A return, but not yet.

In the meantime, there is activity here: http://giving-aural.blogspot.com/

In the wee small hours of the morning, that's the time you miss her most of all.

And I'm gone from here

Probably a good time to retire the blog. It seems to me I've kept it going far too long and if I go any further, things could turn ugly. I might post again, but whether I'll publish it will be another thing. We'll see.

To those of you who gave a fuck, thanks for reading. To the rest, you're probably right.

I'm going down low where your sleep meets your mental

Here's the deal: there's reason to suspect I may not be entirely sober. If this agitates you, please move on to something else with my sincere blessing. It all started with a couple of home-brew beers at Spira and Janelle's reception....

See, I'm posting when I should be doing other things. I'll wrap it up, then.

A quick recap.

-breakfast of egg whites, sliced plum, sun-dried tomato bagel slim.

- coffee at True Grounds. Read from Sex At Dawn and admired some of the women in attendance.

- Yoga. It was muggy today; a sweaty session, which I loved. As much as possible, one should engage and get lost in some sort of physical activity that enlivens the senses in such a way that conjures our prehistoric ancestors in the thick of the hunt.

- watched a bunch of UFC fights. Chael Sonnen's, in particular.

- read from Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, which has kicked my ass - Trungpa does not pull punches and forces you to confront your bullshit. I want to talk to Janelle about this, but it is too late. Maybe tomorrow. So, yeah, the thing is, I only want to talk to her about this, so.....

-Met an eccentric guy named Arthur at the gallery tonight. Man, I'd like to elaborate about him, but I don't know where to begin - I do, I suppose, but I'm barely lucid enough to continue.

So I shall meditate and think about love, how much I feel it right now, and read and sing songs. And if time permits, I may watch an episode of Louis or Curb Your Enthusiasm. In the morning, it's off to Spira's for brunch and a walk through of the essential stuff those of us staying at her place while she's in Hawaii need to know. And then, later in the day,it will be my party. I hope there will be cake.

Oh, one last thing: Listen to Porno For Pyro's  Good God's Urge. It's a gorgeous album anyway, but in the summer, well, I don't think much else pairs better with it.

I don't know if that last sentence makes much sense, but do you think I care? Ok, I do a little, but I care more about saying the following:

THE END

And I'm going to tune right in on you

I awoke this morning from a dream of a familiar, comforting place. Once again, I was at a small, secluded beach about one hundred yards wide and walled in on either side by trees - very private. The beach itself reaches up a thirty degree incline to a house large enough to lodge the sizable group of people who are always around and are known to me as friends and possibly family. Yet, when I awake, I can't recall who they are, nor do I have any recollection of this beach.

Nothing significant or eventful occurs in these dreams; last night's visit was mostly about my satisfaction at how deep the water was by the shore now that the tide was in. I was thinking of surfing with the group that was already in the water. That's all I recall. I'm left wondering if I'm visiting a place in another realm that is equally, if not more, real than the one in which I presently reside, typing these words. Real or fabricated, I enjoy my visits there. Beats dreaming about inseminating livestock, like Billy does.
--

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 40. Only a small part of me shrinks at the thought (I'm oooold!), but mostly I don't care. I'm still feeling pretty chipper, so why freak out? I took yesterday and today off - nice little vacation - and have been enjoying myself. I spent most of yesterday reading. There are three books I've been bouncing between: Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, A Visit From The Goon Squad, and Sex At Dawn. Each, so far, have been engrossing. I'll read about fifty pages from one then move on to another. It's possible I may finish all three by the end of the weekend. Stay tuned, children.

Janelle came by with  Baby Boy Z last night. While Z hung out at his old pad for awhile, Janelle and I went over to Tu Y Yo for some Mexican cuisine.* I can't remember the names of the dishes we ate, but damn, son, they were tasty. Breaded cactus filled with cheese; rice and beans - me gusta mucho! Add to the meal some beer, sangria, and good conversation, and you've got yourself a grand old time. I'll even go as far to say that it was swell. Spending time with Janelle and Z was a splendid birthday gift. I love them.

On the 4th, I went to my parent's house for a cookout. Spira and Missy D tagged along. We picked up my grandmother on the way. It was a good time. My sister and her family were in attendance and, consequently, there was a bit of chaos. It seemed my niece Colleen had taken up boxing since I saw her last. She used me as a punching bag throughout the day until I got fed up and knocked her the fuck out with a brutal haymaker. No, I did not do that, but it's possible it might have happened if she had continued bullying me. My mother and Spira had a brief argument over the song, God Bless America. My mother has intense feelings regarding it, it turns out. No need to elaborate, but it caught everyone by surprise. Spira offered up an opposing viewpoint and, well, as I said, it was a brief affair and no one, despite the ferocity on display, came out the other end any worse. All of this is why I always remind myself not to talk politics with my mother unless I'm in the mood for a fiery, grinding, and fruitless debate.

Craig stopped by later that night and we hung out for a while on the porch drinking beer and talking about stuff, and by stuff, I mean you. Getting to spend time with friends and family these past several days has been invigorating. Hell is not other people, at least not as concerns the people in my life.

On Tuesday, Jeff bought everyone lunch for my birthday. And afterward, he gave us each two hundred smackers as a token of his, and his wife, Chris's appreciation for the hard work we've been doing. A very nice gesture.

Ok, I'm done with you. Just looked at the clock. Time to get on with my day.


* An interesting thing: Before Janelle arrived, we hadn't talked about where we were going to eat. I gave it some thought after I spoke with her, but not  much. It wasn't a pressing concern; I was confident we'd choose a suitable place, especially given the welter of options nearby. Only two places crossed my mind, neither of which I'd eaten at before. First, I thought of Yak and Yeti, the Tibetan restaurant on Broadway. Next, I thought of Tu Y Yo, which resonated with me more. Usually my thoughts drift to Davis Square whenever I think of places to eat, but not last night. When Janelle arrived, she told me the places she had thought of. Same effin ones I thought of! And in the same order of thought and preference. Interesting when things like that happen. Guess we're in tune, right in tune.

