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.

Please don't be long, please don't you be very long

My ride home from work today was interesting, what with the severe wind and pockets of stabbing, aggressive, rain. I got through it valiantly, though, and am no worse for wear. If you were a passenger in the car, you might have thought I was crying at various intervals, but I wasn't; it was just the rain reflecting off my face. I ain't yella! As I said, I got through it valiantly.

I'm still a little sore from yoga class last night. Just a little bit in the shoulders and neck. Fine with me; it was a great class. We used straps and blocks and even the wall. Spira was with me and if you want to talk about someone crying....Aw, I'm just joshing, she ain't no crybaby. Well, at least not last night she wasn't. So, yeah, great class, which, to my pleasure, was book-ended with the chanting of Aum.

I am as close to being flat broke as I've been in years, which is kind of funny considering I've been working a lot more hours. I'm not exactly sure why I'm so broke; probably just a timing issue. I'll get paid on Friday and all will be set aright. In the meantime, every penny counts. I don't mind it so much; I'm forced to be creative with what little money I have until payday.

I think I could watch Careful every day. I just love it so. Swoon.

Saw The Dark Knight Rises over the weekend with Spira and I'm not going to lie to you, when I heard someone shouting near the entrance of the theater about half way through the movie, thoughts of the Aurora shooting passed through my mind and it's possible I may have tensed up. Fortunately, it was just some loud mouth asshole doing the yelling. And no, I didn't cry, but I did, just at that very moment, spill some water on my crotch, which, if you were in attendance, might have looked to you like I peed myself. Not true, I say, not true! Remember, I am pure of heart and possess a will of steel. It was water, I tells ya. Oh, yeah, the movie effin rocked!

I'm listening to Hawkwind as I type. Most people associate Lemmy only with Motorhead, but he was blasting away on his bass in an acid-induced haze with Hawkwind  before that band existed. Anyway, I think I need to listen to something else because my mind is beginning to warp like a fun house mirror. Maybe some John Denver will restore my equilibrium.

Okay, time to go. I plan on doing some chanting later, calling a friend on the telephone, and much, much more. See you on the fippedly-flip, you jack-booted thugs.

Namaste

I'm not attractive today, I'm not a sight for sore eyes

Twas a long, but productive day. In the morning, I went into Boston to pick up some certified copies and on the way back a skeletal, bearded old git sat next to me on the T. He stank so bad, I had to tilt my head away from him or I probably would have thrown up in my mouth. Judging by the odor, my guess was that he'd been eating a lot of Italian subs, curry dishes, and moth balls. He kept jawing at me in a loud voice, but I had no idea what he was saying because I was listening to Fairport Convention on my iPod. I may have had to put up with his stench, but I wasn't going to cater to his nonsensical ramblings. You may be asking yourself how could I tell his ramblings were nonsensical if I couldn't make out what he was saying. Trust me, they were. You should have seen the looks on the people sitting opposite us; their eyes told a story I was glad to be tuning out.

My DVD of Guy Maddin's Careful arrived in the mail yesterday. I watched some of it last night and will probably start the whole thing over tonight. It's the first film I ever saw of his and it's what hooked me. The visuals are incredible, almost overwhelming at times. The film recalls feverish dreams I had as a child when I took ill, which was often. Those dreams are fondly recalled; they were born from sickness, but they were for the most part friendly sojourns to surreal locales. Werner Herzog says we're starving for new images; Guy Maddin filled my plate with this film.

I'm beat, so I'll finish this up and get things I need to get done before sleep overtakes me. I'll meditate, read from The Trial or A Visit From The Goon Squad, maybe write some music. Or I'll go clubbing and get my dance on.

It's been decided: I will sit down and chant. After that, who knows.

If you don't take her out tonight, she's going to change her mind

The Buddha said, " When a wise person suffers, she asks herself, ' What can I can do to be free from this suffering? Who can help me? What have I done to free myself from this suffering?' But when a foolish person suffers, she asks herself, ' Who has wronged me? How can I show others that I am the victim of wrongdoing? How can I punish those who have caused my suffering?'"


I am foolish more than I am wise, but I'm working on it. And so are you, in your own way. When I think back to the time of The Buddha, I imagine it to be exotic, almost otherworldly. So long ago, yes, but they were dealing with the same bullshit we are. As I intended to do after my last post, I went and listened to Duncan Trussel's latest podcast and immediately felt better. His first words were about not waiting for some sacred time to meditate, but to do it no matter how you're feeling or where you are. From there, he spoke about chanting (Nam-myoho-renge-kyo-nam-myoho-renge-kyo-nam-myoho-renge-kyo). He injected me with some truth, made me laugh, and helped right my ship. Thanks, Duncan.

So maybe we should talk about The Shitter. The building I work in doesn't have bathrooms in the various spaces it rents, so we all use the public restrooms. I usually visit the men's room at least once every hour or two, depending on how much water I've been drinking and how restless I feel. About 78% of the time I'm there, I see the same guy crouched in one of the stalls (I know his shoes - brand new-looking white Nike's). Because my imagination knows no bounds, I took to calling him The Shitter. I'm pretty sure he's multifaceted, but as far as I'm concerned he's just a guy who takes a lot - too many, in my opinion - of shits. Maybe he calls me The Pisser. I've been esteemed less.

