People take pictures of each other, just to prove that they really existed

I was just listening to Duncan Trussell talk about the idea popular amongst New Agers that the reason the planet is so heavily populated is because beings from other realities are flocking to incarnate here so they can take part in our grand, planetary awakening. A true blockbuster event akin, but only barely, to The Super Bowl. I like this idea. We've allowed the doomsayers the floor for too long. To be sure, we are in dire straits on a number of levels, but that doesn't mean we're fucked. I can't remember being born, but I'm one hundred percent sure it was traumatic. And I turned out ok, right? Right? Hello?

Anyway, it's about transformation, not destruction.

Last weekend, I woke up one morning because of a loud beep that interfered with a dream I was having. I groggily thought about how peculiar it was and promptly fell back asleep. Just as I was slipping into a dream, I heard the beep again and woke up. It lasted two or three seconds and sounded a bit distorted. At worst, it was disruptive and startling; overall, though, the sound wasn't unpleasant. I started to slip into another dream and the beep returned, waking me again. Fortunately that was the last time it happened and I was able to fall back asleep without any further disturbance.

I can't say with authority what was going  on. Could the beeping have been generated from an external source like, say, an agitated driver using his horn ? It's possible - more than once the sound of my alarm clock or the TV has been incorporated into a dream I was having -  but not likely. The beep only appeared just as I started dreaming and only then; the intervals I was awake were quiet.

Who knows what was going on. Maybe I was picking up a transmission from another dimension. In Vonnegut's Bluebeard, the notion that our bodies are nothing more than radios is put forth. When the radio breaks it doesn't mean what was being transmitted is broken. Another radio will broadcast it just fine. In other words, we are not our bodies.

I digress. Where was I? Oh, the beeps. I don't know the reason for their presence, but they were quite separate from the dream I was having, enough so that I was torn from my sleep. Anyway, I pretty much think I'm not a native to this realm, so I'm not too put off by this development.

--

I was looking at my car today and realized that it has the shape of The Baby Boy Z's head. I just hope it doesn't sneeze like him; the dude crashes his head onto the floor every time. I don't think my car is as durable as he is.So tell me: what kind of dog does your vehicle resemble? You don't have to answer that. No offense, but I really don't care all that much.

I've been doing fifty sun salutations in my yoga practice. I started with ten a couple of months ago and worked my way up to thirty, where I've stayed for the last several weeks. I thought perhaps I was overdoing it until Spira told me about people doing a hundred in a class she heard about. Back when I was doing ten sun salutations, I would have thought that an impossible feat; at thirty,daunting but doable. So I'm up to fifty. I'll stay at that number until I feel ready to move on. I'm climbing that ladder - one hunnert here I come! Yee-haw!

Alright, dervishes, I'm going to go see what's going on in the Bigfoot world. Will Dr. Ketchum's DNA results be discredited? Will that villain Rick Dyer produce the body he says he has sequestered somewhere in Las Vegas? Is the Matilda footage real? Are those stills from the Erickson footage nothing more than some chump wearing a Chewbacca costume? Oh there's too much going on. It's overwhelming.

XOXO

Anything I wanted to know, anyplace I needed to go

I'm lighter in the wallet, but not too, too much (I'll get to why in three shakes of a lamb's tail) and I can say even still and without sarcasm that it was a fine day. I was out of the office for a good chunk of it and my time there was spent being productive and resourceful, something I believe even the powers that be would agree on. Or perhaps they considered my day an absolute fiasco, a vile thing that began with the faint odor of smoke and ended up a conflagration. Perhaps. But look: I don't give a fuck, I really don't. What I'm dying to do is carry on with this post. Please allow me to; I'd like to finish it some time tonight. That is a desire of mine. A yearning.

Anyway

 So the day glided along the breeze; there was no trudging, no sense of exertion. Even when my "check engine" light came on during my drive back to work from the Salem registry, I wasn't that bothered. I had a sense that whatever repairs I needed wouldn't end up being too costly. Or maybe it had more to with the way I've been feeling. Since I've emerged from those grim, turbulent days that gang raped my life, I've taken on a calmer, more even-keeled vibe. It's the new me, everyone! And this time it's personal.

The whole business with the car didn't last very long. I decided to leave it with Sam, who owns the garage adjacent to my office. I had considered taking the car to my mechanic in Somerville, but that would have required missing work and a delay in knowing what was wrong with it. This way would be better.

