walked into her. We talked briefly before people came over to say hi (Amanda used to work in the office before I did and her family is friendly with at least a couple of my coworkers). She filled everyone in about what she's been up to and every time she laughed, my ears and heart felt joy. Hers is one of the great, authentic laughs and over the years I would try to amuse her constantly just to hear it.* As she left, she told me she was going to call me soon. I hope she does; we've got some catching up to do.
 

After work, I practiced yoga and was vigilant about being mindful (have no doubt, self-realization takes a lot of will and perseverance, qualities even you possess, Billy). Every position received almost all of my attention  and I felt focused and loose at the end of the session. And then on to dinner. I stir-fried some tofu and portabella mushrooms and placed them gently (always gently) over a bed of mixed greens. Atop this creation, I sprinkled feta cheese in a graceful manner reminiscent of snowfall over a Vermont farm. Along the edges of the plate I placed sliced watermelon and blueberries. Then, and you're not going to believe this, I ate it all, feeling clear and crisp - an awakened yogi. Yup, that's what I did. Now, to negate everything, I'm going to ruin my stomach with buffalo wings and wedding cake and cigarettes. Sometimes it's good to sabotage attempts at healthy living. At least that's what I read over at my favorite blog, The Fat Fuck's Guide To Making a Mockery of Your Body.

I know I've threatened to write a post about a dissolved friendship, but I'm debating whether I should, or more, how I should go about it. I know one thing: it's not going to entail me lashing out at this person. Even with the knowledge that he despises me, I still care about him. Sure, I wish things could have happened differently - being informed I was being shunned would have been nice - but I have no hatred in my heart for this person. It's a sad bit of business, but who knows, maybe someday....

Earlier, I framed a picture of Paramhansa Yogananda, who has become my guru whether he likes it or not, and every time I look over at it, I feel whole - wholly protected, wholly loved. To those of you who believe I might benefit from a few deprogramming sessions, I assure you, I am not embedded in some nefarious cult. Of course, that's what someone in a cult might say. I'm looking at you, Billy.


* Want to feel good? Want to extinguish self-defeating thoughts and worry? Need a break from cutting your arms with a a razor blade to alleviate the horror that your life has become? Here's what you do: bring to mind the people you've known with superior laughs (I'm fortunate to have known several. If you ask me nicely, I'll name a few). Picture them laughing. You'll soon feel like a toddler with fresh diapers and a handful of cake. If you don't know any good laughers than all I can tell you is that you should think about taking a cattle prod to your brain and holding it there until you cease to exist.

Time goes by like pouring rain and much faster things

Attempted yin yoga this morning, but I didn't have the will to endure the pain I was met with. On paper, it looks easy, even relaxing. Nope. Holding positions for three to five minutes that hurt immediately was not something I was ready to tackle today. Instead, I practiced sun salutations and some plank positions. Rest well tonight, yin yoga, but know that I'm coming for you. And I will succeed, you dirty son of a bitch (You could make the point that this approach to yoga is a bit unorthodox and wholly counterproductive, and you'd be right. Whatever.)

Just watched I Am Love, a lush, Italian film with the great Tilda Swinton. Think I'll work on some music tonight, though it's been tough knowing I can't record in this house anymore (there's hardly enough quiet times to put anything significant down).

This too shall, pass.

Here's the deal: I don't much feel like writing, so I'm going to wrap this up. I thought going into it that I'd have a whole bunch to write about - I do, to be sure- but the energy isn't there. So I'll end this and think about my plan of attack in different arenas. Like how soon can I move out of my place, get a new job, new car, etc. You know, the small stuff.

The new week begins. Will I meet it honorably? We'll see.

Starlings of the slipstream

I had a different post in mind than the one you're going to read. That one, which would have been a clearing of the decks regarding the ending of a friendship, will have to be tackled when I have the time and energy to devote to it. Tonight's post will, which will be short and far less weighty than that eventual post.

Been watching MMA fights the last couple of nights. Love the sport, which combines brutality and grace and everything in between. I've been feeling rather punchy this week, so watching guys beat the shit out of each other has been a good way to vent.