I'm guessing he takes at least five shits a day. And I know he's shitting and not just passing time. Believe me, I know - the smells and sounds emitting from the stall offer no other possibility. I used to get annoyed when I'd enter the bathroom and he'd be in there - you can guess why - but now I just laugh at myself for being annoyed with a guy who's just answering nature's call and also at the absurdity of the frequency of said call. Sometimes I want to approach this roly poly shit factory and say, "Look, it's none of my business, but what's the deal with all the shitting? It's evident you're pretty out of shape and most likely eat a lot of food that is not good for you, but I bet even someone a hundred pounds heavier than you shits less frequently. If I'm out of line, please tell me, but do you have some kind of condition that has your intestines working double time?"

I'll never ask him. I want him to have sovereignty over his body. I want him to shit without feeling self conscious about it. It wouldn't be right for me to pose questions to him that would imply what he's doing is wrong and that he should do something to correct the problem. The Shitter needs to be able to thrive, despite what others like myself think. Sure, maybe he might want to explore the possibility of treating his body with a little respect and eat better and less, but it's not for me to say. So, yeah, The Shitter.

Time to end the post, which started out with some sage words by The Buddha and blossomed into a diatribe about a guy who shits a lot. I'm what you would call a renaissance man. Anyway, off I go. It would be wise of me to work on some music, to meditate, to read some Kafka, to watch some Herzog, to listen to some Ram Dass. All of this may happen; it is early yet.

Then I'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours

Going into this post, I was determined to be less of a downer than I was in the last but the first song I hear on my iTunes shuffle is Red House Painter's 24. For those of you not familiar with the song or the group, know that the song isn't very uplifting, despite being effing awesome. I'll carry on with my original plan and if the post turns gloomy, you'll know why.

Had a powerful dream last night, but I'm sure it won't seem so in the telling. I was a passenger in a car about to cross a bay on a precarious wooden plank bridge not much wider than the car. I don't know who was driving, but I trusted him. As we made our way up the bridge, which by the way was only slightly wider than the car and had no side supports, we were met with a wall of fog. I knew the bridge arced high above the water and was concerned we'd drive right off it. The driver was confident we'd make it and proceeded onward. I wasn't too nervous; as I said, I trusted him.

Somehow we made it through the fog. When it cleared, we were greeted with clear skies and were fairly close to the other side. We weren't out of danger, though; ahead, where the bridge leveled out, we saw that it was about three or four feet under water. We got out of the car and walked onward to get a better look. The car will sink, I thought. We'll never make it. There was still about a quarter of a mile to go before we reached land.

 Help was on the way.

A moment later, a young woman in a boat approached us and took us the rest of way. We left the car on the bridge and weren't too concerned with its welfare (we discard possessions much easier in dreams). The woman welcomed us to Turkey, but the landscape resembled San Francisco more than anything else. She took us to her house where about four middle-aged women greeted us. They had European accents (German?) and made us feel at home. Very at home. They kissed and hugged us and whispered innuendos in our ears. Needless to say, I felt very relaxed and content.

And then I woke up. I won't bother trying to analyze the dream, considering it seems pretty self explanatory. After the last couple of days I had, which had me feeling low at various intervals, it felt like I was being told to hold fast and not to worry, that better things are on the way, I just can't see them yet.

 Have faith. And trust the driver.

On a clear day you can see forever

Just got home and I'm beat. And resigned to my dharma; if not all the way, then closer than before. This means the frustration and bewilderment that has resulted from this path I'm on has been diluted to the point where I.....Ok, my computer just crashed again. Been happening with greater frequency. Am I surprised? Nope. Computers aren't built to last. Well, it's a good thing I have a pile of F-you money in my closet to buy another one that will last only a few years.

I had a dream last night that seemed to last the entire time I was asleep. The details are sketchy, but I feel I've been there before and that it might real. Whatever its nature, I wish I was there right now. I was with friends and felt peace and joy.

I dream of leaving. I can do it easier than many. The seed of a plan begins to form.

Another short post because I'm feeling pretty shitty and probably should try to remedy that. I'll go listen to Duncan Trussell's latest podcast. He has an uncanny way of addressing what I need most .

 Peace, readers.

And you are my everything

Matt came home with a box of toys the other day. Throughout the house there are plastic guns, G.I. Joe dolls in various states of undress, and more plastic guns strewn about. I never thought I would ever have to get after one of my roommates to clean up his toys, but it seems I'm going to have to. The state of disarray our place is in is as irritating as it is humorous. Thinking about it right now, I'm leaning strongly towards irritating.

 Seeing the toys brought back memories. It is absolutely fucked up that we give our children weapons to play with. I used to own a lot of toy guns and every action figure I owned came equipped with at least one weapon. Naturally, playtime was centered around violence, albeit imaginary. I remember prowling around the yard with a rifle, murdering all sorts of bad guys in my mind. My death count was high.

 Ah, sweet, innocent youth. Where for art thou? I need a gun back in my hand; I want to feel alive again. I shiver at the thought of growing up with toys that promoted things like love and sex. Imagine if there was a Barbie with a hand job grip. No thanks, I'm happy with the G.I. Joe kung fu grip. And I'm also happy to have been exposed to a shit ton of violence on TV and in films. What a messed up childhood I would have had if rules weren't in place that forbade me from seeing people making love on screen. Yuck!
--
I'm done with this post. Sorry for the brevity, but I'm not in a great mood, there is agitation within, and I don't want to spread the misery. I'll work on some music. I've got to get busy finding people to collaborate with. And not only that, but I've been proud of the stuff I've been writing and I want to share it. It took me a while, but I've finally gotten the hint the friends I asked are not interested.. It's ok, my stuff is not every one's cup of tea. So, yeah, time to get crackin'.


 Peace, children.