It is Saturday, there is warmth and sun. Winter still has a certain psychological hold on me, i.e my mind is still on winter time and is not convinced spring has arrived. But days like today have a way of making one forget things brittle and barren. I'm almost thawed. Rick is downstairs installing a new ceiling fan fixture (Matt had inadvertently pulled the chain out of the last one. Seemed an easy fix, but there was more going on under the hood that necessitated a prolonged overhaul). I imagine it will look rather odd depending from the ceiling with it's gap-toothed grin of missing tiles. I've come to the conclusion, after well over a year of nothing being done about it, that the ceiling will remain as it is. The ceiling fan is being replaced, though.There is that.
We have an new roommate. Her name is Evangeline and we think she'll be a nice fit. When Fred and I interviewed her a couple of days of go, the chemistry felt natural, easy. She's moving here from Virginia and seems low key. She likes to read, sew, that type of thing. I'm ready for that type of thing.
The first person we interviewed, Rosana, had been my top choice up until she took herself out of the running. She had just returned from India learning the secrets of yoga and breath and spirit. For several weeks, she had toured with Amma, the hugging saint. She's also a devotee of the avatar, Babaji. Basically, I was swooning in her presence. For days after she left, I fantasized about the spurt in spiritual growth living with someone like that could engender.
Without any real basis, I felt like her moving in was meant to be. All just expectation on my part and the thing about expectation is that it requires the participation of the provider of its fruits. Alas, Rosana found another place. She informed me the other day, but by that time we had met with other desirable candidates, Evangeline among them, and it didn't feel like much of a blow. I will confess, though, that there was a brief moment I felt I was being deprived of spiritual growth, like the Universe was saying, "Now you see it, now you don't, you little fuck! Ha ha ha!" But that was the ego feeling that way and the feeling dissolved before it could take hold.
Having Easter dinner at my mom's house -with Spira and Missy D tagging along - and then will meet up with the extended family at my grandmother's house. My mother and I had been at odds this week, but I think that's behind us. Hopefully. It's going to be strange not having my dad at the head of the table. I can't linger too long on thoughts about him because the hurt, the sense of loss, becomes unbearable. I don't think it will always be like this, but for the time being it's a tightrope act. I miss you so much, dad.
Rick is still at it. I'll be heading out soon, but I'd like to take a shower and eat dinner before I go. He will need me for a couple of things so I can't yet proceed with my plans. I wish Fred was around to handle this. The man has a knack for being absent when household matters need to be attended to. He's' riding a nice wave, that one.
I blazed through McMurtry's Anything For Billy (I'll get to that in another post) and have begun Saul Bellow's Humboldt's Gift, which so far I've found to be engaging and fabulously written. And there has been the concurrent reading of Wizard And Glass, part of my Dark Tower re-read. And there has also been music and wonderful roses...
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows...
of dawn and dew.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
I've been down so god-damned long that it looks like up to me
I've been busy. So busy, I don't even have the time to get into it right now (well, maybe not that busy, but I'm sleepy and not at my best; the organism requests at least eight hours of inactivity). What I'll do, then, is pop in and say hello, let you know I still live and breathe.
Here you are: "Hello, children".
And there you go. And here I go.
xoxo
Coming up on The Weaving Spider:
- A full on ball-washing of Larry McMurtry, who just may be my favorite writer in the whole wide world. I'll make a case.
- I'll provide an update on the roommate situation. I just know you've been scratching your flesh raw in anticipation. Easy, child. Go gentle on the breeze. The body is a temple, not a butcher shop.
- Billy's dark, sexy secret will be revealed!
- I will provide thoughtful and comprehensible analysis of The Walking Dead, specifically the current season's story arc. I'll tell you right now, it's been an uneven affair.
- A comparison will be made between my neighbor, Steve, and The Shitter. That might take up an entire post.
- Will my central focus in life be on the spirit? Has in not already been? Anyway, I'll try to figure it out.
Stay tuned!
Here you are: "Hello, children".
And there you go. And here I go.
xoxo
Coming up on The Weaving Spider:
- A full on ball-washing of Larry McMurtry, who just may be my favorite writer in the whole wide world. I'll make a case.
- I'll provide an update on the roommate situation. I just know you've been scratching your flesh raw in anticipation. Easy, child. Go gentle on the breeze. The body is a temple, not a butcher shop.
- Billy's dark, sexy secret will be revealed!
- I will provide thoughtful and comprehensible analysis of The Walking Dead, specifically the current season's story arc. I'll tell you right now, it's been an uneven affair.
- A comparison will be made between my neighbor, Steve, and The Shitter. That might take up an entire post.
- Will my central focus in life be on the spirit? Has in not already been? Anyway, I'll try to figure it out.
Stay tuned!
