Lots and lots of pothead pixies riding around in teapot taxis

I'm having some trouble focusing this evening. Maybe I'm tired. A wild storm rolled through around three thirty this morning and gave zero fucks about waking everyone up. The thunder was mighty loud.

It's nearing the end of the week and my brain has just about had it. I'm listening to Gong, one of the very best progressive bands, particularly their early to mid seventies period. I have iffy plans concerning practicing yoga this evening. I may, but I'm thinking a night of passive intake might be the way to go. As it is, I'm writing a shitty post and am fading fast. Maybe Billy has something that will infuse some clarity in me. Maybe.

V is teaching a class but will be back soon. Should I shower? Perhaps I'll read. Maybe dully surf the internet. Oh, I don't know.

Ok, look, it's been real and all, but I'm fading even faster than I was a couple of paragraphs up. I'm sorry for the lousy content, really I am. Anyway, Gong is so fucking great. Go listen to them or something. Seriously, they've got a bit of old King Crimson, Can, Hawkwind, Frank Zappa, and a whole of their own spices. And maybe a bit of Taylor Swift? Nah.

Anyway

Time to boogie. The weekend approaches. I'm looking forward to it.

I'd say you'd make a perfect angel in the snow

Our office has been a playground for fruit flies. It has been this way for months, preceding my glorious arrival. We've taken just about every measure available to eradicate these cunning fuckers and they've outwitted us every time. I've killed so many, so has everyone else. I'm getting numb to their presence. Well, not quite yet - Fuckers!

After too long a sabbatical, I've returned to reading on a regular basis. I've got a welter of books simmering on the stove (thanks, Kindle!) but the ones I've been paying attention to are:

Passport To Magonia, by Jacques Vallee. This holy grail of ufology had been out of print forever. Over the weekend I discovered there was a Kindle version and bought the fuck out of it. I'm a proponent of Vallee's thoughts about the nature of UFOs. 

Sometimes A Great Notion, by Ken Kesey. V and I recently watched One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and it occurred to me I'd never read any of his books. So far I'm glad I finally did. 

The Cosmic Trigger (I), by Robert Anton Wilson. Like the above-listed PTM, this book, while not being out of print, had not been available on Kindle until recently. I could have purchased a physical copy - it really wouldn't have put me out much - but I never did. Strange, because I've been dying to read the book for a long time. My impatience with snail mail probably influenced why I opted to read his other works released on Kindle first. Anyway, as it happens with RAW, my mind has been stretched to wild proportions and synchronicity has become more of an assertive presence in my life than is typical. 

 Perdurabo:The Life of Aleister Crowley, by Richard Kaczynski. This one I started at the end of the summer, right around the time I met Veronica. It's a hefty work, but I'm working my way through it.

A bunch of books, and there are more in the queue I'm eager to get at, but they all relate. Sometimes I'm unsure of which book I'm reading. 

Bye

He might never have to know anyone

Last night Veronica and I had a choice to make: watch a Ram Dass webcast or the Elliott Smith documentary, Heaven Adores You. We chose the latter because we'd been meaning to watch it for several days. It was good; a bit choppy and inconsistent, but worth our time. Elliott was a gifted songwriter but he didn't coast on his talent. He honed his craft, devoted a lot of time to it. After our viewing I felt inspired and a bit bummed out I didn't go all in, musically speaking, like he did. Different paths,different dharma. Still, I endeavor to evolve as a musician and I have few regrets in life. 

I've been practicing yoga almost daily and Veronica has, here and there, enhanced the experience with her insight as a professional yoga instructor. Sometimes we practice together. I've also been jogging up and down the six flights of stairs in our office building three or four times a day. It all began when I followed the urge to explore the rest of our rather large building. I opted to take the stairs and by the time I reached the top floor, I was breathing heavy. I didn't like that feeling, so for the last several weeks I've been going up and down those stairs. I still get out of breath - that's what happens when you jog up and down six flights of stairs - but my wind is up and I feel lighter and more sure in my footing. 

That's right, son!

So there you go. Alright, I'm out of here, you freaks of nature. 

See the blind man shooting at the world

It's not easy keeping up with this blog, but one tries every now and again to tend the garden. It's President's Day and the only reason I mention it is because it's the first time I've had it off. Not so long ago, I had MLK Day off, too; another first. Among it's other benefits, e.g. working with friends and making more $ than I've ever made, my job's holiday schedule is kick ass. I'm not going to lie to you, it's been swell.

V and I were just talking about the multitude of synchronicities that have appeared in our relationship since its inception. If I had the time, I'd summarize some of the Jungian events that led me to the aforementioned conclusion. But I don't, so you'll just have to take my word on it.

Anyway

We toy with getting a dog sooner than later. It seems a greyhound is the breed we're leaning toward (Missy D's majesty makes it difficult to consider other breeds). They're not so good with stairs and we have steep ones. Maybe we'll wait until we get another place; maybe we won't. Only Billy knows for sure.

Anyway

I've been playing the baritone ukulele V's hair stylist graciously gave us. I've been playing it more like a sitar than a uke and that is a-ok with me.

Well, the night isn't getting any younger and I've got some reading I'd like to do. The Elliott Smith documentary, Heaven Adores You, arrived in the mail the other day; perhaps we'll watch it if time permits.

Alright, you bonnie lads and lasses, I'm out.

Oh, you pretty things

I'm listening to Captain Beefheart's  1978 live album I'm Going To Do What I Wanna Do and it's so fucking good! If I had the ability to travel back in time, I'd follow this man and his extraordinary band on tour with the zeal of a trust fund Dead Head.

