Denver. December.
Falling Asleep. The plane boards at 7:24. Up in 5 hours. 5 a.m.
Today was satisfactory in the best way. Woke up at 6 a.m. Made love to Jay and then fell back asleep until 10a.m. Went out after a shower and a bit of authoring postcards. The post office was out of stamps. I had been looking forward to putting the limited edition holiday Mr. Rodgers in the upper right hand corner, although they almost certainly would have needed to be rotated 90 degrees to fit the postcards. Was able to get some generic postcard stamps at another office, that'll do anyway. Drove to TJ Max. Looking for a baking pan for banana muffins. Walking in we were greeted by the contents of a bottle of vinegar pooled on the floor next to the pans. We bought a baking pan and a few other holiday items and proceeded to the checkout. After my quick playful harassment of the newly employed cashier we drove to Sprouts for;
Banana Bread Recipe.
Mix in Bowl 1
1 egg (room temp.)
.66 cup butter or coconut oil
3-4 bananas
.25 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Mix in Bowl 2 (through sifter)
1.5 cups flour (1/2 all purpose 1/2 pastry flour)
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
sprinkle nutmeg and cinnamon
Mix Bowl 2 into Bowl 1 until smooth. Cook at 365 for 1 hour (or 15min for muffins).
IMPORTANT... For high elevation you must reduce baking powder and sugar and increase liquids and increase oven temp.
Also stopped by POM for final dinner ingredients and soup. Notice the banana bread ingredients list? Notice the IMPORTANT note? Yeah, mistakes were made. No big deal, they weren't quite muffins. Not quite cookies either... mookies? cuffins?
Dinner. So fucking good. Mixed up the names of Jays cousin with the dogs name. 3 times. The first two times were funny. The third was like WTF dude.
Then late night goodbyes. Because 5 am is too early for goodbyes.
Falling asleep.
Yesterday was satisfactory. Very satisfactory.
Memory.
There are some who believe that a persons memory is their existence. That if you remember every detail of every moment of your life; the feel of every fiber of carpet you walked on, or the patterns of cloth in the fabric store you walked by, and the sounds; each unique bird calls pattern and pitch, the hum of distant freeway traffic... if you were to be able to the feel again the wind on your skin during that spring day at the beach by just recalling the memory, the way our mouth salivates and bitters when we imagine squeezing a fresh lemon directly onto the tongue and swishing the juice inside the mouth, under the tongue, gargling it like a babewyn... if you could bring back feelings in memories, any morning of your choice recalling the temperature and barometric pressure... of every instance... the smell of the room you were in at 2pm last Wednesday, which muscles were sore, what position your body was in on noon of this day last year, a complete recall of every single moment... like a timelapse self shot movie you could access at any point; with concentration and determination you could recall it all as vividly as you were just experiencing them. There are some that believe if you could experience these moments all again through memory you would achieve a type of immortality. That the time you have in this life would feel as though it slowed, and therefore extended, in reference to all the moments you were living again. Memory is existence and existence that is remembered is immortal.
How quickly the life of a person with dementia or alzheimers must seem to pass... or are they experiencing time on a different scale, in a different dimension altogether?
The upside to having a bad memory is that all of your friends favorite stories can be told repeatedly without any lose of amazement or having to fake the feeling of suspense. You are genuinely surprised by the plot twists everytime.
Time: the gentle progression of movement that is not always gentle.
Cicadas make their glitchy frantic cries. The soft rumbling of turbines spinning on Jet-A grows, becoming potato chips in a combustion cheese grater at 5,000 feet and climbing. The noise fades to sandpaper folded in half and scraping against itself, scraping across a darkening horizon as the airliner makes its way from some place to some other place. And, I sigh. I turn away from the dusk sky and look out over the canyon where the coyotes quietly scamper. My attention shifts again to the cicadas frantic glitchy cries, calling out, in my memory.
It is a tough exercise to remind the self of memories.
Moved into the Canned Ham.
