It happens sometimes when there is much to write about, but little energy to do the writing. It's where I'm at this evening, readers. Maybe the prospect of covering a wide swath of subject matter is just too daunting, maybe I just flat out don't feel much like "blogging" tonight. With that in mind, be aware that this post could end abruptly, leaving you unsatisfied and cheated, which, for all I know, you may feel with many of my posts. Best get started and see where we end up.
To begin, yesterday Jeff called us all into his office and told us he was going to have to cut hours and, if things continued to deteriorate, make some layoffs. This wasn't a big surprise to any of us, but, because it was made official, it was a bit unsettling. Jeff, however, assuaged our fears by telling us he's doing everything he can to improve business.
After the meeting, I remained in Jeff's office so we could go over my new hours. The prospect of losing more hours wasn't tasty, but it still meant I had a job, which was the essential thing. And, as it turned out, my hours weren't cut that much. A sigh of relief. I issued another one when Jeff told me that, because of my unique position, my status was secure.
I had my first honest-to-goodness nightmare in a long time last night. It was brief, but absolutely cathartic. All day, I marveled at how utterly ferocious it was- I bounced between feeling disturbed and being impressed. Basically, the dream went like so:
I found myself in a dilapidated warehouse. There were overturned and smashed crates and pockets of fire everywhere, which provided the only light. It was right out of a Freddy Krueger flick. I was among a group of about twenty people. Everyone, including myself, was on edge, nerves frayed. We awaited the predator.
It wasn't a long wait.
Out of the shadows emerged a hulking mass, a savage, primordial beast. I couldn't make out it's features. I'm not sure it had any. All I knew was that it was the most ferocious, tenacious, and evil thing I've ever witnessed. Really, it's rage was so intense and limitless that it could have eaten through a thousand solar systems, a thousand centuries, without losing a fraction of it's malevolent drive. Basically, it was like The Incredible Hulk, but way, way more pissed off.
We all scattered. I looked over my shoulder - it wasn't chasing me. I ran anyway, as fast as my terrified legs would allow. I hid behind some boxes. I could hear it's furious, fear-inducing, howls and grunts off in the distance. What the fuck was this thing? I hoped not to find out.
When the terror had subsided enough for me to take action, I stepped out from behind the boxes and saw that I was standing on a track. Was I in an abandoned gym? Before I could think any further on the subject, the beast burst out of the shadows and made for me with startling speed. I ran for my life, for my soul. Yes, I knew full well that this beast was capable of tearing apart more than my flesh. I ran and felt its hot breath on my neck.
It never overtook me. It should have, given it's speed, but it never went in for the kill. I realized that I was being harried. I saw that I was running on the track. Exactly where this monster wanted me to be. This was a game to the frothing, howling, beast. Discovering this fact didn't lessen the fear one bit.
I woke up then and whispered "What was that all about?". Indeed, what was that all about? I have an idea that the message of the dream is that fear (the beast) is guiding my actions. It is true, maybe even to a substantial degree. Whether that was the true meaning of the dream, I don't know. I hope that's it, because if that evil creature is real on some level, look out, son!
-
Well, how do you like that? I ended up with a much larger word count than you or I expected. Are any of you respectful enough to congratulate me on this feat? I eagerly await your heartfelt and detailed responses.
There is more, but I'm tired and have other things to do. This weekend is going to be jam-packed with activity; I'm must conserve my energy as I await it.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Begin the day with a friendly voice, a companion unobtrusive
I went for a run after work. It was drizzling when I left and, about halfway through, it started pouring. I quickened my pace, but the damage was done. I was completely soaked. Wouldn't have been so bad if it was a little warmer out. Still beats the humidity, a runner's arch enemy.
Foley and I caught the Elliott Smith documentary, Searching For Elliott Smith, at the Somerville Theater last night. Both of us are big fans of his music and it's a sad and wasteful thing that he committed suicide. The film did a good job portraying him, which must not have been an easy feat, considering how shy and private he was. I'll never forget when I first heard him. Years ago, Luke Warm stopped by and popped in a CD. "I think you might like this", he said. He was correct. It was his self titled album we were listening to, and I recognized instantly the immense talent he possessed. One of the best songwriters I've ever heard. He continues to be missed.