Turned out I needed a sensor for my oxygen converter (yeah, I don't know either) and an oil change was recommended. Cost me nearly three hundred smackers, but I was glad it was taken care of quickly and at not too great an expense. And I was happy to have the oil changed because one was due.

I came home to a clean house. At first, I didn't believe my eyes, but the place was tidy, even smelled nice. Seems Matt found the ambition to clean and it was such a welcome sight to lay my eyes upon the fruits of his labor, I nearly dropped to my knees and wept (I didn't, though, because the one area he didn't clean was the floor). If I hadn't already issued them all to myself for being such a cool guy, I would have awarded Matt a gold sticker for his efforts. I would have adhered it to his forehead like it was part of an ancient occult ceremony.

I am still grieving my father's passing. It has not been easy. No need to elaborate.

It's off with me, but before I go let me share with you a dream I had the other night. It was very brief. I was camping and it was a warm, sunny morning. I entered my tent and gently roused the infant I was taking care of (I got the sense it wasn't my baby, more likely a friend's). The boy smiled at me as I gently tickled it. I felt so much love for him, it was almost overwhelming. I remember thinking  Holding a baby is a hell of a lot different than looking at a picture of one. I woke up and still felt that love, only now it had coalesced with the realities of the temporal world.

The dream reminded me how enriching life can be. I'm not sure if I'll ever have children, but, man, being around that baby felt pretty, pretty good.

Off to go listen to music. I'll probably bounce between the new Deerhoof, King Sunny Ade, Zach Hill, Genesis's The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway and Glenn Branca. And I'll read, too. The three books I've been giving attention to are engrossing and if I'm away from them too long I start to get the shakes.

Good night, orphans.

Like the time I ran away, turned around and you were standing close to me

My iPod has been restored to its original form with little help from me. After the abuse of being put through the washer and dryer, I thought it was a goner. No response, dead. And then, a day later, it was partly operational; I could listen to songs but the screen would no longer illuminate. Selecting music to listen to required careful tilting of the device close to a light. Painstaking, but manageable. Weeks later, illumination. How could this be? Of a sudden, it was fully operational. The inescapable conclusion, one that was arrived at cautiously, is that it healed itself! On one level, this is a great thing as it saves me from having to dish out money for a new one (it's one of my possessions I use a lot and would rather not live without), but on another it borders on disturbing. If it can heal itself, might it also be conscious? And if it is, will it make quick work of my soul? Oh, my. Anyway, it's another paradox to contend with. It's okay, us earthlings are engulfed in 'em.

I was listening to Zach Hill, but his caffeinated, disjointed blitzkrieg of songs proved to be too disruptive this quiet Sunday morning. So it's on to Chopin and his nocturnes. Better.

I didn't do much this weekend, but I'll qualify it as a fine one. I've been reading a lot from The Wastelands, Bluebeard, and Dr. John Mack's Abduction, a book I put down a few months ago, but after listening to an interview with the author the other night, my interest was rekindled.

So what music goes well with The Wastelands you might be, but most definitely are, asking yourselves? Well, it's like this: Rachel's Selenography provides a fitting soundtrack, as does anything from God Speed, You Black Emperor and, of course, the haunting madrigals of Carlo Gesualdo. There you have it. I hope that helps.

My isolation was interrupted a bit yesterday when I hung out with Spira and the loveliest of lovelies, Missy D. Spira and I had burgers at The City Slicker cafe and watched Harlem Shake videos on her iPhone. The entire time we were together, we experienced the telepathy we've almost always shared. Finishing each other's thoughts, that sort of thing. Sometimes it feels like we're married. A nice visit.

I may watch The Trial today and maybe The Bank Dick. There is also Ozu's An Autumn Afternoon. Decisions. I will read, play music, and lounge around. It will be that sort of day, by gum.

I need it.

I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toys R' Us kid

It gets late and it's Gesualdo again (oh the voices make a braid of my heart!). I had an active day that began in Cambridge at the courthouse I hardly ever go to anymore and ended in Merrimack, NH at the wake of Shane's father. Sandwiched between beginning and end (and no, the night is not quite over) was work at the office followed by a visit with my mother. There is residual tension between us; the wound of our last interaction has yet to mend. Still, it was a fine visit; I love my mother so much; our bond is subterranean, simple and complex. An ineffable thing. Whatever it is, it nourished me tonight. I'm am still her child.