Woke up Saturday morning. 6:35am. Sunshine and birdsong. Parked out behind work. Convenient to be right next to the shop as I have no water or bathroom facilities in the trailer. Bruno doesn't seem to mind the situation. He gets to be outside when he wants, trotting in the undeveloped field within seconds of being out the door.
I step out the door and although I own no land, I only need 14' x 7' footprint and all the world is my backyard.
Rewind a week. Last Saturday night I was quite apprehensive about the transition. I had an overwhelming feeling of futility, mostly because I had no real plan. Sunday morning arrived and I packed up the trailer with the final necessities and drove to... my new location, my new home? I slept uneasy Sunday night. I parked on the street because I didn't want to surprise the boss with a bright yellow trailer in front of his business when he arrived in the morning. I hadn't put up curtains at that point, and as the streetlight was beaming right in I quickly hung up a t-shirt as a temporary measure (three years later the same t-shirt continues to create an odd juxtaposition of color and form). I awake at 4:15am to those early go-getters arriving to work, and to the truckers who had been driving through the night to bring supplies to this industrial-commercial corner of the world... Monday night I park behind the shop, the open field our backyard. The rest of the week quietly fell into a pattern of parking behind the shop when everyone goes home, reading, writing, or practicing hobbies during the night... (the indoor trailer lighting situation the only major convenience needing remedy). Then sleeping until around 6am when the young female professionals begin their cross-fit class blasting the up-tempo pop music while they jiggle their bodies back and forth in the warehouse parking lot across the field... honestly, not such a bad way to wake up. Then, before business opens at our shop I park the trailer back on the street and walk back to work, get in the Smart car, drive back to the street and walk into the gym. I had originally planned on signing up for the gym simply for the shower but when I get there I am already feeling energetic. And, as I have little else to do for the next two hours I figure I might as well work out first. I am ridiculously sore for the entire first week. The upside to the gym is it is 30 seconds away from the shop and only $35 a month. The downside, which I discovered today, is that they aren't open on the weekends.
6/6/16 An unextraordinary day to begin a journal. Awoke at 5:47, 6:00, 6:36 and then up and out of the house a little after 7. A bagel for breakfast and a stop at home depot for 1/4" braided nylon rope. At EV West by 8:00, take care of some calls, emails, inventory, orders... some mundane, some stressful. Sometimes just putting out fires as fast as I can and never seeming fast enough. Finished work at 6:00. No progress on the Ural or my business ideas, or chores. Sat on the couch, confused. Depressed but in a distant, abstract way. Took Bruno for a walk/skateboard trip to Cream-o'-the-crop. Back at home watched Devils Advocate and then fell asleep.
6/7/16 Awake at 6something, 7, and 7:40 Red and White Market for breakfast sandwich. Then off to work. Usual walk (*Page torn) ... some ... Trent & Bream. Troy would like to move into the Gravity space but it is currently full of used Smart car drivetrains. Perhaps an earthquake will solve the problem. Again, no progress on the Ural. I can only blame myself. I just want the Curtis controller flashed. After work I went to vote. Now I've got to decide if I should drive down to San Diego tonight or early in the morning. I've burned all my girlfriends and don't want to intrude on friends. Bruno would probably prefer we stay here.
6/10/16 It was a long day. 12 hours. Same stress and feeling inadequate and feeling alone.
6/27/16 Monday. Woke up at 6:00 and reminded Aaron to move the cars for street sweeping. Got the usual bacon breakie at Red and White... to work by 9:00. Told Bream, Troy, and Trent that I let Jeremiah ride the motorcycle, or more to the point; I let Jeremiah crash the motorcycle into the new neighbors new Prius.
8/14/16 Sunday. July flew by as I juggled sleeping and shower arrangements between friends houses and fitness centers. That beautiful upstairs neighbor who had moved into my old apt. (before I'd opted for the downstairs K unit) was kind enough to offer to gently nudge her lower standard of cleanliness roommate out and I could move in, with a slight modification to rent as she had just lost her job. She is resourceful, and as Aaron put it, an opportunist. He used the word in an implication of her being a user, but I don't get that feeling. More that she will take advantages available, as we all do, not that she manipulates anyone. Plus, she smells so good. I like having a nice smelling roommate. Not that Aaron wasn't, just a different kinda nice smell. You know what I mean.