Regarding my own music, I've overcome a hurdle with one of my songs. I've had it floating around for a year or two and, about a month ago, I attempted to record it. I put the guitars down first - they came out fine - and then I attempted the vocals. I say attempted because I still haven't finished them. Every track I put down sounded dull and uninspired until I figured out what the problem was. I'd been singing the song pretty much the same way for a long time and the other day it finally registered that I wasn't happy with the vocals because the melodies weren't that strong. I had thought it was my delivery. I revamped the vocals the other day and I think I'm in the clear. They sound much better.
I have more to say, but I've got a Celtics game to watch, some reading to do, some emails to send, and a shower to take. Perhaps tomorrow I'll fill in the gaps.
Foley and I caught the Elliott Smith documentary, Searching For Elliott Smith, at the Somerville Theater last night. Both of us are big fans of his music and it's a sad and wasteful thing that he committed suicide. The film did a good job portraying him, which must not have been an easy feat, considering how shy and private he was. I'll never forget when I first heard him. Years ago, Luke Warm stopped by and popped in a CD. "I think you might like this", he said. He was correct. It was his self titled album we were listening to, and I recognized instantly the immense talent he possessed. One of the best songwriters I've ever heard. He continues to be missed.
Regarding my own music, I've overcome a hurdle with one of my songs. I've had it floating around for a year or two and, about a month ago, I attempted to record it. I put the guitars down first - they came out fine - and then I attempted the vocals. I say attempted because I still haven't finished them. Every track I put down sounded dull and uninspired until I figured out what the problem was. I'd been singing the song pretty much the same way for a long time and the other day it finally registered that I wasn't happy with the vocals because the melodies weren't that strong. I had thought it was my delivery. I revamped the vocals the other day and I think I'm in the clear. They sound much better.
I have more to say, but I've got a Celtics game to watch, some reading to do, some emails to send, and a shower to take. Perhaps tomorrow I'll fill in the gaps.
Friday, April 23, 2010
She'll feed you tea and oranges that come all the way from China
I just deleted a mess of an introductory paragraph. It was a vulgar thing, all knotted up and meandering. It needed to be put down, obliterated, erased from memory. I was trying to be cerebral with it, but conceited was how it hit the virtual page. Well, it's done with. Let's proceed, start anew.
It's been slow at work and we've been having abbreviated days. Thoughts of being suddenly jobless have been cropping up. Uncertainty. Funny thing is, I'm one of the only people who has plenty of work and, as a consequence of leaving early almost everyday, I'm starting to fall behind. Oh, the irony.
After work, I went to the grocery store. At checkout, the cashier and bagger were locked in a circular exchange I'm convinced didn't reach its conclusion until well after I left. Perhaps, in Twilight Zone fashion, they'll continue on in this manner, wanting to stop, but not being able to until they eventually drop dead from the exertion of repetition. Anyway, this is what I overheard:
Bagger: I gave it to you.
Cashier: Seriously, there's no way you did.
Bagger: No, i gave it to you.
Cashier: You didn't
Bagger: I did
Cashier: You didn't
This went on throughout the transaction. I never learned what the "it" in question was. I might have to hire a Private Investigator to get to the bottom of this. I wish Magnum was still answering my calls. As I was collecting my bags, the bagger, a young, rotund woman with curly hair and a merry countenance, stepped away from the pitched battle she was having with the cashier long enough to wish me a nice weekend. I wished her one too, and she said, "Oh, I'll have a nice weekend alright, as long as I have Elvis with me."
