Though your confidence may be shattered, it doesn't matter

I post so little these days, but maybe that's for the better. Or maybe not. How should I know? The lack of output has come from being busy and being lazy. When I've have a lot going on, posting hasn't been much of an option and when, like the last couple of days, I haven't had much going on, I haven't been inspired to write. It's just the way things have been going. In case you're on the verge of taking a glowing branding iron to your face over  fear the blog is ending, still your hand, child: I have no intention of pulling the plug. Not yet.

A nice long weekend just breezed by and I'm wondering where it went. I enjoyed it quite a bit. I saw the latest Star Trek installment with Spira the other night. Loved it! J.J. Abrams brought the ruckus on every front. I'm eager to see what he does with Star Wars. I anticipate it will be nothing short of amazing.We had some Vietnamese food before the movie, which caused blissful tears to cascade down our porcelain-smooth faces. It may be my favorite food in the whole wide world. Those fresh rolls.....so effin sublime.

Undaunted Courage, Stephen Ambrose's book about Lewis and Clark arrived on Friday and I've been reading from it often. I've also moved on from Wizard and Glass in my Dark Tower re-read to Wolves of The Calla. And let's not forget David Lee Roth's Crazy From The Heat, which I found in a box on the sidewalk as Craig and I made our way over to Yoshi's last week. It's been an interesting read so far. You may not know this about me, but I was obsessed with Van Halen throughout most of my youth. A bit of a nostalgia trip, this.

The weekend also found me toiling away at recording. Didn't get as much accomplished as I would have liked, but there was output. Slow and steady wins the race, children. It was a quiet house this weekend, too, which was ideal for recording. Fred was in New York and Evangeline wasn't here much (even when she is, she's as quiet as one of them there church mouses). Maybe I should have done more, but whatever. I did other stuff. Like....

Yoga. I've changed up the practice a bit; it's been intensified to some degree but with an emphasis on fluidity and mindfulness. As a result, I've been feeling stronger than usual. Don't mess with me, son! I haven't been as consistent with meditation this weekend, but I did practice some. I haven't been a complete slug, you know.

Yesterday, I picked Nana up and we met my mom and my sister's family at the cemetery in Lexington to lay some flowers down for my dad, grandfather, and uncle. I was more broken up this time than when I was the last time I was there. I can't believe it's almost been six months. It still hurts. Afterward, we went out for lunch and then I brought Nana home. We had a good talk. She is an amazing woman. At 96, she is still sharp and lucid. Her body is wearing down, but not her mind.

And that is that. I'll be back, suckas! P.s. Didn't see the samurai exhibit at the MFA this weekend in case you were wondering (I'm only mentioning it because I made the bold claim in my last post that I'd be recounting my experience there. Oh, and I also said I'd riff about Stalker, Tarkovsky's dreamy sci-fi film. It left more questions than answers, but I enjoyed it. Very hypnotic and, despite the limited dialog, layered. I will watch it again.)

Thinking about what a friend had said, I was hoping it was a lie

A weird night of sleep. I woke up at least twice throughout it, wrenched from whatever dream I was having by something, I don't know what exactly. Around four this morning, I was having a dream (very pleasant with good people about) that was disrupted by what I took to be cell phone feedback emanating loudly through my speakers. This most likely didn't happen because a) my cell phone is shielded nicely, son, and doesn't squawk and b) the sound cut off the very second my eyes opened. My first thought was "Not again". A few minutes later, I pieced together the recollection that I'd been awakened earlier in a similar manner. So what was going on? Damned if I know, but this type of thing has happened before. Beeps and blips have invaded my dreams periodically over the years. I suspect an outside influence. Anyway, as I say, a weird night of sleep, but, man, my dreams, despite not being able to recall them clearly, have been warm and pleasant and social. I'm hoping this is a case of joy passing through the subconscious on its way up.

Ok, I'm out this piece. Been busy, but I wanted to check in, let you know I still care. The week has been pretty nice, though it has contained the sad news of my friend's mother passing away. That marks three deaths in the last several months that have hit close to home. Just nature being nature, I suppose, but man does it make life a bitch!

Stallions, I'm gone. I'll be back and we'll discuss the fucking awesome film Stalker, the Samurai exhibit at the MFA that I plan on attending this weekend with Spira, and much, much more. The long weekend approaches. I am ready for it.

No, no, I don't believe this song

While practicing yoga this morning, the police appeared at our place. They were looking for Rick, our landlord. He hasn't been seen or heard from in days. They banged on the door. Nothing. I brought them down to the basement where they tried another door. Nothing. Back door. No response. I thought I might have Rick walking around upstairs last night, but I can't be sure. Might have been Fred below me. Hope Rick is ok, but it doesn't look good. If he doesn't show up by this afternoon, the police will be back to break open the door.