9/25/16 Have been doing the 22 push-ups for 22 days to bring personal awareness of veterans suicides per day. In day 5. I wonder what the world suicide rate is? Welp, on average it is estimated near 150 per day. If you reading this don't want to become a statistic, don't commit suicide. You know what I mean. Reach out to me, I'll talk ya down, seriously, you are not alone in the world.
Forward again > 10/28/16 Finished work at 9:00. Didn't work as hard as I could have today. No energy. Need a vacation? I dunno. I need to fight the injustices of the world. Should I run away to DAPL to fight? Go to Syria or Yemen or some other place where suffering is happening on an unimaginable scale? I can't be happy when I know there is so much horror. If I could make a child who was near starving, or lost a limb to some bombing they don't even understand... if I could make a child who was crying and lost and confused, just smile, or at least not fear this craziness we call civilization... it would give a bit more meaning to this life. My life doesn't feel completely meaningless, but how can I get excited about making money, or building electric cars, or having a home and a family when so many others are just excited that they didn't die or suffer some terrible fate? I'm not comfortable being comfortable.
11/6/16 Sunday night.
11/9/16 Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck
11/10/16 I'm really horrible at keeping a journal
Singapore. I needed to cry. I needed to feel. It was there for a second but now I'm back on the needle. It isn't heroine, it isn't morphine, I'm not on the horse. It's mine own special concoction of apathy and remorse. The flood of old feelings brittle and dead. I just needed a hug. I needed a breakdown. I needed someone to see my pain and run to me. She ran away. And I was alone.
Hahaha, this is one solution: I didn't think I could handle crying openly on the plane so I made my way to the lavatory at the back of the plane, and as I pushed open the door there is a Chinese lady squatting on top of the toilet, feet on the seat rim (asian style) and almost falling off as she is reaching out to keep the door closed... but the toilet is too far so she just perches on the edge with one hand making a modest covering and the other reaching out to the door just a hand reach too far away, and we just have a moment of awkward eye contact, her having a blended look on her face that only someone attempting to express more than three emotions at once can have,..
Ah, those few teardrops will have to do.
Ah, I don't know... I'm back to the reality of the plane, the turbulence, the distance from the earth, the distance from Jay.
My first D/s dynamic started fantastic. I was in San Diego. She wasn't. We met online and because of the distance we could be more free with each other and not worry about masks. Our conversation flowed. Moved the conversation from text to voice. I went to visit and was instantly her Dominant. We had bed breaking sex. Literally. We were in love. She came to visit. She came back again when it was time for me to move. I was an asshole to her. We had an argument at an Indian restaurant. That was near San Francisco. I didn't talk to her for the rest of the drive. I pretended things were okay. We tried to go snowboarding. We didn't. She went snowboarding with her friends. She came back halfway through the trip, called me up wanting to talk. I could feel she wanted to tell me she loved me, she wanted to make a leap of faith in love. I was immature then. I was angry at her so I laughed. I... I laughed. If you've ever been vulnerable with someone, really vulnerable, and had them laugh at your attempt for communication and validation... you don't forgive that kind of hurt. I pretended I didn't know I'd hurt her in that way. I am sorry for that, for the hurt and for the pretending.
Ebb and Flow.
Power and Control.
Soku sai en mei
Ten ka shou huku means; to turn misfortune into fortune through effort; to turn the potential disaster to one's advantage. Soku sai en mei means; health and longevity; enjoying a long and healthy life being untouched by disaster. If it doesn't challenge me then it won't change me...