I wasn't expecting that response, but I rolled with it. "Ah, the King"
She grinned widely and said, "He's always with me". She then pulled a doll out of her pants pocket. That, I most certainly wasn't expecting. It took me a minute to conclude that the doll was indeed meant to be in the likeness of Elvis because:
1. It looked to be about thirty years old and was beat to fuck. There were scuff marks and dirt all over it. I suspect she may have pulled it out of a dumpster. If you grew up in the seventies, you've seen a doll like this. Six inches or so in length, rubber head, plastic body, ill-fitting clothes. All my super hero dolls were like that. I used to enjoy squishing their heads. Ah, memories.
2. The flesh was cadaverous gray and didn't typify the Elvis we're accustomed to seeing. You know, the alive one.
She waved the doll in my face and sang a verse from "Jailhouse Rock" in a passable Elvis voice. I gave her a thoughtful look. I wondered if she was a little off, perhaps a little deranged. Probably, but she seemed happy. Maybe she's on to something.
-
Sometimes I feel inadequate and small, like I have no viable function in this life. Insignificant. I don't like feeling that way. It's a process; I'll get through it. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys: we all experience them. I know, as a solid truth I know, that our natural state has little to do with the way we behave in the throes of the ego, which most of us constantly are. Eckhart Tolle says we need look no further than a houseplant for an illustration of a natural state. Stillness. Imagine even a minute without the constant barrage of thoughts. Not such an easy feat, hence our ups and downs, peaks and valleys.
Speaking of thoughts and Eckhart Tolle, I'll leave you with a pretty cool mental trick I learned from him. If you want to clear your mind, think "I wonder what my next thought is going to be." Sounds counter-intuitive, but it works. At least for me it did. I had the thought and then sat around waiting for a thought to pop in my head. Took a while. Give it a try, and see what happens.
It's been slow at work and we've been having abbreviated days. Thoughts of being suddenly jobless have been cropping up. Uncertainty. Funny thing is, I'm one of the only people who has plenty of work and, as a consequence of leaving early almost everyday, I'm starting to fall behind. Oh, the irony.
After work, I went to the grocery store. At checkout, the cashier and bagger were locked in a circular exchange I'm convinced didn't reach its conclusion until well after I left. Perhaps, in Twilight Zone fashion, they'll continue on in this manner, wanting to stop, but not being able to until they eventually drop dead from the exertion of repetition. Anyway, this is what I overheard:
Bagger: I gave it to you.
Cashier: Seriously, there's no way you did.
Bagger: No, i gave it to you.
Cashier: You didn't
Bagger: I did
Cashier: You didn't
This went on throughout the transaction. I never learned what the "it" in question was. I might have to hire a Private Investigator to get to the bottom of this. I wish Magnum was still answering my calls. As I was collecting my bags, the bagger, a young, rotund woman with curly hair and a merry countenance, stepped away from the pitched battle she was having with the cashier long enough to wish me a nice weekend. I wished her one too, and she said, "Oh, I'll have a nice weekend alright, as long as I have Elvis with me."
I wasn't expecting that response, but I rolled with it. "Ah, the King"
She grinned widely and said, "He's always with me". She then pulled a doll out of her pants pocket. That, I most certainly wasn't expecting. It took me a minute to conclude that the doll was indeed meant to be in the likeness of Elvis because:
1. It looked to be about thirty years old and was beat to fuck. There were scuff marks and dirt all over it. I suspect she may have pulled it out of a dumpster. If you grew up in the seventies, you've seen a doll like this. Six inches or so in length, rubber head, plastic body, ill-fitting clothes. All my super hero dolls were like that. I used to enjoy squishing their heads. Ah, memories.
2. The flesh was cadaverous gray and didn't typify the Elvis we're accustomed to seeing. You know, the alive one.
She waved the doll in my face and sang a verse from "Jailhouse Rock" in a passable Elvis voice. I gave her a thoughtful look. I wondered if she was a little off, perhaps a little deranged. Probably, but she seemed happy. Maybe she's on to something.