Saturday, March 23, 2013
He's a walker in the rain, he's a dancer in the dark
Back from Davis Square, where I visited the Dollar Store (socks and razor) and Goodwill (books - The Sound And The Fury, The Alchemist, Anything For Billy). It's cold out; I was under-dressed. I can't wait until Spring arrives. Oh, that's right: it has. Whatever.
Sometimes the shit hits the fan with a mighty dollop, all at once. That happened Thursday after work. I really don't want to revisit the experience, that piling on of crisis events, but I would like to convey the positives that might have been obscured by the shit being flung if not for my keen awareness (it came with the body) Well, here's the long and short of it, which shouldn't be news to you: I'm a fallible, stumbling, mess of an organism, to be sure, but I've got my redeeming traits. In other words, I managed to dial down crisis-mode ego enough to step back and see what was really going on. Keen awareness, son!
So what was really going on? A spring cleaning. Matters I'd been fretting over but too fearful to address came by for an intervention. As stressful as it was dealing with everything all at once, I understood that it needed to happen and, as a consequence, things would improve. For a crisis, it was as gently presented as could be. It was as if life had said, "Look, the fact that you need a wake up call cannot be denied. So we're going to give you one, but because we think you're a swell, pure-hearted gent, we're going to do everything possible to make this as painless as possible."
Events continue to illustrate the ways in which I need to mature. I'm a slow and stubborn learner; it's taken some time for me to get the idea. I'm not quite at the level of maturity I'd like to be at, but I'll get there. If I don't, I'll have you to blame.
Played with Mark's band this week. It was fun. Everyone seemed to be solid, well-adjusted individuals. It was especially gratifying playing with Mark again; it had been years. Will it work? As of this writing, it's dubious. Whatever happens, I'll be alright. Go easy on the breeze, child. That's what the angel that hovered over my bed last night told me.
There is more, but I gotta split. Tomorrow we interview people for the apartment. All effin day, but I've got a good feeling it will all be fine.
Go easy on the breeze, children.
Sometimes the shit hits the fan with a mighty dollop, all at once. That happened Thursday after work. I really don't want to revisit the experience, that piling on of crisis events, but I would like to convey the positives that might have been obscured by the shit being flung if not for my keen awareness (it came with the body) Well, here's the long and short of it, which shouldn't be news to you: I'm a fallible, stumbling, mess of an organism, to be sure, but I've got my redeeming traits. In other words, I managed to dial down crisis-mode ego enough to step back and see what was really going on. Keen awareness, son!
So what was really going on? A spring cleaning. Matters I'd been fretting over but too fearful to address came by for an intervention. As stressful as it was dealing with everything all at once, I understood that it needed to happen and, as a consequence, things would improve. For a crisis, it was as gently presented as could be. It was as if life had said, "Look, the fact that you need a wake up call cannot be denied. So we're going to give you one, but because we think you're a swell, pure-hearted gent, we're going to do everything possible to make this as painless as possible."
Events continue to illustrate the ways in which I need to mature. I'm a slow and stubborn learner; it's taken some time for me to get the idea. I'm not quite at the level of maturity I'd like to be at, but I'll get there. If I don't, I'll have you to blame.
Played with Mark's band this week. It was fun. Everyone seemed to be solid, well-adjusted individuals. It was especially gratifying playing with Mark again; it had been years. Will it work? As of this writing, it's dubious. Whatever happens, I'll be alright. Go easy on the breeze, child. That's what the angel that hovered over my bed last night told me.
There is more, but I gotta split. Tomorrow we interview people for the apartment. All effin day, but I've got a good feeling it will all be fine.
Go easy on the breeze, children.
Monday, March 18, 2013
I don't want to smell you and lose my senses
I may not have to go to work tomorrow. If the weather shapes up like they expect it will, the roads are going to be dangerous venues lousy with snow. Maybe up to a foot in some parts. We'll see, but I'm guessing I'll be using one of my vacation days tomorrow. Fine with me. There are songs I need to rehearse, a room for rent ad to compose and post, books to read, yoga to practice. And more. A whole menu of activities to entrance my mind, body, and spirit.
I spent a good portion of the day with my mother on Saturday. We drove up to Guitar Center and picked out a digital piano for my nieces. I found out from our salesman, a gentle giant with squinty eyes, that one of my coworkers from the Music Mall days worked there. He wasn't in, which was too bad; he and I got along well.
After Guitar Center we ate lunch at The Olive Garden. I had never been to one before and found it to be a little classier than I expected it would be (I'll leave it to you to determine how classy I expected it to be). It was a nice lunch. We talked about how excited we hoped the kids would be at being surprise gifted with a digital piano. ( They were thrilled. I spoke to my mother earlier and she told me she drove up to their house yesterday and asked the kids to help her get something out of the car. Kiley and Shannon, especially Shannon, who is more devoted to playing piano, were elated when they saw what they were unloading. When the piano was set up, Shannon remained glued to it throughout the rest of my mother's visit, oblivious to Colleen's frequent demands to have a turn. Nothing like a surprise gift; they taste the sweetest. Mom, you are a thoughtful, caring woman. I know how happy this made you feel. It boosted us all.).