I've also been feeling out of touch spiritually. I've been practicing yoga and continue to meditate, but it wasn't until last night that I felt like any of it was making a difference. It helped that I read from a book of talks given by Paramhansa Yogananda beforehand. It's been difficult to tell if things are starting to look better or if they're becoming more shitty than they already are. I could tell you where my thoughts have been leaning, but I don't want to bum you out.

Maybe it's age. You reach a certain point in life when more things are taken away than are given. It's why youth is wasted on the young. Fuck, maybe I shouldn't be posting tonight. I thought I was in a decent mood, but now I wonder. I suppose I'll cheer up once I read a little and meditate.

I kissed my sweet Elaine goodbye and walked out in the rain

My sleep last night was intermittent. The thoughts, such pretty scenes, that appeared in its wake, clearly needed my attention. In the warm gelatinous murk of the state between sleep and waking, I drew up (or was shown) scenes of love, of possibilities. There was no regret upon waking that, while sweet, these scenes would probably never manifest. They may or they may not; mirage or truth, they were lovely to behold.

Janelle and I saw Prometheus today. I enjoyed it quite a bit, but not as much as I expected would. Still, I can't really find fault with the movie and I have a feeling I'll appreciate it more after subsequent viewings. Janelle, however, only gave it two stars because, and I quote, "There wasn't any dancing". I tried to explain to her that this wasn't the type of movie that required dancing. "I don't know about that", she said, I can think of at least two scenes that would have benefited from some crunk". Ok, she said none of that, but it's possible she might if you ask her to rate the movie. When it was over, we tried to make sense of it, but I'm not sure how successful we were. That's alright, easy answers are for chumps.

Alright, time to go work on my movie script. It's about a soon to be retired bank robber who gets lured into one more heist. All the guy wants to do is live in a bungalow on some beach in the Bahamas and make money tending bar. I won't tell you how it goes for him, but you'd be correct if you guessed not well. And things won't go well for you if you steal this fantastic idea. I'll sue you from neck to nuts.

Peace and good tidings, you wounded, forlorn lambs.

Love is touch, touch is love, love is reaching, reaching love

It is late in the evening and my mind soars even as it seeks rest. There was much to sort out. Earlier, at Spira's exhibit, I saw someone who once was my closest friend in the world and now despises me for reasons known only to him and, ostensibly, a few of his friends. I hadn't seen him in years and, though I knew it was likely I would run into him at some point, it was a bit of a jolt seeing him. And seeing was as far as it went. We didn't talk; he looked right through me. Despite the knowledge that he despises me, I had half-hoped he would at least offer greetings when we met again. Being shunned wasn't a surprise, but it stung. He left not long after my arrival, dissolving like mist in the sunlight.

I spoke with Foley. It wasn't a fruitful conversation. There has been some tension between us and tonight it culminated in what felt like the ending of our friendship. Nothing overt, nothing dramatic; only the soft click of a timer going off. Didn't feel very good, but it didn't feel terrible either. Between that bit of business and what transpired with my former friend I was soon feeling sullen. But not for long. All I had to do was look over at Janelle and think about how much I love her, how increasingly essential she's become in my life. Subsequent conversations with people I like and who seem to like me back made me feel better. So did viewing the great art on display and the feeling of pride I felt for Spira who I've had the pleasure of seeing evolve as an artist. Her work becomes more and more impressive. And Missy D, my sweet little girl, was there. She is so zen-like and pretty; of course she put a smile on my face. And talking to Kreg later served as another reminder that not everyone thinks I'm a satanic prick. It wasn't a bad night. Not at all.

It is late in the evening and my thoughts wind down. I will read from either The Drawing of The Three or the Bhagavad Gita. Tomorrow, I will go see Prometheus with Janelle. I am very excited.

Finland, Finland - so many trees John Denver would be pleased

The weekend asserts itself; I grow content. My first order of business upon arriving home from work was to murder some pesky flies that have taken up residence in my kitchen (a sign of biblical doom?). I won't get into my methods - to share them would be akin to revealing a secret recipe - but I will say that I felt the satisfaction of a job well done.