-
Sometimes I feel inadequate and small, like I have no viable function in this life. Insignificant. I don't like feeling that way. It's a process; I'll get through it. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys: we all experience them. I know, as a solid truth I know, that our natural state has little to do with the way we behave in the throes of the ego, which most of us constantly are. Eckhart Tolle says we need look no further than a houseplant for an illustration of a natural state. Stillness. Imagine even a minute without the constant barrage of thoughts. Not such an easy feat, hence our ups and downs, peaks and valleys.
Speaking of thoughts and Eckhart Tolle, I'll leave you with a pretty cool mental trick I learned from him. If you want to clear your mind, think "I wonder what my next thought is going to be." Sounds counter-intuitive, but it works. At least for me it did. I had the thought and then sat around waiting for a thought to pop in my head. Took a while. Give it a try, and see what happens.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Are you such a dreamer, to put the world to rights?
My, was that an incredible game last night. I'm referring to the double overtime victory the Bruins pulled out in game four of their playoff series against the Sabres. These days, I watch more basketball than hockey, but nothing beats the NHL playoffs for sheer excitement. And who scored the game winner last night? Satan! Seriously, it was Miroslav Satan. His parents, as a gag or in an effort to illustrate the duality of man, should have named him Jesus. Anyway, it was a great, great game and when the deciding goal was scored, I let out a WHOOOOP!! and clapped enthusiastically. I almost got up and did a jig, but absent jug band accompaniment, I couldn't summon the will.
Still plugging away at Drood, which I've been reading slow in order to savor it. And, at work, I'm about halfway through The Picture of Dorian Gray. Almost every sentence is quotable. Also been reading selections from Jim Marr's Rule By Secrecy, a primer on secret societies. I've read it already, but it lends itself to subsequent attention.
Baby Boy Z was frisky when I came home from work, so I had to erect barriers to prevent him from coming in the room while I did yoga. The barriers were flimsy -- if he really wanted to, he could have stepped over the duffle bag or squeezed past the chair -- but the message was clear: no puppy dogs allowed in the room during yoga. He didn't come in the room, but he whined and cried a good amount of the time I was exercising. I'm not going to lie to you: I had to fight the urge to stop doing yoga and start horsing around with Z. It was tough, but I made it through the session. As soon as I was finished, though, the two of us had some quality play time. And we lived happily ever after.
Getting late. Must follow the muse in whatever guise it reveals itself.
Still plugging away at Drood, which I've been reading slow in order to savor it. And, at work, I'm about halfway through The Picture of Dorian Gray. Almost every sentence is quotable. Also been reading selections from Jim Marr's Rule By Secrecy, a primer on secret societies. I've read it already, but it lends itself to subsequent attention.
Baby Boy Z was frisky when I came home from work, so I had to erect barriers to prevent him from coming in the room while I did yoga. The barriers were flimsy -- if he really wanted to, he could have stepped over the duffle bag or squeezed past the chair -- but the message was clear: no puppy dogs allowed in the room during yoga. He didn't come in the room, but he whined and cried a good amount of the time I was exercising. I'm not going to lie to you: I had to fight the urge to stop doing yoga and start horsing around with Z. It was tough, but I made it through the session. As soon as I was finished, though, the two of us had some quality play time. And we lived happily ever after.
Getting late. Must follow the muse in whatever guise it reveals itself.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Well, I'm a tumbler, I'm a government man
My car is covered in bird shit. I'm usually okay with it - they have to go somewhere - but when you're dealing with the amount of poop I've got spotted all over my car, the only logical conclusion to make is that the culprit(s) of this heinous crime committed it in premeditated fashion. They must have some beef with me, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it is. It's been months since my last argument with a bird, so that can't be it. Almost always, because of my pure heart, animals of all shapes and sizes will walk alongside me, climb up on my shoulder, nuzzle my leg --that type of thing-- but now with this bird shit business, I don't know what to think. Have I lost my mojo? Stay tuned, readers. This could get ugly.
I've had a lingering sense of doom for the last week or so. It hasn't been at the forefront of my being, but it's always there in the periphery. There are at least a couple of things that could account for it, but I'd rather not get into them here. I'm hoping the doom is soon replaced with something more appealing, like ecstasy or bliss.