Yesterday, I ordered a couple of books through Amazon. I was pleased with the results. I had initially intended to purchase some at the used book store up in Nashua, but it was no longer there. I asked my mother if we could stop by the one near her house, but that store was gone, too. Into the ether they go. Yesterday, I stopped by the used book store a couple of blocks from my house. I carried over my vision from the day before of purchasing a respectable passel of books - maybe some Vonnegut, maybe Ulysses, maybe Saul Bellow, maybe The Great Gatsby.
The store was still there, which I took to be a good sign, but it didn't carry any of the books I was interested in. That place was being an asshole. Having had it with the used bookstore scene, I reluctantly made my way to Porter Square Books, where the inventory is shiny and new and more expensive. I held Ulysses and Vonnegut's Mother Night in my hands at different points and let Reason have the floor. Reason said: "Think for a moment. You have plenty to read at home. There is The Dark Tower re-read (almost through The Wastelands) and the wonderfully academic The Road To The Dark Tower: Exploring Stephen King's Magnum Opus to accompany it. And you've been reading from Dubliners, too (your only nod to St. Patrick's Day ), which you can look at as part of your training for your bout with Ulysses. So hold off on immediate gratification and go visit Amazon. You will save money, son! And don't forget, you've got The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe scheduled to arrive in the next few days. You're set for a while, child. Maybe now is not the time, but at some point we should workshop a plan to curb all this book buying. I'm just saying."
So I followed Reason's advice and purchased some Saul Bellow and Kurt Vonnegut for dollars cheaper than what I would have paid for one of the books I was considering at Porter Square Books. Uh.....yeah, books.
Oh, I don't know. Look, it's been terrific hanging out with you this evening. You make me want to be a better man and all, but it's time for me to jettison your sorry ass and go do other stuff. Don't hate the player, hate the game.
Amen.
I spent a good portion of the day with my mother on Saturday. We drove up to Guitar Center and picked out a digital piano for my nieces. I found out from our salesman, a gentle giant with squinty eyes, that one of my coworkers from the Music Mall days worked there. He wasn't in, which was too bad; he and I got along well.
After Guitar Center we ate lunch at The Olive Garden. I had never been to one before and found it to be a little classier than I expected it would be (I'll leave it to you to determine how classy I expected it to be). It was a nice lunch. We talked about how excited we hoped the kids would be at being surprise gifted with a digital piano. ( They were thrilled. I spoke to my mother earlier and she told me she drove up to their house yesterday and asked the kids to help her get something out of the car. Kiley and Shannon, especially Shannon, who is more devoted to playing piano, were elated when they saw what they were unloading. When the piano was set up, Shannon remained glued to it throughout the rest of my mother's visit, oblivious to Colleen's frequent demands to have a turn. Nothing like a surprise gift; they taste the sweetest. Mom, you are a thoughtful, caring woman. I know how happy this made you feel. It boosted us all.).
Yesterday, I ordered a couple of books through Amazon. I was pleased with the results. I had initially intended to purchase some at the used book store up in Nashua, but it was no longer there. I asked my mother if we could stop by the one near her house, but that store was gone, too. Into the ether they go. Yesterday, I stopped by the used book store a couple of blocks from my house. I carried over my vision from the day before of purchasing a respectable passel of books - maybe some Vonnegut, maybe Ulysses, maybe Saul Bellow, maybe The Great Gatsby.
The store was still there, which I took to be a good sign, but it didn't carry any of the books I was interested in. That place was being an asshole. Having had it with the used bookstore scene, I reluctantly made my way to Porter Square Books, where the inventory is shiny and new and more expensive. I held Ulysses and Vonnegut's Mother Night in my hands at different points and let Reason have the floor. Reason said: "Think for a moment. You have plenty to read at home. There is The Dark Tower re-read (almost through The Wastelands) and the wonderfully academic The Road To The Dark Tower: Exploring Stephen King's Magnum Opus to accompany it. And you've been reading from Dubliners, too (your only nod to St. Patrick's Day ), which you can look at as part of your training for your bout with Ulysses. So hold off on immediate gratification and go visit Amazon. You will save money, son! And don't forget, you've got The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe scheduled to arrive in the next few days. You're set for a while, child. Maybe now is not the time, but at some point we should workshop a plan to curb all this book buying. I'm just saying."
So I followed Reason's advice and purchased some Saul Bellow and Kurt Vonnegut for dollars cheaper than what I would have paid for one of the books I was considering at Porter Square Books. Uh.....yeah, books.