For work, I traveled to the registry of deeds in Lawrence and recorded a mortgage. I saw Delia (I think that's her name) working at her station behind the counter. As usual, we exchanged clandestine glances and, as usual, nothing came of it. And nothing will, I reckon; she seems a little too dour for my tastes and I'm not too attracted to her physically. Frankly, these shared glances serve only to provide a little thrill to my not often thrilling days. The ego likes to be liked. Am I saying I would turn her down if she got down to brass tacks? No, but I am saying it would be unlikely. Then again, the ego likes to be liked. And the dick likes to get laid (I almost cut that sentence out, but it made me laugh. It stays).

Last night,Matt, Fred, and I walked over to P.J. O'Ryans and watched the Celtics get shellacked by the Heat Lebron James. We checked out a couple of places prior to heading there, but they were packed; everyone was eager to see the Celtics advance to the finals. Everyone but Fred; he just wanted to find a place where he could order dinner and have some beers. Not a sports fan. Thought I might run into Bridget at P.J.'s, but she wasn't working. So, yeah, the only game I've seen all year pretty much blew.

Afterward, we headed back to the house. The entire walk, which took about fifteen minutes, was spent listening to Matt rant about his intense dislike for Lebron James. I didn't know whether to find it humorous, unsettling, or impressive. All I could do was listen. The only time I spoke up was when we neared our place. "You know, Matt, I'm starting to get the idea you don't care much for Lebron". Fred found this funny, but Matt was someplace else, adrift a river of loathing for a man he essentially knows nothing about. " I don't dislike the guy, but someone needs to give him a reality check", he said. I was in agreement that someone needed a reality check, I just wasn't sure it was Lebron who needed one. I hear guys like Matt every time I turn on sports radio. They get awfully worked up about things that have no direct bearing on their lives. To each his own, but if I ever reach that level, I want you to put a bullet in my throat and one in my cranium and one in my spine. And, to ensure that I'm dead, put another one in heart.

Well, I've said all I care to say. The weekend, if my plans pan out, looks like it will be a dandy. I'll let you know how it goes, rascals. As I type, I'm listening to Bitches Brew, but you can bet your sweet, well-rounded, ass that at some point I'm going to explore the new Sun Kil Moon record like I've been doing all week. Such a good album; intimate,open, sad, often humorous. Mark Kozelek's guitar playing is a sweet brew of finger picking; I admire it greatly. And he's loosened up in the exact right way. Neil Young would be proud. He's bypassed the mind in favor of the gut and stilled to silence the badgering blathering of the inner critic. I think I'll always love this album.

Ah, you don't give a shit, but if you're sick of Katy Perry (who's last record was referred to as an opus in an article I was reading about her in  Billboard, which is reason number 326 why the world is teetering on the precipice of being pulverized under the weight of our obnoxious and vulgar behavior), and you want to hear someone spill their guts in an act of pure, unvarnished, honesty, done so over lush, arpeggio-rich guitar playing and occasional, spare backing band, then I suggest you do one right thing in your life and devour this album like it's the only crucial thing in this bleak, monochromatic existence. *

Ok, bye everyone. Enjoy your day!

 * I think this could my longest sentence in blog history. There must be a cupcake in this for me. At least a cupcake.

Too many people pulled and pushed around, too many waiting for that lucky break

When I came home from work today, there was a guitar and amp set up int the kitchen. Matt. I grabbed a quick snack and he walked into the room. I asked him if he had a rough idea how long he was going to play because I was planning on practicing yoga in the adjoining room. He said he was planning on playing for at least an hour (and the reason why he was going to do it in the kitchen, he said, was because he couldn't find a three-pronged jack anywhere else, which seemed unlikely, but whatever). He asked me if it was important to me to practice yoga. "It is", I said, and left it at that.

He played and I went up to my room and got on the computer, activating my iTunes as quickly as possible in order to drown out the sounds seeping through the walls. It was over in less than an hour and I went downstairs and hit the mat. It  was a good session; my mind chattered but the thoughts were muted by the task at hand. Afterward, I felt refreshed and loose.

Thoughts of moving out have entered my mind more and more. Whether because of my own initiative or circumstances beyond my control (foreclosure lurks in sporadic whispers, a vague threat that could assert itself in a week, a month, or never), it's probably going to happen in the next few months. We'll see.