I was going to flesh out some ideas I've had about ADD, but the Bruins game isn't going to watch itself, so I better wrap this up. I also want to work on some music tonight. Been really having to pick my spots with recording; the mics pick up a lot, especially Rich's throbbing heavy metal directly below me. I'll have to figure something out.
I'll leave you with this performance by Fleet Foxes, one of my favorite bands. Ciao!
I've had a lingering sense of doom for the last week or so. It hasn't been at the forefront of my being, but it's always there in the periphery. There are at least a couple of things that could account for it, but I'd rather not get into them here. I'm hoping the doom is soon replaced with something more appealing, like ecstasy or bliss.
I was going to flesh out some ideas I've had about ADD, but the Bruins game isn't going to watch itself, so I better wrap this up. I also want to work on some music tonight. Been really having to pick my spots with recording; the mics pick up a lot, especially Rich's throbbing heavy metal directly below me. I'll have to figure something out.
I'll leave you with this performance by Fleet Foxes, one of my favorite bands. Ciao!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Oh, I dwell in the north, in the green country,
The dream came unto me as follows. I was guesting in someones bungalow, it was late at night. I rose from my slumber and walked outside onto a moonlit, sprawling backyard. I made my way up a slight hill to the side of the main house. I stood outside a window where light was emanating and saw two women with their tops off in the early stages of love making. One of them I recognized from my waking life and, despite never having been particularly attracted to her, I was pleased beyond belief at my good fortune seeing her in this state.
I don't recall feeling the slightest built guilty for being a voyeur; in fact I felt as if it was preordained that I stumble upon this delightful scene and, furthermore, believed, nay, had a strong conviction, that these two lovely ladies, if they were to become aware of my presence, would not only be pleased, but their passions would escalate to intoxicating heights.
In spite of all that, I bolted like a skittish pervert when the woman I knew looked over at the window suspiciously. As I made my way back to the bungalow, I was overtaken by a third woman, who I instantly recognized from my waking life. I don't think we said a word to each other. In a flash, we were in a tent having vivid and not-too-shabby sex.
The End.
I have no idea what spawned the dream. If I had just watched a double header of Porky's and American Pie, it would have made sense. Hell, I didn't even look at any porn that night. Let me rephrase that: Hell, I didn't even look at that much porn that night. Whatever the cause, it was better than dreaming about killing a hundred golden retriever puppies with a branding iron or the same scenario in reverse. And before you ask -- no, I've never had a dream so horrific. Just pointing out the relativity of things, is all.
--
Went over to Spira's after work and met Missy, her new greyhound. I loved her instantly and couldn't stop petting and hugging her. She's been giving Spira the agita, though. The adjustment for both of them has not been smooth sailing. I'm confident things will improve, though. When I came home, Baby Boy Z looked a little hurt when he smelled Missy on me. Oh, Baby Boy, no one will ever take away our BFF status.
I watched the Celtics dismantle the Heat tonight. Great game. And last night, the Bruins/Sabres game was one of the best.....I'm sorry, what was that? You're not interested in my boring sports rhetoric? You'd rather I riff on the magnificence of this guy?
Fair enough, but for that to happen, multiple lengthy posts will be required. And, in order to do Sir Justin justice, I'll need a weeks preparation. His complexities run deep, my friends: keep that in mind when you're jonesing for a Bieber post.
And with that, I'm out of here. Getting late and I need to go have another frat boy dream. Girls locker room? Hey, why not.
I don't recall feeling the slightest built guilty for being a voyeur; in fact I felt as if it was preordained that I stumble upon this delightful scene and, furthermore, believed, nay, had a strong conviction, that these two lovely ladies, if they were to become aware of my presence, would not only be pleased, but their passions would escalate to intoxicating heights.
In spite of all that, I bolted like a skittish pervert when the woman I knew looked over at the window suspiciously. As I made my way back to the bungalow, I was overtaken by a third woman, who I instantly recognized from my waking life. I don't think we said a word to each other. In a flash, we were in a tent having vivid and not-too-shabby sex.