Oh, I don't know. Look, it's been terrific hanging out with you this evening. You make me want to be a better man and all, but it's time for me to jettison your sorry ass and go do other stuff. Don't hate the player, hate the game.
Amen.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
I've got tears in the morning
Not everyone will admit it, but fuck is one of the best words we have. You may scoff reflexively, you moral arbiter, but silence your thoughts for a moment and allow this next sentence to be the only occupant in your skull. Fuck is one of the best words we have because it contains the entire emotional spectrum. And also because it rides nicely on the tongue.There's a funny scene in The Wire in which McNulty and Bunk inspect a crime scene and have a conversation using only the word fuck. It's a downright vaudeville bit that not only proves my point but also masterly conveys detachment as a coping mechanism (Don't you just melt when I try to sound smart?).
I'm not sure how I got started on that, but fuck it, let's move on.
The organism heals itself. My knee is just about back to form and the neck and shoulder are close behind. I'll practice yoga tonight and see how it goes. I'm split between wanting to have an intense session and wanting to go gently with myself. If I'm wise I'll err towards the latter, and if I'm even wiser (think Obi-wan meets meets Kambei) I'll strive for the middle ground.
Here's a bit of breaking news: I'm almost in a band. I'll know for sure in the coming days, but it will probably happen. And once it does, I'll reveal more. Oh, how I tease and tease. What a fucking asshole!
I think about my father just about every day and it hurts just about every time. It's a process, I'll deal with it, but, fucking hell, I miss you, Dad.
The second season of The Walking Dead arrived yesterday just as I finished viewing the first season. I may watch an episode this evening, but I'm not quite sure I'm desirous of that level of intensity. Oh, we'll see, maybe one episode won't send me to the psych ward. I've been trying to convince Spira to watch the show, but she's having none of it. She freely admits to being a chicken baby. I can respect that, but my selfish desire to have someone to gossip about the show with keeps me campaigning."Just give it a chance", I tell her, "The story will suck you in". But she maintains her position. After watching a bunch of older episodes this past week, I think maybe she should stay clear of the show. All that gore and fear and gore and trauma and gore and crying and gore....How could I inflict that on a friend?
Just about through Slaughterhouse Five. It's definitely stranger than Bluebeard, to be sure, but I'm a strange guy, so it's up my alley. I just love good writers and Vonnegut's one of the best. I may try to squeeze in Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man in the coming days. This weekend, I'll be up in Nashua, NH with my mom shopping for a digital piano that will be a surprise gift for my nieces and I've asked her to stop off at the giant used bookstore that's in the area. I anticipate carrying some weight out of that place. Fuck yeah!
The night grows thicker and I should be about other business. Billy is near. I can feel his presence; it hangs like a foul odor. I'll proceed with caution.
Goodnight, you fucking lions.
.
I'm not sure how I got started on that, but fuck it, let's move on.
The organism heals itself. My knee is just about back to form and the neck and shoulder are close behind. I'll practice yoga tonight and see how it goes. I'm split between wanting to have an intense session and wanting to go gently with myself. If I'm wise I'll err towards the latter, and if I'm even wiser (think Obi-wan meets meets Kambei) I'll strive for the middle ground.
Here's a bit of breaking news: I'm almost in a band. I'll know for sure in the coming days, but it will probably happen. And once it does, I'll reveal more. Oh, how I tease and tease. What a fucking asshole!
I think about my father just about every day and it hurts just about every time. It's a process, I'll deal with it, but, fucking hell, I miss you, Dad.
The second season of The Walking Dead arrived yesterday just as I finished viewing the first season. I may watch an episode this evening, but I'm not quite sure I'm desirous of that level of intensity. Oh, we'll see, maybe one episode won't send me to the psych ward. I've been trying to convince Spira to watch the show, but she's having none of it. She freely admits to being a chicken baby. I can respect that, but my selfish desire to have someone to gossip about the show with keeps me campaigning."Just give it a chance", I tell her, "The story will suck you in". But she maintains her position. After watching a bunch of older episodes this past week, I think maybe she should stay clear of the show. All that gore and fear and gore and trauma and gore and crying and gore....How could I inflict that on a friend?
Just about through Slaughterhouse Five. It's definitely stranger than Bluebeard, to be sure, but I'm a strange guy, so it's up my alley. I just love good writers and Vonnegut's one of the best. I may try to squeeze in Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man in the coming days. This weekend, I'll be up in Nashua, NH with my mom shopping for a digital piano that will be a surprise gift for my nieces and I've asked her to stop off at the giant used bookstore that's in the area. I anticipate carrying some weight out of that place. Fuck yeah!
The night grows thicker and I should be about other business. Billy is near. I can feel his presence; it hangs like a foul odor. I'll proceed with caution.
Goodnight, you fucking lions.
