ALL THE RANDOMNESS

I don't have time to organize all the random bits of paper I have lying about... so, here is ALL THE RANDOMNESS.

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.

Yesterday 9/24/16 I went to the Tour de Fat. Thought the bike ride was 11am registration, apparently it was 11am ride... saw all the bikes pedaling past as I pulled up to the dog park with Bruno. Jason and Sara and Sean and Sean's girl and Bugsy and ?? I left Bruno with them (He doesn't get along with Bugsy but neither do I, and Fiona and Yogi were fine) and went to Golden Hill Park to enjoy the New Belgium Brewery Festivities. Met Jason and Matt and Hunter at Haven Pizza in Kensington and then drove back to EV West to work on the Ural for a bit. 

Back to Sunday 8/14/16 Now I'm a bit sunburnt, hungover, and off to work on the canned ham.
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.

I keep starting to cry, but I'm too embarrassed to fully let go. To just sit here on a plane crying. Thinking of her running away when I needed her the most. So much for a poem, this is just sad. Right here, so fucking near. Fuck I'm crying again. Oh, fuck where is this coming from?
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,.. 

And I just stand there for a second, silent tears running down my face... and she looks back, frozen in the futility of reaching the door... and the absurdity of it all just made me smile kindly at her... for which she smiled back and the world just relaxed as I let the door slide shut. I really could have used a good cry. I was so close. It's been years I think. I don't know really. The last time I can remember for sure was 2008. Nearly 10 years ago. Ah, silly squatting Chinese lady, lock the damn bathroom door.
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.

Ten ka shou huku
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.

He continues to wail in pain.
Nobody wants to turn back.
Can I get a glass of water, I ask the airline attendant.
Sure, it is right on the counter.

She nods to the rear of the plane.
Ah, okay, I will get it myself then.
Seatmate; Tristen Houser, Baltimore.
Nobody wants to turn back.

We all have had chest pain.

But 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.

Relationships don’t fail so often from too many lies but from too much truth. If you don’t believe me, try it. A good balance of the two is what makes for a long and happy ever after.

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.

Pigeon dying, looking poisoned. Eyes slow blink and look crookedly up at me as head nobs to ground like a drunken banker trying to maintain his semblance, and perhaps that is exactly what it was, drunk. What is the rate of pigeon alcoholism? Monkeys definitely have nicotine issues. As do humans, obviously.

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.

People can get so good at not thinking about someone, they can sometimes do it before they've even met.

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.

Tautology. Red in Color. Final Outcome. I, Personally. Expresses the same info by stating the same thing... twice.

Beer: Drink responsibly. Well, either a man lives responsibly or not. Drinking will naturally follow his own style of living. I've done many irresponsible things without the help of alcohol. 

That youthful daredevil desire to push it as far as it will go, not just the machine, but your nerves, to see what you are capable of together... 650cc of Japanese precision shifting through the gears steadily at 9000 rpm until the world becomes a tunnel of movement blurred on all sides with only the distance, the vanishing point of the road meeting the horizon to focus on, and your own heartbeat seems slow in comparison, even though it seems to be pumping almost as fast as the piston. You hear the final gear rpms approaching something around 14000. And when you feel courageous enough to glance down at the speedometer, as quickly as you can, the fastest flick of the eyes to the needle edging to the 160 mark, and eyes back up, seeing the vanishing point on the horizon coming quickly but only a blur of the periphery, and in that blur the road topography and scenery seems to have already moved a mile. You know the straight-away is ending, you've driven this road many times, you know that the long sweeping curve to the bridge should be approaching, so you ease off the throttle, feel the engine work against the tire whose rotational physics must be pushing the limits of centrifugal force and inertia, and with it, the knowledge that the throttle had been full twisted even after looking down at 160, and that your current speed... but there is no more time for thought, the corner is already here, and you lean into it suddenly, realizing that you hadn't slowed down even close to as much as you had wanted, there is no time to practice a litany against fear, there is no time to think, you only have time for a sharp fast inhale as you lean your body quickly, steadily, deeply toward the blur of a white line that marks the edge of pavement, and you slowly exhale through a clenched jaw and tight lips. The corner, like life, an exhilarating moment, taking forever and yet all at once far behind you. You are thrilled to have made it, and instantly saddened knowing the event has passed... but you are onto the bridge, the pistons still working against the rear tire as the throttle remains neutral, the bridge grating sending a doppler sound echoed back from behand. You sit up eyes wide, pistons and heartbeat reducing rhythm, if not reducing octane and adrenaline burning through them, and the next corner after the bridge still a deep lean but already you know it is well within your limits comparatively, and even travelling well over 100 it seems like a leisurely ride. Your friend begins to catch up and you look forward to sharing this story at the general store in town, the two of you continuing squeezing the last drops from the adrenal glands by telling the story to each other and to any inquisitive ear that may be wandering by... you laugh aloud. You smile. And you realize there are still quite a few miles to be made with plenty of rocket straights and beautiful banked curves before the stories are to be told. And, as your friend passes you, you hunch down, twist the throttle full again, and this time don't bother looking down at the speedometer.

There are many birds that lead a not so boring life. Crows play clever games, battles are waged between eagle and hawk, and penguins, hardly birds really, slide and dance around like drunken tuxedo'd prom chaperones reliving the glory days... but it is the swallow who is the adrenaline junkie.

You know what smokers have, other than cancer? The confidence of a man that is knowingly walking toward death. Even if by baby steps. He knows he will die, and while he isn't looking for it, he isn't spending his precious time avoiding every fear and possibility. Until, of course, when he gets cancer. The confidence usually fails then.

At 40 I feel I have lived dozens, maybe hundreds of lives, maybe over thousands of years, and at the same time that I haven't lived at all.