Watched the final episode of The Office yesterday. It was bittersweet. The show should have ended a few seasons back but I stuck with it. It was like watching a friend succumb to drug addiction. You don't want to see their decline but you still want to be supportive. So for the last few seasons of The Office, I stuck around. There were some worthwhile moments, but in the end the show became a caricature of its former self.. I could elaborate, but I just read a piece on Grantland that pretty much sums up my feelings on the matter.

Bittersweet. I think part of the reason I stuck with the show was because it was a common thread between my father and me. During our weekly conversations, we'd talk about the most recent episode. I wish he got to see the show all the way to the end. Several times throughout the final episode, I teared up. They did a good job wrapping things up. I think my dad would have enjoyed it. When the show was at it's peak, it was one of the greatest. It's sad seeing it go. Impermanence. No more dad, no more The Office. This is life.

I'm getting melancholy. Time to end this.

The boys and girls of Millbrook are on the train from New York, wearing new hats, shooting the shit

I've had similar dreams the last two nights. They've coalesced with the ether and are mostly gone to me, but I remember the parts that are similar. In each dream, I was looking down into a room, stationed in an attic or some other lofty postion. Lots of skulking about observing the goings on of others. And not alone; I had vague companions (the only one I remember is Finn, who you'll read about further down). Such gossamer canvases these dreams have become; they melt in my mind as soon as memory calls their number. Anyway, I have no idea what was going on in them; just making a connection (one of the mind's favorite, favorite activities).

The weekend was productive and well balanced. I spent time with family, friends, and my very own self. On Saturday, I accompanied my mother and grandmother to my niece Colleen's first communion way out in Ashburnham. During the ceremony with it's white gowned children going through the ritualized motions, I kept myself occupied by admiring the good looking women around me and firming my thoughts about indoctrinating children into something they can't possibly understand. After some thought, I wasn't so sure if children can't understand church doctrine. Aren't they better equipped than us ego-blasted adults to grasp the teachings? Perhaps. An impediment might be the archaic language, but there we're on equal footing: it's an impediment for us adults, too.

Speaking for myself, I didn't understand most of what I was being told in church when I was a genteel lad. Both my mother and Spira told me they grasped what they were being taught when I asked them later on. So who knows. I'm still not keen about indoctrination, but it happens in all sorts of ways from the minute we slide into our first pair of diapers. I'm not a big fan of molding young malleable brains for any purpose foul or benign, but if it's going to happen - and I think it will for a long time - teaching kids about JC can't be that bad, right? I mean, he was a peaceful dude. Who doesn't like peaceful dudes?

So I sat (and stood and knelt and sat and stood and knelt and sat and stood and knelt) and felt not a trace of guilt over my carnal yearnings in the house of God and let go the self righteousness I've engaged in before concerning religion and relaxed into the mass. Everyone is on their own path; who the eff am I to judge? I'm happy for the experience, but I was pleased when it was over. Afterward, we went out to eat and I wolfed down a salmon burger and drank two tall glasses of beer.

From the restaurant, we drove my grandmother back to her house in Lexington and visited with my aunt Shelly and uncle Dick who had flown in from NC while we were gone. Being around my uncle was like being around my dad - they resemble each other and share some of the same mannerisms. It was eerie; when I left, my heart was heavy with longing.

I went to Spira's place afterward and took her out to the Peruvian restaurant in Union Sq. for dessert. This was in lieu of the birthday cake she didn't get this year. We ordered cake, rice pudding, custard, and two containers of purple corn juice. Back at her condo, we lit a candle on the cake and I sang Happy Birthday. We watched Kitchen Nightmares and hung out with the pooches (Leah and her dog, Finn, have been staying with Spira). Two pooches = twice the fun. That is the solid truth.

Other than that, it's been writing and reading ( Wizard and Glass, Humboldt's Gift, Bhagavan Das's autobiography). I watched The Room the other night. It is so unintentionally odd and funny that I think it may be one of the greatest movies ever made. Tonight I may watch Pather Panchali, the first film in The Apu Trilogy (deeply moving, gorgeous). I found the films on YouTube. Score!

Speaking of YouTube, I found a twelve hour aum meditation there and will begin playing it during meditation (it's three or so Buddhist monks doing the chanting) and during sleep. That should help the state of my soul, right? Or it may be my end! Stay tuned.