.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Your head upon the pillow like a sleepy, golden storm
There was a dream last night about Matt telling me he was moving out. And after that he slipped into our conversation the news that our landlord wanted us to move out in the summer. When he saw my surprised expression, he said "Oh, I thought you knew." News to me, not to him.
And so it was that Matt, this very evening, told me he was moving out. I was ready for the news, thanks to the dream, but still felt the cool dread of uncertainty that accompanies an announcement like this. What if everything turns to shit!? Machine gun images of ending up a homeless, hopeless wretch; not finding a roommate in time; finding a roommate in time but finding one that is obnoxious and thieving; the moon and then the earth exploding. All terrible images sizzling in my skull. It happens that way with the ego.
But then I relax into what's really going on and smile. I smile because this change doesn't necessarily portend an apocalypse. Probably the opposite (What is the opposite of apocalypse? I do not know, but hope to find out). No matter what, though, until things become stable again, there will be ribbons of dread and doubt and visions of the moon and then the earth exploding. Flames! Blood! Burning flesh! Horrible Screams! But also this: No more debt! No more work! No more grief! No more Call Me Maybe! All troubles vaporized! Yee hah!
Just a bunch of visions of terror and an easy way out (apocalypse=clean slate, says the quitter). Let's get back to the real way of it.
A good thing. And timely. I don't intend to portray Matt in an unsavory light, so we'll reduce it to this: I'm ready for a change. Have been for a while. I'll explain later in another post if I'm inclined. A good thing, but if that other part of the dream is true, the part in which I'll be having to move in a few months, well, it will kind of suck (or it won't) at least I would be in possession of a blossoming psychic power. There would be that.
Dreams. I had some strange ones last night. One woke me up, it was so unsettling. A UFO dream - hadn't had one of those in years. I used to have them a lot and they would almost all of them entail seeing balls of light dash through the sky and feeling like they were coming for me, or at least aware that I was observing their actions. This dream followed the script pretty well. I was camping in Vermont and it was very late at night. A friend and I rode a couple of bikes up the mountain road with flashlights illuminating our way in jerky beams. I looked up at the starry sky (Never do that, not in dreams - you fool!) and one of the stars appeared to be moving. I studied it closely and thought, Maybe it's not moving, maybe it's just a trick of the eye. But I knew better and knew for damn sure when it sped off at a ninety degree angle (Stars don't do that! Told you not to look at the sky). Exit stage left!
In a panic, I convinced my friend to head back to camp muy rapido. We fled through the night (the vibe was ET meets The Blair Witch Project) and all I wanted to do was hide in my tent (My only defense. A bug under a rock; easy pickings.). We made it back to camp and I ran up the slight hill to my tent at the rim of the tiny valley we had settled in. I made it into the tent, but knew I was doomed.
And then I woke up. A strange night of dreams. Whatever.
Off to read from Slaughterhouse Five. I'm on a Vonnegut bender and plan on reading his books until I don't feel like it anymore. I finished Bluebeard today and it was a bittersweet moment when I reached the end. And there is still The Dark Tower re-read. I'm abut three quarters of the way through The Wastelands.
Alright, rascals, off to bed with ya.
And so it was that Matt, this very evening, told me he was moving out. I was ready for the news, thanks to the dream, but still felt the cool dread of uncertainty that accompanies an announcement like this. What if everything turns to shit!? Machine gun images of ending up a homeless, hopeless wretch; not finding a roommate in time; finding a roommate in time but finding one that is obnoxious and thieving; the moon and then the earth exploding. All terrible images sizzling in my skull. It happens that way with the ego.
But then I relax into what's really going on and smile. I smile because this change doesn't necessarily portend an apocalypse. Probably the opposite (What is the opposite of apocalypse? I do not know, but hope to find out). No matter what, though, until things become stable again, there will be ribbons of dread and doubt and visions of the moon and then the earth exploding. Flames! Blood! Burning flesh! Horrible Screams! But also this: No more debt! No more work! No more grief! No more Call Me Maybe! All troubles vaporized! Yee hah!
Just a bunch of visions of terror and an easy way out (apocalypse=clean slate, says the quitter). Let's get back to the real way of it.
A good thing. And timely. I don't intend to portray Matt in an unsavory light, so we'll reduce it to this: I'm ready for a change. Have been for a while. I'll explain later in another post if I'm inclined. A good thing, but if that other part of the dream is true, the part in which I'll be having to move in a few months, well, it will kind of suck (or it won't) at least I would be in possession of a blossoming psychic power. There would be that.