I arrived at the funeral parlor around seven thirty and made my exit two hours later. A lot of people showed up for this thing; between two and three thousand I'm told. The line snaked through several rooms and hallways. My line partners were Brian, John, and Ben. We were a compatible group and entertained each other throughout the wait. Occasionally, I'd venture to other parts of the line and chat with some of my finest friends. My line mates and I would envy our friends who were ahead of us in line ("Man, they'll be deep into their REM sleep and we'll still be standing here") and pity the ones behind us ("Look at the defeated looks on their faces. Poor things. I'd tell them it will be over soon, but I'd be lying. They won't be getting home until the wee hours."). Indeed, it was an epic line and we made the best of it.

Shane has such a loving and authentically functional family; it is a sad thing, the loss they've been dealt, but they are tight and will find solace in each other.

I started Vonnegut's Blue Beard today. Such vibrant prose! I ache to read from it, but may not because I also have a hankering to read from the Wastelands. Maybe I'll just jerk off instead. Not the worst idea I've had today.

I'll let you know how it goes. Later, gators.

Buy the sky and sell the sky

I listen to Carlo Gesualdo and it is all left behind. Immersion. I experience the sublime if only for an hour. I am beat, but not beaten. I worked myself hard today and kept vigilance over the thoughts that weaken and confuse. They were not allowed entry.

I just now finished The Trial and I need to sit with it for a while before I can assess it properly, if that is even possible. I will say that, despite its missing sections, it was an engaging read. Also disturbing, which is why I plan on reading Goodnight Moon later on tonight to balance things out. By the way, I've never read Goodnight Moon, not as a child nor as an adult. I only bring it up because it seems like it's a book everyone has read. If it makes you feel any better, I read just about every Judy Blume book there is. Super Fudge was a hugely important book in my world. Perhaps it still is.

Jeff called Marcy and  me into his office early yesterday morning. As usually happens, I had a premonition immediately beforehand that he would. I'm fairly intuitive in other areas of my life, but not this acutely.

It didn't take long for Jeff to get to the point. He told me they hadn't been pleased with my work ethic, that it had been frustrating him seeing me spend too much time at a task. He said more, all corroborated by Marcy, and it was all tied into their belief that I'd been working too slow.

I was surprised to hear this, particularly because I consider myself a hard worker and am never behind in my work. I told them as much and added that I also didn't want to come off as defensive, that I was receptive to what they were saying.

Basically, they want me to be going balls to the wall all the time, even when we're slow. "There are plenty of things to do", Jeff said. Fine with me. Just keep your end of the bargain. If I go balls out and finish all my work before noon and there's nothing left to do, don't reward my efforts by sending me home. Anyway, I'm done with this topic; it's a frustrating one. Another sign I need to make some changes. I'm ready for some.

And I'm also ready to watch the latest episode of The Walking Dead. It's possible I'll watch an episode of Darkplace, but I've been up and down that series so much in the last week and could probably use a break. So it will be zombies this night.

Who knows. G'night. One more thing: I had a quick dream that the Wolf Man, the one Boris Karloff portrayed, came after me at my friend's house. He was so quick and terrifying; he was on me before I could think. I managed to throw my coat at his face, but that only served to slow down a few seconds. Just as he grabbed me and sank his claws in my shoulder, I woke up. I hardly ever have nightmares; this one, short as it was, was a doozy. As my breathing slowed, I felt a mixture of terror and exhilaration. Kind of the way most people feel when they meet me.

I had me a vision, there wasn't any television, from looking into the sun

It is Saturday morning. I'm sipping on coffee and listening to Rachel's wonderful Selenography. It's a fitting accompaniment to this quiet, snowy morning. When I'm finished here, I'll practice yoga and perhaps meditate. There had been talks of going up to Peterborough, NH to watch a production of Young Frankenstein at Harlow's Pub followed by a night of revelry at Rachael and Mike's, but it seems as if that's not happening. Show me the flow and I will go with it. That is all I can do.

I have been feeling better since my last post. After it was published, I went and had a vigorous session of yoga, followed by some reading of A Course In Miracles. I had mentioned that God had been silent regarding my despair, but with hindsight I don't believe that is the case. What got me thinking that way was expectation. I expected a certain type of response and when it didn't come my way, I felt abandoned, betrayed, and gullible for believing in something I deemed intangible. Expectations come weighted with disappointment; I keep having to learn that.

That night I felt God, but not in the way I thought I would. I can't adequately express how, but something happened. God wears many masks. This path has not been easy, especially not lately, but I'm proud that I keep getting up after being beaten down. I know my last post seemed awful in its way; a sniveling and sad diatribe, a whiny thing; but it was honest and portrayed the way I felt. I debated whether to publish it, but I reasoned that doing so would be beneficial. As uncomfortable as it is to review it, I'm glad I did.