It's not a terrible situation where I live. Hardly. There are annoyances, but they're manageable. Yet, I'm growing restless and I wonder if the feeling will abate or increase. I'm still adjusting to Matt and the dynamic he presents. I think he's a good guy, but there is a bit of a hustler in him. Whatever, we're all fallible and what the fuck do I know, anyway? Still, there are things worth monitoring and the previous sentence notwithstanding, my gut has served me well. Since he's lived here, Matt has had two jobs and he quit both. I'm not overly concerned that he's unemployed - I have a sense that he'll land on his feet quickly - but the thought has crossed my mind that he may soon be unable to afford living here. We'll see.

Speaking of Matt, I'm hoping to meet up with him to watch the Celtics game. Shoot, it's starting now. I'll have to make some decisions shortly. Man, I don't have the time to get into how much I'm digging this Celtics team, but their success, which just about everyone, including their fans, didn't see coming, has been inspiring. When I heard they won in Miami the other night, winning their third straight, I felt good about things.

Went to my parent's house for dinner last night. Mom was sick, battling a virus, a strange bite on her neck, and the nauseating side effects of the antibiotics she's been taking. She held out as long as she could during my visit, but eventually had to go lie down. So it was just me and dad eating calzone and talking sports and birds (he's what you would call a buff).

Okay, time to go. The weekend looms and I see it smiling across the meadow waiting to embrace (or murder?) me. I'll have to do a little reconnoitering.

Fare well, my little cherubs. Remember to eat all your vegetables and please, please, remember to wash behind your ears!

Well they say it's kind of frightening how this younger generation swings, you know it's more than just some new sensation

I stayed home today. I hadn't had a day off  from work  in a while and, given the slow burn of discontent that's been brewing inside me as concerns it, I feel it was the right thing to do. Actually, things have smoothed out a little, but still, a day off was desired. I practiced yoga early in the day (a great session; the headstand mojo is coming along), read from The Drawing of The Three, took a nap that didn't really take, read some more and listened to the new Sun Kil Moon album, which contains so much naked, and often brutal, honesty throughout its seventy two minutes, the word brave comes to mind when thinking of ways to describe it. It may be too early in the listening game to state it, but Mark Kozelek took his writing to another level (the guitar playing is, as always, beautiful) with this album, and I will consider it a grave injustice if it doesn't get its due (so far it hasn't; the reviews I've read have been favorable, but reluctantly).

So it was a layabout day and, except for the yoga, when I had the energy and will to challenge myself physically, I spent a good part of it feeling a touch under the weather and nursing whispers of cynical, self-defeating thoughts. Late in the day, I took a shower and tried thinking of ways to snap me out of this malaise. Enough was enough. So I went down to the living in my short shorts and t shirt and got my zumba on. No, I did not really do that, but even the thought of zumba is enough to trigger some mirth. What I  really did was make a healthy dinner (veggie burger with fresh avocado and tomatoes with a side of stir-fried mushrooms and fish over a bed of mixed greens.

I've had a chill all day, actually the last several days, that has been hard to shake. I've been reluctant to turn the heat on - it is, after all, June - but I've come close. I've closed some window instead and it seems to have worked. I was beginning to think it was just my aging bones that brought the chill on, but I heard Matt, who is as spry as a well developed  third grader, close the window in his room earlier. I'm not a grandpa yet.

And now, you angels of mercy, I demand you go pick up a book and read from it. No How I Met Your Mother or America's Got Toddlers for you tonight. Work you minds, children. Don't know what to read? Ok, I'll tell you what book to read: The Golden Bough. Don't hem and haw - just get that book in your hands. And for you, Billie, I've got a different one: Blood Meridian. No go forth, all of you, with your task!

It gives me the butterflies, gives me away

I sat behind J in English class. It was my junior year and she was my crush. I projected so much onto her, but I hardly knew her. This was my first encounter with poetic beauty, poetic desire. I was awkward and unsure in the face of it and navigated the process of courting her in a drunken, loping manner. She swam in my head tirelessly, but I told no one about her. I didn't want anyone to talk me out of, or into - I'm not sure which - asking her out. I was eventually talked into it by Pete The Greek.