Ten ka shou huku soku sai en mei, reminds me of the phrase; what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. The 'doesn't kill me' phrase is for people who want to believe the broken parts of themselves don't exist, or that the mental, physical, emotional deformities they've endured make them stronger. I much prefer; if it doesn't challenge me then it won't change me. I believe each of us has the potential to become, stronger, better people... but just because it doesn't kill you doesn't mean you've made it. It takes time. The hurt you've endured may not heal better than before, may not heal in any kind of beneficial way. It takes effort and there is no guarantee. You want to be stronger, then challenge yourself, change yourself. Be stronger in the ways available to you and accept that the challenge can be met on your terms.
Success. Simply the highest ratio of unique experiences to mundane. Sometimes the boring are required. Sometimes the mundane can be interesting, just alter your perspective. Regardless, the wild adventures, the races and places only a few have the opportunity, the courage, to chase after seem to be weighted heavier than the simpler moments. And yet, even the simplest of experiences can be monumental when shared with the people you care for. Mountains. I want to go mountaineering with jay. Yes, let's put that on the list.
Flying to Germany.
Old lady falls down during boarding.
Immediately after takeoff Turkish man wants to turn the plane back.
He claims chest pain. He says he left the love of his life in the hospital, she is dying, she might not live until he can return... he shouldn't have left. He wails in pain.
He shouldn't have left.
Every hour intercom turns on and stewardess asks if physician is aboard.
Nobody wants to turn back.
Can I get a glass of water, I ask the airline attendant.
Sure, it is right on the counter.
Ah, okay, I will get it myself then.
Seatmate; Tristen Houser, Baltimore.
Nobody wants to turn back.
I have a few choices with jay. The right choice is to share my feelings, be honest, not do what she did to me. The other is to play the same game she plays... and I know I can. I know I am good at it... I just had thought this relationship would be different. Nobody wants to turn back.
A home. A house. A mouse. A man.
A snowglobe in the night. Created by headlights.
Flurry flakes drifting past as stars in the universe...
I went to a therapist yesterday. She agreed Bruno is a necessary part of my grip on sanity. She was also perceptive enough to recognize I have deep rooted self-worth issues. She suggests a possible connection to the divorce and issues with Mom & Jere.
Julia spoke to me about her childhood, about her abusive father. He once told her brother "You are a worthless piece of shit". Mom & Jere said similar things, or other such hurtfulness... Thavy once used those exact words.
I've never risked as much emotionally as I have with jay. She hurt me. I forgive her, but forgiveness is like overcoming trauma, it comes in waves. Sometimes complete, sometimes completely drowning... I want to dive. I want to scuba dive. I want to be capable. I am slowly losing my mind and I am not working hard enough to stay balanced. I feel like crying all the time. I am in such a deep depression I can hardly focus on ... life ... on general tasks; cooking, cleaning, banking. I am so afraid of letting all my friends know how down I am. I don't even feel as though I have friends. I don't make these kinds of social connections. I feel alone because I am, because I distance myself. I need to be careful. I feel myself, self sabotage. The entire world is a stage. A choice. Make good choices. Choose that which you believe helps the most and causes the least harm, to yourself included.
I know it isn't wise to self diagnose, but I must have manic/depressive disorder, or something similar. Sometimes I have no energy. None. Getting up is a chore, being awake a pain. Just... Being, being is more than I'd care to be. Other times I am the most bubbly kid with ADD after eating all the sugar things within reach and so amazed at the world that I can't stop to listen to the answers to all the questions I have about why and how the universe is such a spectacular place to have granted this miracle of existence to us all...
Last night I was the sugar rush kind. Couldn't stick to a topic of conversation for more than 5 minutes without my mind wandering. It's beautiful though, I notice little details, the earings' glint reflecting the glow of the phone as she presses closer to find my profile, or the (unintelligible written gibberish)... alcohol seems to intensify these extremes, fueling the manic state, or dropping me even deeper into depression and self-pity. I despise the depression and self-pity, and so, when in such a state begin a feedback loop of self derision and loathing.
If you ever see me sitting alone at a social event, please feel free to keep me company. Conversely, if you ever feel annoyed by my exuberance when I am in a manic mood, please feel free to introduce me to some other sucker who wants their ear talked off.