Dreams. I had some strange ones last night. One woke me up, it was so unsettling. A UFO dream - hadn't had one of those in years. I used to have them a lot and they would almost all of them entail seeing balls of light dash through the sky and feeling like they were coming for me, or at least aware that I was observing their actions. This dream followed the script pretty well. I was camping in Vermont and it was very late at night. A friend and I rode a couple of bikes up the mountain road with flashlights illuminating our way in jerky beams. I looked up at the starry sky (Never do that, not in dreams - you fool!) and one of the stars appeared to be moving. I studied it closely and thought, Maybe it's not moving, maybe it's just a trick of the eye. But I knew better and knew for damn sure when it sped off at a ninety degree angle (Stars don't do that! Told you not to look at the sky). Exit stage left!
In a panic, I convinced my friend to head back to camp muy rapido. We fled through the night (the vibe was ET meets The Blair Witch Project) and all I wanted to do was hide in my tent (My only defense. A bug under a rock; easy pickings.). We made it back to camp and I ran up the slight hill to my tent at the rim of the tiny valley we had settled in. I made it into the tent, but knew I was doomed.
And then I woke up. A strange night of dreams. Whatever.
Off to read from Slaughterhouse Five. I'm on a Vonnegut bender and plan on reading his books until I don't feel like it anymore. I finished Bluebeard today and it was a bittersweet moment when I reached the end. And there is still The Dark Tower re-read. I'm abut three quarters of the way through The Wastelands.
Alright, rascals, off to bed with ya.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
In the still of the night, I hear the wolf howl, honey, sniffing around your door
"Tell Kevin about your new little friend, the one you saw in the living room last night", Matt said toLaura Jane.
"New little friend? I'm intrigued", I said, positive she was about to report seeing a mouse.
"I came to the kitchen around 2:30 this morning to get some water and on my way back upstairs I saw a man in the living room."
Not a mouse, then. I peppered Laura Jane with questions about this g-g-g-ghost! in a manner that would make Spencer proud (By the way, if you want to introduce an element of excitation to your life, you should read deeply from Robert Parker's Spencer series).
Here is what I learned:
1. The man was small
2. He wore glasses
3. He gave off an odor of Swisher Sweets cigars.
4. He was looking right at her
5. He seemed harmless
6. Laura Jane professes to be clairvoyant
All of this went down yesterday. Am I afraid? No. It would have bothered me more if she had reported seeing a mouse, because then I'd have to look into the possibility of another infestation. If Laura Jane is on the level about what she saw, then she's able to tune into a particular frequency that enables her to see this type of thing. In other words, perhaps she's able to see through the veil that separates this dimension from the others. Maybe a previous tenant has been hanging around, not ready to move on. Or, and this could be equally as plausible, what she saw was an artifact a recorded image or an imprint; the supernatural equivalent to a fingerprint. None of this is anything to be afraid of.
I'm not afraid, but in the interest of full disclosure, my treks from the kitchen back up to my room have been a bit quicker. But that, my friends, could be the result of copious amounts of Adirol and nothing more. A funny side note: about an hour before I heard this news, I was getting gas and saw a Ghostbusters van in the parking lot. It was white and had the logo on either side. No number listed, however. Who you gonna call? Not Ghostbusters. I need some digits, son.
--
Went up to Scott and Eszter's the other night. Scott and I sequestered ourselves in his cozy studio across the way, drank Dark and Stormys, recorded some music, and talked metaphysics, spirituality, and philosophy (all three kissing cousins and almost indistinguishable). We stayed up until three and I woke up the next morning with a slight headache, but otherwise refreshed. We ate breakfast and then I drove them to South Station, where they boarded a bus to New York. I'm a big fan of those two.
I practiced some light yoga this morning. My neck, shoulder, and knee are still acting up a bit. I must tend to them with care. So light yoga it will be for the time being.
Alright, rascals, it's time to get this Sunday into gear. Wish me luck.
"New little friend? I'm intrigued", I said, positive she was about to report seeing a mouse.
"I came to the kitchen around 2:30 this morning to get some water and on my way back upstairs I saw a man in the living room."
Not a mouse, then. I peppered Laura Jane with questions about this g-g-g-ghost! in a manner that would make Spencer proud (By the way, if you want to introduce an element of excitation to your life, you should read deeply from Robert Parker's Spencer series).
Here is what I learned:
1. The man was small
2. He wore glasses
3. He gave off an odor of Swisher Sweets cigars.
4. He was looking right at her
5. He seemed harmless
6. Laura Jane professes to be clairvoyant
All of this went down yesterday. Am I afraid? No. It would have bothered me more if she had reported seeing a mouse, because then I'd have to look into the possibility of another infestation. If Laura Jane is on the level about what she saw, then she's able to tune into a particular frequency that enables her to see this type of thing. In other words, perhaps she's able to see through the veil that separates this dimension from the others. Maybe a previous tenant has been hanging around, not ready to move on. Or, and this could be equally as plausible, what she saw was an artifact a recorded image or an imprint; the supernatural equivalent to a fingerprint. None of this is anything to be afraid of.