My mother sent me a nice email the other day and we are on good terms. I don't have it in me to follow through on keeping grudges; despite initial intentions, I always end up erring on the side of harmony. Sometimes I wish that wasn't the case, but I'm better for it in the end.

The weekend is here and I need it. It was another long, trying week. I will finish reading The Trial and will continue my Dark Tower re-read with The Wastelands. Hopefully, I will be social. I will not think too far in advance but changes have to happen and I need the inspiration and will to set me on the proper path to enact them. There has been much darkness, but there has been light, ever present, and I will hold to it for dear life.

Namaste

This is the end of everything that stands, the end

I haven't touched much upon it in this blog, but over the last several weeks my behavior and thoughts have reached alarming peaks. I've been trying to maintain, but lately the darkness has almost completely engulfed the light. I've tried to take solace in God, in my spirituality, but it hasn't seemed to help. This has disturbed me greatly. I've spent my entire adult life, off and on, pursuing a spiritual path. When I've been at my worst, which has been lately, I've prayed deeply and openly, from a  place of fragility and anguish. My prayers have been met with silence. I'm left to conclude that either God does not exist or God is as indifferent to me as I am to an ant on my driveway. I don't know.

Today, like just about every day, I experienced terrible thoughts. Raving, angry calls for my demise. That sort of thing. I've been able to counteract these torrents well enough, but my grip on the light has been slipping with each passing day. I see how things are developing; there is resignation more than fear. The walls are closing in and I can't see a way out.

In my clearer moments, I wonder if the intensity of these outbursts has to do with the fact that I've actively been attempting to marginalize my ego. Perhaps it's acting like a cornered animal, hence the ferocity. I don't know.

A ray of light on the horizon? God, I hope so.

Today was horrible. After a trying day at work, I drove to my mom's for dinner. Once again, I had to sit in traffic that was backed up for miles. When I got off the highway, my intention was to stop off at the grocery store and pick up a couple of lobster rolls for my mother. My dad used to get them for her on special occasions. I figured I'd keep up the tradition on Valentine's Day.

It took me twenty minutes to move a half mile. When I finally got to the store, they didn't have lobster rolls. I bought her an orchid instead. When I arrived at the house, we sat down for dinner and then things went south quickly and dramatically. Basically, what happened is that I told my mother I haven't been doing well and then my she carried on about how I haven't done anything with my life and how worried that makes her. There's a very fine line separating worried and disappointed. I'm not sure I ever really made my parents proud. Regarding my father, I'll never know.

So I left. I was only there for about twenty minutes. I know my mother loves me, but it seems that in her eyes, I'm just a fuck up. She would never put it that way, but it's evident that's what she thinks. I can't disagree with that assessment; my life can easily be judged as mediocre across the board. Doesn't mean I'm an evil person, just one who hasn't accomplished much. The thing I'm good at, music, my mother doesn't seem to care about. It's a non factor.  When I told her I wanted to play a show for my father and that I wanted her to be the guest of honor, she declined. I invited my sister; she, too, declined. That hurt. The way my mother sees it, I should go work at a factory or the Post Office. In other words, take whatever menial job I can find that pays well and stick with it. "What else are you going to do?"

On my way home, I got caught in another traffic jam. Three in one day! While I sat there, I realized my predicament, how fucked I am. I don't know what to do or who to talk to. I upset my mother (great job, Kev - and on Valentine's Day, too!) and I'm going to stay away from her. After all she's gone through with my dad passing, the last thing she needs is my bullshit.

Anyway, that is what's happening now. I'm going to go practice yoga and maybe things will get better. Perhaps I'll emerge with a fresh perspective. I'll play some music; the songs having been coming often and fully formed. They're some of the best I've written. Maybe I'll even meditate. What if, even at my lowest point, the lowest I've ever been (this is unfortunately very true), I take a positive action, a fuck you to the misery? What if, say after an hour of raving and frothing like a madman, I sit down and meditate? What if I go to sleep and try again tomorrow?

Yes, what if.

I feel stupid and contagious

It would be a bald faced lie to declare I'm not tired, for indeed I am. It's been an interesting weekend, both slothful and productive; I need another one to recover from it. The blizzard that had news casts throughout New England spraying jizz in their collective pants has finished its business with us. It wasn't so bad; in fact, it was kind of alright.