Pete The Greek (I did not anoint him with that name) was a coworker of mine in the produce section at the grocery store. He was a year or two older than me and  heavy with a machismo that was endearing only because it was inauthentic and not quite convincing. During a quiet shift one night, he got it out of me that I was smitten with J, who worked in the store as a cashier. "So go ask her out", he said, as if it were as simple as that. He badgered me with increased intensity throughout the rest of our shift. When I finally told him I'd do it, I wasn't under the impression he wanted me to do it that night, but that was exactly what he expected. "Why put it off? Just get it over with. Don't be a pussy.", he said. I wanted to get away from him, but underneath I was grateful for his prodding.

Later, I found myself outside near the entrance with J and Pete The Greek. I talked a bit with J and discovered Pete had gone back inside. Time to act. In my green produce coat and hat, I bit through the tongue of my nerves and asked J out on a date. She said maybe. At the time I thought maybe was better than no, but I've since learned it's often better to receive a definitive answer over one that offers up a cloudy menu of frustration and uncertainty.

In class the following day, I asked J if she'd come to a decision. She told me she had, and it was one I had not entertained. "Here's the thing, T (her best friend and our coworker) really likes you and I'd feel weird if I got in the way of that." I didn't know how to respond. I barely interacted with T and was not attracted to her. I wondered if J had made up a story so she wouldn't have to let me down directly. It didn't matter; whatever notion I had of us being together had been hung by the neck. Dead, extinguished.

It wasn't until a couple of years after graduation that I thought of J again. I was on my way to work and spotted her walking towards me on the other side of the street. I was assailed with old feelings and  tried to sort through them before they overwhelmed me. After that, I saw her frequently on my way to work. She had gone from being a memory shelved in the past to to suddenly ubiquitous.

I felt like the Universe was playing a cruel trick on me, like I was being toyed with. It was a lonely time for me; I had just gone through a protracted and painfully ambiguous relationship with K and my heart was young and raw and wounded. One day, after seeing J again, it became too much and I went into my room and wept into my pillow at the unfairness of it all. I was a stormy sea.

J reared up in my life in a different way. I was in the middle of my shift at the restaurant and heard the bar manager mention her name to someone she was on the phone with. I listened intently, puzzling over how she knew J. It didn't take long before it became evident that J was seeing my manager's son.

About a week later, I made a discovery. The woman I'd been seeing walking along the road was not J at all. I can't recall exactly how I figured it out, but I did. I felt foolish, the victim of another cosmic trick that served to rekindle the flame of longing I thought had been stamped out. I should note that this case of mistaken identity was not the result of my seeing J in every woman. As I said above, she hadn't been on my mind for a couple of years. No, this woman shared more than a passing resemblance with J. I remember thinking while smiling ruefully that I may as well ask this girl out - she was close enough. I didn't, of course, but I tell you, after re-watching Vertigo last night, I 'm glad I avoided that psychological rabbit's hole.

About a month later, I saw J, not her imposter, for the first time since high school. I had been having an awful day. I had just totaled my car and consequently was forced to abandon the idea of going to school that semester. Sean and I went to the movies to see JFK that night  to get my mind off the day's events. As we sat waiting for the movie to start, I saw J a few rows in front of me, sitting next to her boyfriend, my manager's son. Not a banner day.

That was the last time I saw J. Years later, with the advent of Facebook, J came back into my life. Not through a friend request, but upon viewing the friend's list of a high school acquaintance. She was still beautiful, now a wife and mother. No feelings were rekindled, I had moved on.

The other day, I saw a picture of her with a blond woman who looked familiar, but barely. It was a glossy, heavily touched up, professional shot. There was a comment below from J, thanking the photographer for taking the shot, adding it was a great representation of their love. Their love? I looked at the picture more closely. The two women were seated close to each other and were touching, but nothing in the shot suggested something amorous.

The photographer, who graduated with us, provided a link to a blog post that detailed J and the vaguely familiar looking woman's coming out. Amorous, indeed. Another shot posted today cemented the nature of their relationship. There they stood, standing in the middle of some street, holding hands and kissing. I figured out who the other woman was: it was none other than T, the best friend of J, and the one who ostensibly had a crush on me.