The magic carpet waits for you, so don't be late

Got today out of the way. One more, and then, hopefully, matters will have a rosier sheen. Presently, I feel like the Universe is toying around with me the way killer whales do with seals. Stop being an asshole, Universe! I'm on your side, why are you fucking with me?

Nothing like seeing pictures posted of you on Facebook to give you a reality check. Upon viewing shots from Mike's cookout, I was left feeling perplexed, among other things. I really look this way?  I know I'm not a Greek sculpture, but I thought I looked better than what I saw, which was a doughy, dumpy guy, one well acquainted with the sedentary lifestyle. Look, I'm not going to beat myself up over it, but it bums me out a little bit to see myself that way, especially when I've worked hard to take care of myself. Rasheed Wallace was famous for shouting "Ball don't lie" during NBA games.Know what else don't lie, Rasheed? Photos (barring Photoshop trickery, of course). Mirrors, though, are prolific liars. Anyway, here are my options: 1. Go ape-shit and work out like never before and eat even less than I currently do 2. Stay the course and modify my routine periodically as I've been doing 3. Let myself go completely.

Option three is the easiest and it wouldn't take much to justify it. "May as well, not like the alternative got me anywhere", I could say like a big fucking quitter. Option one could work for sure, but I'd have to make it my central focus. Option two could promise more of the same, but I'm sticking with it. Here's why: I may look like I eat doughnuts and drink soda all day in front of a computer, but I don't feel that way. For example, I slept on Mike's tiny couch in his office the other night and didn't wake up with the slightest ache. I thank yoga for that. And eating right and exercising has had a far more substantial impact on my well being than polluting myself ever did.

So I don't have an athletic physique - whatever - but it's still a relatively healthy looking one, despite my unfortunate description above. Yet I still perceive I'm receiving more favorable attention from women these days. Must be my profoundly soulful eyes or my heart, which is as pure as humming bird's breath. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that women tend to be more forgiving when it comes to looks.

I'll continue eating right and practicing yoga because it's in my best interest to do so and because I want to.   I need to move away from identifying with the body, which is a mere spacesuit, says Duncan Trussell. Focus more on the spirit, Kevin, and you'll shed this attachment to form. Sounds like a plan.

You and I both know that the solution to all of my problems is a good shagging. Time to get laid. It's going to happen by the weekend or I am going to yell at a dalmation puppy and possibly a lamb. So if you like animals, especially soft and downy ones, you better hope I'll soon be up to my nuts in guts (Damn, did I just go there? Yup). 
--
I stepped on my phone the other day (Whoopie!!) and ruined the display screen. This means I can't write or read texts (if I was one of my nieces, losing the ability would be akin to having my soul eaten right out of me), make calls from my contact list, or know who's calling me if they don't leave a voicemail. I can, however, make calls using speed dial (fortunately, the people I talk to most are saved in my phone that way). Time for a new phone.


I'm sleepy. I think I'm going to read a bunch tonight. Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad is a page-turner. I will drink deeply from it.

It's fingerlicking good, y'all

The weekend is squeezing out its last drops.Tomorrow it's back to work, but only for a couple of days; a short week it will be. I hope it will play out the way I envision it: a relaxing, nourishing, love making, romp through days of sunshine briefly interrupted by overcast, rainy ones, which will engender A-ok scenarios like nap taking, reading and writing and the aforementioned love making. If the week is filled with terror, helplessness, and despair, it will certainly suck and I will know (finally, for sure) my soul is damned. Best not  play with that possibility lest it come to pass; I can't profess to the potency or spells or whether they actually exist, but I don't want to risk the effects of an unwitting invocation. Ah, let's move on.

Yesterday was Mike and Kristen's cookout. It was rife with merriment, kinship, slurred speech, drunken mentations, meat eating, flirting, and mischief. It was a treat being with my people, some of whom I hardly see. I drank a six pack of Newcastle and a few other other beers offered up by fellow revelers and it's possible I inhaled something many times that, coupled with the occasional tug from a bottle of maple whiskey, provided a cozy warmth that coated my mind and body. Under the sunlight, we ate and conversed in a manner that would make civilized people nod in approval, but debauchery was inevitable. When the sun withdrew it's light, we soon comported ourselves like moon-addled wolves. At times interactions were symmetrical, others they were sloppy. The later it got, the more we descended into savagery, though of a much tamer sort than, say Dionysus and his cohorts. Still, we made a good showing.  Around three in the morning, Kreg grilled up some hotdogs. We ate like wild dogs tearing into a fresh kill. It wasn't only my base instincts urging me on, I was following a plan; eating fatty foods and drinking a ton of water after I moved on from alcohol saved me the hangover I would have awoken with this morning and been annoyed by all day.

Those of us who stayed over went out for breakfast. At the diner, our party was divided up because of insufficient seating  Mike, Andy, Kristen, and me got a table inside (I devoured my hash and eggs like I had just boxed a few rounds). Kreg and Kate sat outside and Frank, Michelle, Emily, Pinky, and Ryan ate at the diner across the street, not wanting to endure the heat of the morning.

I left around one and stopped off at a used bookstore in Nashua. I picked up Mark Twain's The Mysterious Stranger, Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent, Jennifer Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad (which I've already read a few chapters from - so far it's delightful), and The Matrix on DVD. I only spent eleven bucks. Finding a bargain is like having an explosive orgasm. Not really, though. I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm going to go read or something.

Namaste, b-boys!