I'm not afraid, but in the interest of full disclosure, my treks from the kitchen back up to my room have been a bit quicker. But that, my friends, could be the result of copious amounts of Adirol and nothing more. A funny side note: about an hour before I heard this news, I was getting gas and saw a Ghostbusters van in the parking lot. It was white and had the logo on either side. No number listed, however. Who you gonna call? Not Ghostbusters. I need some digits, son.
--
Went up to Scott and Eszter's the other night. Scott and I sequestered ourselves in his cozy studio across the way, drank Dark and Stormys, recorded some music, and talked metaphysics, spirituality, and philosophy (all three kissing cousins and almost indistinguishable). We stayed up until three and I woke up the next morning with a slight headache, but otherwise refreshed. We ate breakfast and then I drove them to South Station, where they boarded a bus to New York. I'm a big fan of those two.
I practiced some light yoga this morning. My neck, shoulder, and knee are still acting up a bit. I must tend to them with care. So light yoga it will be for the time being.
Alright, rascals, it's time to get this Sunday into gear. Wish me luck.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Winter nights we sang in tune, played inside the months of moon
As I got ready for work this morning, I got a call from Marcy telling me to sit tight until they figured out if there was to be work today. Fine with me; the snow was coming down hard and the road outside my house was barely perceptible. She called back a couple of hours later saying she was on her way in to work and asked if I'd call her back to let her know what I wanted to do.
"Not go to work at all" is what I should have told her there and then, but I figured I should at least put some thought into the matter. I'll go in. I'll be traveling in that direction anyway later on, so I may as well get some hours in. I hope this is the last of the snow. What a fucking asshole it is.
Time to start packing the car, shoveling, etc. I hope your day glows like the eyes of a gentle fawn. The weekend looms and the weather is predicted to improve. Tonight I make merry.
If you have even the slightest interest in the state of your soul, I suggest you watch my man Krishnamurti tell it like it is. Don't be put off by his voice or appearance, you judgmental c-suckers. Listen to his words. That is all you need to do.
Ciao!
"Not go to work at all" is what I should have told her there and then, but I figured I should at least put some thought into the matter. I'll go in. I'll be traveling in that direction anyway later on, so I may as well get some hours in. I hope this is the last of the snow. What a fucking asshole it is.
Time to start packing the car, shoveling, etc. I hope your day glows like the eyes of a gentle fawn. The weekend looms and the weather is predicted to improve. Tonight I make merry.
If you have even the slightest interest in the state of your soul, I suggest you watch my man Krishnamurti tell it like it is. Don't be put off by his voice or appearance, you judgmental c-suckers. Listen to his words. That is all you need to do.
Ciao!
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Just like my dad did when he was home, staying up late, staying up alone
Weather-wise, today was absolute shit. We're in the midst of a winter storm, hopefully the last of the season, that is just plain ugly. The snow, intermittent but ubiquitous, hasn't really stuck; this is the only positive as far as I can see it. Not treacherous, just ugly. I hear it's going to get worse tonight; six or so inches and a shitty morning commute. Ah, we'll deal with it. What else can we do? Anyway, winter's bite becomes more gummy the closer to spring we get.
I'm still on the mend. My knee isn't as wonky as it was a few days ago - yoga has helped it heal - but it still feels off. And the neck and shoulder pain is there, but not as palpable. A couple of days away from yoga is the plan. Let's see how things go.
I feel like I'm tired more often. Yes, yes, this could be a consequence of age, but it could also be that I have dulled myself to life. What do you think of that? Could that be true? How could someone so dynamic, so thrilling, ever make such a claim? I hear you, but I'm just throwing it out there because I believe it's close enough to the truth that it can feel its truthful breath . So huddle up, there's no time to waste, and let's inject some vigor and zest into this undernourished soul suit I wear. Starting....NOW!
Breaking news. There will be no vigor, no zest; just more of the excruciating sameness found in virtually every other post. Or perhaps something more vital than that. Only one way to find out. Let's commence, ye hoary witches.
Nope. No commencing; I'm behind schedule. Want to work on some music, meditate, read, that sort of thing. I'll brave the snow tomorrow and head to work. Then I'll visit my mother and head up to Scott's. And from there? I know not.
I lied. There will be some vigor and zest injected into this post. Let 'em have it, Kurt.
From Bluebeard:
I now think of the rotunda of that palazzo, when it still had its pagan as well as its Christian images, as a Renaissance effort to make an atomic bomb. It cost a great deal of money and employed some of the best minds of the time, and it compressed into a small space and in bizarre combinations the most powerful forces of the Universe as the Universe was understood in the fifteenth century.
The Universe has certainly come a long way since then.
Sleep well, thoroughbreds.
I'm still on the mend. My knee isn't as wonky as it was a few days ago - yoga has helped it heal - but it still feels off. And the neck and shoulder pain is there, but not as palpable. A couple of days away from yoga is the plan. Let's see how things go.