Anyway

Veronica and I have been adulting lately and we're both proud of ourselves. Adulting isn't always a gentle glide through the meadow. Over the last several weeks we got a joint checking account, merged our car insurance and phone bills (V managed to save us about a grand a year), done some home renovation, and other stuff that's frankly none of your business, you nosy pricks.

I'm about two weeks into the new job and it's going well. I'm getting better acquainted with day to day operations and it's totally rad working with friends. And not having to drive on account of the fact that I ride in with Foley every day had also been rad.

V and I have been together for almost five months. On the one hand, it feels like we've been together for lifetimes; on the other, it feels like we've just met. I'll tell you this: every day with her has been an absolute pleasure. We haven't even come close to an argument, our communication is clear and direct. I may have stumbled into a healthy relationship. Who would've figured.

Alright, lovers, I'm out of here. Do yourself a favor and:

- listen to David Bowie every day for the next thirty days.

- watch Making A Murderer.

- see The Revenant

- eat sushi several times a month

-tell someone you love them

Just do these things; you'll know true and everlasting joy.

Living in the limelight, the universal dream

Veronica arrived home from  ten day trip Kripalu last Sunday feeling under the weather. Things rapidly went downhill from there. She ended up in bed for the next several days. I left work on Wednesday and took her to the doctor. Diagnosis: the flu. Well, actually, we're not totally sure, seeing how the results still haven't come back. Anyhow, if it was the flu, it wasn't the full on assault like the type I'm used to; no coughing or sore throat but every other symptom.

So that sucked, but she got better by the weekend and we took the opportunity to take it easy. We skipped out on her extended family's holiday party and lounged around like a pair of house cats. We read, napped, fooled around, watched movies (weird ones: Guy Maddin's My Winnipeg & Careful, the crazy Japanese psyschedelic haunted house story aptly titled House, and Neal Breen's Double Down, an unintentionally hilarious and strangely dreamy B movie). I worked on some music, she studied Ayurveda. It was our first weekend in a while that we were together or didn't have social commitments. The only time we went out was Saturday night. We went to Porter Sq. for some groceries and walked over to Christopher's for dinner.

I'm excited to see the new Star Wars movie, but getting tickets has been nearly impossible. I had hoped to see it with Spira, but she didn't want to accommodate Veronica's schedule and went by herself. Oh, well, I understand. It's a big event. Maybe V and I will go this week. Might be tough with Christmas rapidly approaching.

We'll stay at her parent's place on Christmas eve and then head to my grandmother's and then to my mom's on Christmas. It'll be a busy day, but I'm excited to spend it with her; it's our first Christmas together and thus it'll be special, I expect.

We're having our Christmas party at work today. It'll be my last; kind of sad, but I'm ready to move on. Only a  couple of more weeks.

Ok, I'm out. Hope to be back soon.

When love was the means and you were the end

A little over a week ago I was sitting at my desk at work ruminating whether it was time for me to move on. We'd been slow since before Thanksgiving; I had plenty of time to ruminate. Well before that, though, the thought of leaving had taken seed. As much as I appreciated the healthy work environment, I was feeling more and more stagnant, restless. There is zero upward mobility at my job and, despite receiving a slightly more than modest raise last year, the pay is too low. And the work had become rote, bordering on tedious; it had become increasingly difficult to be enthusiastic. So, I sat there thinking about these things. And then I got a text from Foley.

He wanted to meet up and discuss a job offer. I knew he had taken on his father's pension appraisal company a year or two ago and that it was starting to really take off. I met with him over coffee last Saturday and he offered me a job doing appraisals at close to double the pay I'm making now. I'd first need to come by their new office space in Woburn to meet with his father, who's soon to retire, but he made it clear the job was mine. His sister Mary, who I've lost touched with, but was close with in the past, and our friend Ken had been on board for awhile; I was looking forward to seeing them again.

I left work early yesterday and interviewed with Foley's dad for a bit. He formally offered me the job and I accepted gladly. I left feeling grateful for the gifts that have come my way. I'll be working with at least two of my closest friends in a small scale work environment and making a lot more money; I'll be carpooling with Foley (he lives a couple of blocks away) and won't have to worry about my car so much; I'm recently engaged. Life is good.

All of this happened while Veronica was away (she comes home tomorrow), but she's been so supportive (she's supportive no matter what I'm doing) and happy for me. Our life together is starting off well. With more financial security between my new job and her teaching, which is starting to boom, we've been discussing things like getting a dog (we're going to get a greyhound thanks to Missy D just about ruining us for all other dogs) and saving money for a new place (we'll stay here as long as we can because of the location and low rent). It'll be such a relief not having to stress about money all the time.

Yesterday marked the three year anniversary of my dad's passing; it was nice having something joyous to discuss with my mother on an otherwise somber day for her. She knows it hasn't always been easy for me in this life. Her joy was palpable.

I'm grateful for the positive changes in my life but I do not chalk them up to mere luck. No, I manifested these changes willfully. Leading up to meeting Veronica, I tweaked a few things about myself that were holding me back from getting what I've always wanted in life and after that, everything fell into the place. We create our realities, magic is real. I know this from experience and honestly don't give a single shit whether you think otherwise.

Well, I should wrap this up. Going to practice yoga for a bit and then maybe finish watching Bergman's The Magician. I'll probably also read from a collection of Susan Sontag essays I just purchased. Or maybe I'll wonder about the Mandela effect and whether it really used to be the Berenstein Bears and not the Berenstain Bears like it is now. Look it up. For the record, I think we can chalk a lot of what constitutes the the Mandela Effect up to the infallibility of the human mind. Look it up and decide for yourself.

Bye, bitches.