I'll leave you with an exchange between Ram and Hanuman.

Ram: Who are you, Hanuman?

Hanuman: When I don't know who I am, I serve you. When I know who I am, I am you.



Ya feeling me, brah?

I'm singing this borrowed tune I took from the Rollling Stones

And then, after a triumphant day that found me overcoming obstacles and keeping wild tiger thoughts in check, dinner was prepared. I wasn't fucking around tonight, beautiful dreamers; I steamed some broccoli and cauliflower, boiled some jasmine rice, baked kale chips on one sheet and sweet potato chips on another (these two not part of supper festivities but to be eaten at a later triumphant date), sliced beets, stir fried turkey in sesame sauce. More might have been added, I just can't remember. Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that I made a healthy, tasty meal tonight that contained the above mentioned ingredients, save the kale and sweet potato.

I'm listening to Can's Tago Mago and I've been transported-accosted!-back to a fine summer week at the beach up in Biddeford, ME. I padded along sandbars golden and pink with sunset, with this album provoking me into a trance state. It's possible I smoked grass to enhance the experience. I believe I did this every day I was there. Fine days - peace, ocean air, my family (dad still among us), kayaking, Tago Mago, sun and shadow country lane runs with ocean on either side, books by the water. Not pure bliss, but in the same conversation.

There's more to say - there most always is - but I'd like to take some time to work on lyrics. As I've mentioned before, my movements in this regard have resembled those of a snail. Well, here's the deal: of the ten or so songs that need lyrics (there are plenty more than that but this is a manageable batch), only two have been chipped away at. They're almost complete. One is called Cotter's Run. "Naked, you run from Crow/That did for John Potts miles ago/Quarry, a game for braves/ Turned in on yourself in the night/ Bereft of fire light/You wait for morning to ignite" is how it begins. Historically speaking, if you don't know about Cotter's Run, I recommend you read up on it.You'll probably go watch Kitchen Nightmares instead like I just did (oh, Gordon, you're such a brute, but what a tender heart) So, yeah, I'll go write some lyrics. I may  plod, but dog gone it, I'm sticking with it.

The weekend cometh. I will attend Colleen's communion, meditate, practice yoga, read, socialize, whatevs. It shall be quite the weekend I predict.

In the meantime, I shall do other things like watch a movie. Could be The Usual Suspects, could be Raging Bull. or maybe Careful, perhaps the greatest movie ever made.

And the fear has left you alone forever

Today could have been an ordeal, a real fucking asshole, but it wasn't. I was able to harness my thoughts before they could escalate into a cacophony of insistent contradictory yammering. Not wanting to revisit the things that were a drag, I'll sum it up by saying it was a red light kind of day. I thank meditation and yoga for keeping me even-keeled. Fuck despair, fuck debilitating thoughts - I repeated "Ram", the divine mantra, and got things correct. I faced the day like a champ. If you think otherwise, then you are obtuse, a dirty ape, an utter waste.

The weekend was fine. I spent Saturday with Janelle, Bill, and every one's favorite good time boy, Pooch Edward Bottoms. I was glad for the opportunity to get to know Bill better and see their new home in Andover. Janelle made Buddha bowls for dinner which, according to my math, were 100% delicious and 97% nutritious (3% was poison, I'm pretty sure). We drank beers; I had three. We'll make a drunk out of me yet.

Yesterday, I visited Spira at her studio as she shared her wares with the Open Studios crowd. I arrived before she did and spent an hour or so talking with Ethan, who has a room near Spira's, and his fiance, Lauren. A great conversation. We got deep into the psychology of art, schizophrenia, and we may have gossiped about you for a bit. Sorry.

Spira came in the room at one point and gave me a big hug and said she missed me. That warmed me all the way to my pure heart. I missed her too, even though I had seen her a week ago. Later in the day, along with Leah, we celebrated Greek Easter at the Greek Corner on Mass Ave. Spira payed for everything because me and Leah were broke asses. We ate a lot of yummy food. I can't tell you what we ate. And by can't I mean refuse to.

Well, I can see you're being all snooty now, so I'm out this mother fucker.

Peace, wookies.

Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more

I remember my first yoga session. Spira had a dvd and we practiced to it. I remember feeling surprised at how it pulverized me. I barely got through it. I had figured it would have been a more tranquil experience, with gentle yawning stretches and deep breathing. That was not how it went.

Years later, I am much more adept at yoga but still learning, still growing along with it. I had an expansive, flowing session earlier tonight that was needed. My week has been a high octane affair (by my standards, at least); good to melt the built up tension when possible.

Now I'm tired and must go. To be continued.