Obsession.
She walked into the room with a sway that told me she was completely naked under her clothes. The smooth lines and gentle curves of her smile pushing against her cheek bones made me watch her like a predator. She stepped her legs in a slightly frantic manner, like a fawn eager to run and play... but aware there was danger, aware there was a predator near... yet still, she wanted to play. I only watched. She continued through the room, reveling in the attention, her body eager to be used, but reluctant to be direct. She stepped around the kitchen counter. I watched as she poured a drink. I watched beautiful hands stir the ice, the clink of the spoon melodically tapping the glass in tune with the instrumentals playing softly on the stereo. I sat still and waited for the approach. Patient. Ready. But, the cunning little thing was smarter than to walk directly over to me. Instead, she looked up, directly into my eyes and slid the drink a few inches away from her. Her eye twinkled and she began making another. One for herself.
Psychedelics cause the rivers of thought to change course, the automatic response patterns are disrupted. They change the time it takes to respond because the response isn't ready. It seems... because the normal response seems ridiculous in the new non-normative setting. They helped me quit smoking for almost two decades. You can't expect the rivers to stay changed, or unchanged.
Flags don't represent people, they represent the ownership of the people. They are a brand. A flag is just a brand tag for people.
When I was very young I remember my father and mother having a debate . My mother didn't think investing in bonds was a good idea because she believed the government would collapse and default at some point in her lifetime. My father replied, "Well, if that happens none of it will matter anyway". It seemed like solid reasoning at the time. That must have been about '86. Our family collapsed before we had to worry about the government... and, perhaps because of it, I'm not as convinced of the reasoning so much anymore.
Cannabis is a gateway drug. Not in the sense that it leads to doing more drugs. However, once you've done other drugs, it can be a shortcut to harnessing those powers again. I believe Cannabis to be one of the most difficult drugs to master. Not because it is more intense, but because it is, hm, slower... like riding a bike while leaned back just balancing with each pedal. If you learn to ride it correctly it can be a powerful medicine in life.
It's a war, but we aren't fighting people. We are fighting ideas. All wars are wars of ideas. It is only when the idea is powerful, compelling, but also ignored do people risk their lives to have it heard.
When I was young, I would come home from school and my mother would sit me down and have me teach her the things i learned. If there was an inaccuracy she would correct it. If I thought Columbus had discovered the Earth was a globe and discovered America as a courageous and noble explorer she would bluntly explain that Columbus was in fact a greedy murderer and the Earth was known to be round much much earlier in history and Vikings had discovered America hundreds of years prior, and discovered wasn't the correct term because there were indigenous peoples already here, and that what Columbus did was forcibly colonize. She was always correct, I would go back to school and ask around and the good teachers, the wise shepherds among the ewe's and lambs, these wise teachers would confirm my mothers contentions of accurate fact. Most would admit the corrections, but always with some hesitation, somehow it seemed a secretive knowledge that was somehow rebellious. But, it was truth, and no good teacher covers the truth. I began to realize school is a propagandized narrative device. This was a regular occurrence through my school years and instilled in me the most important of democratic ideologies, the citizens obligation to directly question the system in search of truth.
Altruistic, not quite. I want to do something nobody's done before, and want it to be known. I want fame and validation than my time on this earth was not wasted.
What if seagulls aren't making bird calls, they are just clearing their throats?
I was once told to question everything. I've never been entirely sure of anything since.
Covid: Logic tells me this is serious because many people in power are losing money. However, I am not convinced banks are losing money, and banks are the ultimate leaders of the world. Money is just a concept, a representation of wealth, but tangible assets are the true wealth. I am not saying banks created or are perpetuating the crisis... however, history has shown they are ruthless and greedy and will take advantage of a situation or catastrophe to profit. The time to buy is when there is blood in the streets. Time, effort, and cunning. Money represents only these three things. Any person with money has used as least two of these to attain it, and all three to hold it. "A fool and his money are soon parted." That sentence taught me that only fools need more money than they can use. It is worth noting that predatory cannibalism is a common ecological occurrence, so I have no doubt it is just as common an economic one as well. The rich will not eat each other until they have no others to eat, but the poor will eat at any available opportunity.