I read the photographer's blog entry. She detailed the events that led up to J and T's pairing. Back in their Junior year of high school, they had become so close their parents had taken measures to separate them. Their burgeoning love for each couldn't be quelled, however; a class trip to Italy provided the environment for them to express their feelings unhindered. After that, they went their separate ways. They lost touch and led the lives of straight women, each marrying and having children. Recently they met up through Facebook, and discovered their love for each other, long dormant, was still present. They plan to wed.

After all I went through with J (most of which she was mercifully unaware of ), I have to laugh at how it all turned out. She was a lesbian the whole time I was swooning over her, fancying sweet images of her and I braided in everlasting love. Maybe the Universe had done me a favor after all.

I really love you more than that, but I'm half man other half alley cat

I'm shooting for a quick post, but whenever that is my aim, the results are often contradictory. Nothing for it but to go for it. I'll type quickly, getting my thoughts out with little filtering. We'll come as close to stream-of-consciousness territory as you can get, which means typos, unfinished and inarticulate ideas, etc. Why post at all, then? Because I feel like it, asshole. Jesus! Let's just.....move on, shall we? It won't be that bad. Remember, I'm pure-hearted.

After work on Friday, I headed up to Tracy and Ray's house. We ate dinner and talked and I played with Faith and James, two of my favorite kids ever. Faith and I resumed our staring contest, which we engage in every time we see each other. Don't tell her, but she never stood a chance; I went to staring camp every summer since I was eight. I'm what you would call an expert.

After the kids went to bed, Tracy, Ray, and I talked until around midnight (mostly about you, Billy). They held out as long as they could, but sleep is a harsh mistress and required their attention. And, as it happened, mine. I didn't think I was that sleepy, but when I got under the covers in the guest room, I fell asleep within minutes of reading from The Gunslinger (which, for the record, houses one of King's best, and most profound, bits of writing in the chapter where Roland and the Man In Black palaver throughout an endless night). I woke up at some point wondering where I was. Once figured out, I fell back asleep and entered into a long reel of dreams, most pleasant, except for the one one in which I met a quick "Oh Shit!" death when I got plowed into by a car while crossing a street. No, pleasant would not be how I'd describe that one.

I awoke in the morning to the pattering of rain on the roof. I came downstairs and Tracy made me pancakes and coffee and, along with Ray, we talked for a few hours. Reason # 14 why Faith and James are such good kids (and let no credit escape their parents for their disposition): they don't have to be the center of attention at all times. They were content playing in the other room while the grown ups talked, and when they did interact with us, it wasn't out of an urgent need for attention.

I drove home around one in the rain and gloom. I wasn't feeling so hot. Sore throat, headache, and runny nose assailed me in unpredictable increments. The food poisoning I thought I had earlier in the week was most assuredly allergy related. The excessive pollen could be the culprit. Leave me alone, you green bully!

Today, I'm feeling the same. It's manageable, but the motivation to practice yoga is barely there. Ah, but I'll do it all the same. You've got to push through the doldrums if you want to accomplish anything in life. Later, I'll read from The Drawing of The Three (Who spins a juicier tale than Stephen King?) and listen to the new Sun Kil Moon. I may watch Vertigo again or Herzog's Into The Abyss. Low key is how it shall be. Don't expect to find me getting my dance on at some young blood club with Ke$ha pulsing in my eardrums. Not today. Tomorrow? Perhaps.

Enjoy your day, my brothers and sisters, and remember to tell yourself This Too Shall Pass when things take a turn toward the shitty or uncomfortable. Every single thing in life changes-the sweet, the sour, everything. Should go without saying, but we all lie to ourselves about this prevailing aspect of life. Nothing stays the same and dealing with this truth can bring suffering, but it can also bring liberation. You decide which.

Post Script. I've practiced yoga, taken a shower, eaten an orange, and traipsed through the fields of the internet. I'm hungry and think upon the avocado I'll be including in my supper later on. Will I be able to contain the urge to eat it now? I can't say for sure, but I'm confident that will be the case. To be sure, eating a ripe avocado is one of the most sublime experiences you're likely to experience on this vast earth, but it is patient and doesn't invade your skull with aggressive, urgent, hypnosis like Tolkien's ring that beckons, always beckons.

So I will remain steadfast like Galadriel and wait on that avocado. Or something like that.