The End.
I have no idea what spawned the dream. If I had just watched a double header of Porky's and American Pie, it would have made sense. Hell, I didn't even look at any porn that night. Let me rephrase that: Hell, I didn't even look at that much porn that night. Whatever the cause, it was better than dreaming about killing a hundred golden retriever puppies with a branding iron or the same scenario in reverse. And before you ask -- no, I've never had a dream so horrific. Just pointing out the relativity of things, is all.
--
Went over to Spira's after work and met Missy, her new greyhound. I loved her instantly and couldn't stop petting and hugging her. She's been giving Spira the agita, though. The adjustment for both of them has not been smooth sailing. I'm confident things will improve, though. When I came home, Baby Boy Z looked a little hurt when he smelled Missy on me. Oh, Baby Boy, no one will ever take away our BFF status.
I watched the Celtics dismantle the Heat tonight. Great game. And last night, the Bruins/Sabres game was one of the best.....I'm sorry, what was that? You're not interested in my boring sports rhetoric? You'd rather I riff on the magnificence of this guy?
Fair enough, but for that to happen, multiple lengthy posts will be required. And, in order to do Sir Justin justice, I'll need a weeks preparation. His complexities run deep, my friends: keep that in mind when you're jonesing for a Bieber post.
And with that, I'm out of here. Getting late and I need to go have another frat boy dream. Girls locker room? Hey, why not.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Fame throwa, pass out the gold, the diamond watch, the last reward, all the things we hid before, you sold us out , and took it all
Having a tough time articulating my thoughts, which could be a direct result from eating Sun Chips and Vienna Fingers earlier. Not exactly brain food. It's been ages since I've had either snack and, for some reason, I decided today was the day to indulge. Isn't gluttony a staple of Patriot's Day? You wouldn't thinks so because of the Boston Marathon, but I'm almost positive I heard the gals on The View say that it was. Maybe I dreamt that. Regardless, I had me some snacks, I feel full, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
I watched Capitalism: A Love Story earlier. Not that the information it presented was anything new, but it was fucking depressing all the same. Nothing like being reminded that our Government and financial institutions, which are one in the same, have fleeced, swindled, bamboozled, and sodomized us with impunity and will most likely continue to do so until we meet the fate of ancient Rome. One of the really disturbing parts of the documentary concerned the dastardly practice of employers taking out life insurance policies on their their employees without them ever knowing. They call it "dead peasant insurance". One woman discovered that because of her husband's death from cancer his employer was the beneficiary of several million dollars. Lesson: there's always money to made.
Found out The Kremlin is moving to North Carolina. Seems everyone I know who's left New England has headed south. Matt moved to Nashville, Anne to Savannah, Steve to Atlanta, Bob TV to Nashville -- and those are just the ones I'm lucid enough to recall. What does it all mean? Oh, I don't know, but what I do know is I'm going to go sit on the porch while it's still light out and read from Drood. Then I'll watch a little Bruins playoff action.
So there.
I watched Capitalism: A Love Story earlier. Not that the information it presented was anything new, but it was fucking depressing all the same. Nothing like being reminded that our Government and financial institutions, which are one in the same, have fleeced, swindled, bamboozled, and sodomized us with impunity and will most likely continue to do so until we meet the fate of ancient Rome. One of the really disturbing parts of the documentary concerned the dastardly practice of employers taking out life insurance policies on their their employees without them ever knowing. They call it "dead peasant insurance". One woman discovered that because of her husband's death from cancer his employer was the beneficiary of several million dollars. Lesson: there's always money to made.
Found out The Kremlin is moving to North Carolina. Seems everyone I know who's left New England has headed south. Matt moved to Nashville, Anne to Savannah, Steve to Atlanta, Bob TV to Nashville -- and those are just the ones I'm lucid enough to recall. What does it all mean? Oh, I don't know, but what I do know is I'm going to go sit on the porch while it's still light out and read from Drood. Then I'll watch a little Bruins playoff action.
So there.
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