An old tattered flag hanging in the tree. Hung on a branch. It represents litter to me. Trash that once had a symbolic meaning... freedom, ideals for a better humanity, but now, as I've seen and heard about the manipulation of those ideas being used for corporate gain at the expense of the working class... it's just trash, a sad sight of loss.
Being productive. Must do something in society to be considered productive... must appear to do something for society and in our individualistic centered society becoming independently wealthy at the expense of others is still seen as benefiting. The beggar who asks for gift financing to live is seen as lower than the banker who cheats people out of their homes simply to add a drop of wealth to an already obscene amount of wealth. Really, it is the level of difficulty and intelligence required to achieve these ends that society really values. Respect is give to those whom overcome difficulties, who work the system.. and we pity those who can't work the system but try, those who at least put in the effort, and we resent those who fail at both ability and effort... or even worse, choose not to participate at all.
My feelings and the feelings of those around me are not of any importance if they lack intensity. I need emotional stimuli to feel alive. I need to feel close to death, or falling in love, or breaking up, or rejection, or inclusion... it doesn't really matter as long as the emotions are moving and dynamic internally or as an affect between myself and someone. I enjoy the positive emotions, but negative can produce the same result. Positive is more difficult to achieve, it requires creating something, and take more time and effort but is worth the effort.
Filter Mint. You know what I'm talking about.
Memory: When I was in kindergarten we had a school play, pilgrims and natives on thanksgiving or some crap. I went up on stage in my thrift store brown corduroy pants, walked out with all the other kids to take our places, and in the silence before the music started sat down cross legged in the middle of the stage facing the entire audience... and in that silence the rriiiiiiiippp of the seam of my crotch could be heard echoing through the auditorium. The sound along with the tighty-whitey's showing through the brown corduroy made it quite impossible for the whole school not to break out in laughter, even if the adults were trying to be polite. I don't remember for sure, but I imagine my parents were laughing pretty hard too. I know I would have if it happened to my kid.
I have never sprayed a train with graffiti... not a commuter train, just a boxcar. Make some art. I should google how to do it without getting caught. Add that to my bucket list.
Everything in this life is ridiculous. Absurd. Absolutely absurd. You only need to stand in the right place to see it. And, that place is right where you are standing. It can be seen best when it reflects your own personal absurdity of actions, and then it seems credible. Then you can look right at it and not notice a thing.
He had been awake for two weeks. Today was the 14th sunset. Or perhaps the 40th. He couldn't sleep. The sun set a 6:22pm. At 6:30, while the last dim glow faded from the atmosphere, he made chamomile tea. At 6:37 he drank it in 3 sips and sat down on his overstuffed brown recliner. The recliner looked out to the sky and felt as faded as the sunset had looked. He had been awake for two weeks. Or perhaps it was two months. At 6:44 he made and drank another cup of chamomile tea. He still couldn't sleep. He drank another tea. He still couldn't sleep. He still couldn't sleep. At 6:44am the atmosphere began to lighten. The mood remained dark. He looked out his window. He looked at the deep tone of black to the west, and to the lighter tone of dark grey blended in, and to the grey continuing to the east, to a lighter tone of dark grey on the horizon. Today was the 15th sunrise. Or perhaps the 50th. At 6:53 am it was daylight. The tone remained grey. At 6:54 he loaded a single medium caliber bullet in the revolver, put the revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He still couldn't sleep.
I can't be sure the election wasn't rigged. I say this with solemn tone, but the truth is; I don't trust the government. I believed the election results in 2004 were rigged with those shitty voting electronic voting booths that let Bush v2.0 into the white house. Why would I think it is different now? Because the guy I think lowest lost? It's a legitimate system when it shakes out in my favor? I think this whole government is set up, now, to benefit the rich. Does this mean democracy has failed?
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