I feel like I'm tired more often. Yes, yes, this could be a consequence of age, but it could also be that I have dulled myself to life. What do you think of that? Could that be true? How could someone so dynamic, so thrilling, ever make such a claim? I hear you, but I'm just throwing it out there because I believe it's close enough to the truth that it can feel its truthful breath . So huddle up, there's no time to waste, and let's inject some vigor and zest into this undernourished soul suit I wear. Starting....NOW!
Breaking news. There will be no vigor, no zest; just more of the excruciating sameness found in virtually every other post. Or perhaps something more vital than that. Only one way to find out. Let's commence, ye hoary witches.
Nope. No commencing; I'm behind schedule. Want to work on some music, meditate, read, that sort of thing. I'll brave the snow tomorrow and head to work. Then I'll visit my mother and head up to Scott's. And from there? I know not.
I lied. There will be some vigor and zest injected into this post. Let 'em have it, Kurt.
From Bluebeard:
I now think of the rotunda of that palazzo, when it still had its pagan as well as its Christian images, as a Renaissance effort to make an atomic bomb. It cost a great deal of money and employed some of the best minds of the time, and it compressed into a small space and in bizarre combinations the most powerful forces of the Universe as the Universe was understood in the fifteenth century.
The Universe has certainly come a long way since then.
Sleep well, thoroughbreds.
Monday, March 4, 2013
You don't have to love me yet, let's get high a while
Turns out doing fifty sun salutations can fuck a brother up. I'm recovering from a sore neck and shoulder and over the last couple of days I've walked with a pronounced limp, thanks to a strained knee. Not entirely sure it was the sun salutations that caused the injuries - could be that I'm becoming more and more brittle, and hence, useless, as I age (No! I refuse to believe it) - but until I heal, I won't be doing nearly as many. I don't know, maybe none of this had to do with yoga. I mean, I did fall out a third story window onto a pile of bricks the other day. There is that.
My interest in The Walking Dead started to wane this season, enough so that I missed a couple of recent episodes and was nonplussed about it. Whether it had to do with me or the show or both, I can't say, but yesterday I watched the episodes I missed and my faith in the show's brilliance has been restored. Andrew Lincoln as Rick was particularly good. I'm about to watch last night's episode. Hope it's a keeper.
At some point this week, I plan on driving over to The Capitol Theater in Arlington and catching Django Unchained. Not sure if it will happen - I'm well booked over the next few days - but I'd like to make it happen. Maybe Billy will come. He could use a night out after all that bloodshed.
When Spira and I hung out this weekend, I told her that when we met many years ago, there was instant recognition and that I somehow knew she'd be an essential part of my life. I've told her this before, but for some reason it had been on my mind. I've never had that experience with anyone else. I suspect we've traversed many lives together. I'd try hypnosis as a means of finding out, but I'm afraid I'd find out she did something terrible, like murder me a bunch of times. Hmm, maybe, for my own safety, I should give hypnosis a shot.
I do declare that I am done with this post. I'll finish watching Joe Rogan's podcast with Dr. Steven Greer, work on some music (heading to Scott's this weekend and I want to be prepared), watch Walking Dead , read like a champ, and hopefully have some time to watch some of The Human Condition, one of the greatest and longest (around 9 hours) films every made. And if I'm smart, I'll meditate.
G'night, ye gentle fawns.
My interest in The Walking Dead started to wane this season, enough so that I missed a couple of recent episodes and was nonplussed about it. Whether it had to do with me or the show or both, I can't say, but yesterday I watched the episodes I missed and my faith in the show's brilliance has been restored. Andrew Lincoln as Rick was particularly good. I'm about to watch last night's episode. Hope it's a keeper.
At some point this week, I plan on driving over to The Capitol Theater in Arlington and catching Django Unchained. Not sure if it will happen - I'm well booked over the next few days - but I'd like to make it happen. Maybe Billy will come. He could use a night out after all that bloodshed.
When Spira and I hung out this weekend, I told her that when we met many years ago, there was instant recognition and that I somehow knew she'd be an essential part of my life. I've told her this before, but for some reason it had been on my mind. I've never had that experience with anyone else. I suspect we've traversed many lives together. I'd try hypnosis as a means of finding out, but I'm afraid I'd find out she did something terrible, like murder me a bunch of times. Hmm, maybe, for my own safety, I should give hypnosis a shot.
I do declare that I am done with this post. I'll finish watching Joe Rogan's podcast with Dr. Steven Greer, work on some music (heading to Scott's this weekend and I want to be prepared), watch Walking Dead , read like a champ, and hopefully have some time to watch some of The Human Condition, one of the greatest and longest (around 9 hours) films every made. And if I'm smart, I'll meditate.
G'night, ye gentle fawns.
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