I spent it at Spira's place with The Baby Boy Z and my darling sweetheart, Missy D. It was great having the pups to hang out with us. We watched Super 8 and Let The Right One In. I'd seen both before, but Spira hadn't. I watched The Grey last night after she went to bed. Liam Neeson and crew being stalked by a pack of wolves in the Alaskan wilderness? Yes, please. Heavy on realism and deftly paced. I give it high marks.

I came home this morning after only about four hours of sleep. My own fault; The Grey didn't end until about three in the morning and I stayed up a bit longer reading from King's The Drawing of The Three. Around eight thirty, the pups hovered around the couch I slept on, wanting to go out.

Spira was a corrupting influence on me the entire time I was there. She had me eating chips and dip, pancakes, beer-battered cheese balls, and perhaps even worse. This morning, she had the idea to drive to McDonalds for breakfast. I tried to resist the idea, but I was already weakened and dopey from all the other crappy food we'd had that I went along with it. I have a foggy recollection of eating a McGriddle, something I'd never had before and had been warned about. The McGriddle is the food equivalent of crystal meth. Or something like that. It was yummy.

I was able to work off about .000002 % of The McGriddle when I shoveled out a parking space upon my arrival home. In the process, I went through two shovels. I taped the one that had snapped in half, but it eventually snapped again.The other one was as useful as wet pasta.Thankfully, Fred, who had come out to assist me, went and bought us a new, sturdy shovel.

Ok, that's about it for now. I'll have to revisit my odd interactions with someone on Facebook. Kind of ridiculous, and hence worth mentioning. Pooch Edward Bottoms sleeps and dreams behind me on my bed. I'll rouse him soon and we'll go for our evening walk. He's been a good sport all weekend.

Cheers!

I wandered around and finally found somebody who could make me be true

I've had sinus issues the last couple of days; it's been tolerable, but I look forward to breathing right again. I managed to get through a session of yoga earlier tonight, but it was all mouth breathing. I'm tired. We'll see if I have the energy to work on some music.

I'm pretty sure I'll watch an episode of Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, one of the funniest shows I've seen in a long time. I won't even bother providing a synopsis because, as I said, I'm tired and I don't feel like doing much of anything. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garth_Marenghi%27s_Darkplace. You can watch it on YouTube if you find it appealing. If not, you can go right ahead and fuck yourself.

Up to two feet of snow is the forecast for the weekend. We'll see. If things go according to plan, The Baby Boy Z will be spending the weekend with me while Janelle's out west. Man town, son! It's going to be fun. Just like the old days.

Man, I'm yawning and fading fast. I'm drinking coffee but it's had zero effect. Maybe I'll just get into bed and read from The Trial. I'll probably finish watching Kurosawa's The Hidden Fortress. Such a good movie.

I'll report back sooner than later. There is more I wanted to touch upon. Stay tuned, arch angels!

Your friend,

K

Now you're mine, I'll take you to my dreamland

It has been like this today: smoothie and coffee; read from and finish The Shining (I just found out King wrote a sequel; I'll feel around to see if I should jump right to it); meditate for an hour; run through some songs and in the process write a new one (it will require some touching up, but it's almost there); listen to a violin concerto by Mozart and attack this blog.

Next, I plan on reading from The Trial and perhaps Vonnegut's Bluebeard. I will return to the guitar and pen and paper. I will finish watching Memento. A solitary day. I needed it. The end of the week was challenging for me in a myriad of ways. I don't want to rehash any of it, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say that much of what's been going on with me has approached the unbearable mark.

Not easy, none of this, but as it's happening, I'm realizing I'm going through a fundamental shift, one that, despite it's unsettling nature, will find me in a more desirable place. I can't say for sure why I feel that, but it seems to be the case. Still, because of the intensity of the shift, I understand the importance of maintaining a clear vision; if I stray, if I cater to the darker elements.....well, then I'd find myself in not such a desirable place.

Anyway, there is all of that, but I've bolstered myself with healthy allies. I meditate, etc. You know all this; I probably hammer it home too often. Whatever. What else am I going to write about? That threesome I had with my boss's wife and one of her hot friends? No one wants to hear about that.

I digress.

There's been the feeling of shedding skin, the agitation of going through the motions of situations that have outlived their purpose. Interesting.

The Super Bowl is today. Who gives a fuck? Oh, yeah - just about the entire country. Not me, though. I do not give a fuck. But I give one about you (awwwww....).

Pleasant dreams, darlings.