My favorite quote, and perhaps the most brilliant section in the book Dune, of which there are many brilliant aspects, but for me, the quote most moving is on the chaos inherent in all order, "I heard the flock in my branches. And was caught on their beaks and claws!"

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.

Nextfest Notebook Randomness.

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.

I am tired of the humidity of the tropics. Everything has a soft feel to it, a kind of giving-up, a depression, paper folds without a crease, nothing has any crispness.

How to spell sounds? How to give the effect of fading sounds, or of Doppler? tuu-oh Tuu-oh Ta-oh TA-OH Ta-oh Tuu-oh tuu-oh. The sound is a doppelganger of itself as it passes.

Listening to Jay snore I'd forgotten it's sound. Love is just a feeling, sun on the skin. When the skin is chilled it is a lovely feeling but when it is sunburnt it only burns more. Now I hear her snore and it si both my warmth and my pain.

story idea: follow any subject (human or otherwise) for a significant amount of time (say 1/10th its lifespan) and you will get a beginning, middle, climactic event, an ending and/or resolution. The pillars, substance of a story, is the environment through which the subject wanders and navigates. Any subject has a story to be told.

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? 

I'm an arbitrarian. It's like the opposite of an abolitionist. Or maybe that word still has too many recent historical negative connotations to use in juxtaposition. Not maybe. I will rephrase; I'm a hedonist not concerned with pleasure. Pleasure is arbitrary. 

Pink Floyd. 

Wish You Were Here. 

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rain? 

I will rephrase; it's about our experience.

I have a theory about Theology... :Every experience, every preference for a "good" experience is arbitrary. With the exception of evil suffering all experiences are "good" experiences. A person can choose which they prefer, but where and how did they make that choice? What was their life like when they choose to enjoy chocolate ice cream more than vanilla? Or, an expensive car more than a dependable car? Or swimming more than running...

This is an idea similar to Sweet Lemons (The opposite of Sour Grapes), the difference being that when life hands you lemons, instead of just pretending that the lemons are sweet because that's all the choice you have, you will actually choose to believe you have a preference for lemons. Lemonade will be made and you shall declare it delicious. 

It can even go a step further, that it needn't be sweetened to lemonade at all, and a person could choose to drink the lemon juice directly, perhaps chilled with ice, perhaps not, and pour that lemon juice in big gulps, chug across the tongue, and that bitter feeling will be reveled in. Reveled the same as we crave those sour candies, but why need the sugar? A choice, perhaps. 

There can be a step further, although the distance is only in your mind... pleasure in suffering. Ask a masochist what they really enjoy. Ask them why. I met an activist, active in Jesus's 1980, in South Africa. He was beaten by authority as he fought to end apartheid. He was beat and jailed and beat again. He found that after a time he began to desire the beatings, it made him feel... ah, it was a long time ago we spoke of this.. and I can't be sure I will relate this story accurately. Maybe he found that he enjoyed the beating, but that is an extreme oversimplification without motive. He was a masochist, or perhaps he became a masochist. 

Arbitrary.

I, myself, am only a lemonade masochist.

Top of hill overlook.

Deputy... solving crimes, a criminal bastard himself.

Looking for the monkey man, the bouncer.

Rode a cockhorse from Banbury 

Rode along the River Cherwell in Oxfordshire.

Watches the Ferris wheel from the hilltop.

Music Video

Season of the Witch

Donovan

Scene 1) Inner City 1960's. late breakfast time morning. 13th floor apartment, view A from corner of room, man silhouetted leaning in window across room. 

view B from exterior (maybe across street camera..) at Protagonist leans against the window. Looking down... the song starts. (He sings? Or just looking?) camera from his point of view C, pans the street below, beatnik businessmen walking to work.

Looking out the window. So many things to see...

Cuts back to view A silhouette and camera slow push in

Cuts back across street view B looking at man from outside-in, perhaps same level 13th of apt across street or maybe a few levels higher with slight downward angle (static camera)

Cuts to protagonist looking down (street view C over shoulder style shot?) continues panning along street

Then either- 

    

    1) "An angular feel"

    Cuts to street view D people on street looking up at him (static camera)

    These are the only cameras/angles with push/pan (cut to if needed other angles but no tilt

    camera/view A continuing to push alternating with view B (pushing later after a 8 count)

    Action occurs between view C & D

    after 8 count view C starts to choose characters below to zoom in on while alternating between the specific characters (view D) back up to window where protagonist continues to lean

    Possible characters on the street: hippies, a couple ignoring the world flirting/laughing, people at the     public bus stop, give sense of potential utopia

    Transition to other characters: men in suits, menacing looking traffic cop, a 3 card monty game in the alley, a drug handoff... create feeling tension, not quite animosity

    All this happens while shifting between camera's as greatest effect and placement with song lyrics allows.

    2 Alternate: "Dynamic Feel" 

    View C descends to street level blend with view D

    Tilt/pan down from view B of protagonist to have alternate street view (allows both sides of street to be shot)

    Then same idea with characters alternating tilt up view to protagonist, views back down to street...

For all intensity scenes, the view A push from inside room for building up intensity. Maybe use subtle dolly zoom, for ending...

During middle build up the people on street look between each other. They can sing some lyrics, for example hippie can look over her shoulder at the cop and sing "When I look over my shoulder" cuts to cop "what happens then?" The 3 monty player "What do you think I see?" as flips over a card, cop looks over his shoulder to watch a man at the bus stop looking up to protaganist "Some other cat looking over his shoulder at me...

cutting back to protagonist view C watching it all (silently?) (all other characters are antagonists?)

At some point the protagonist sees himself in those people, he is the cop looking up at himself (over his shoulder?) I dunno... make it weird but only a little weird, make it feel normal just look weird... hmm... there is also a character, woman, the witch, she is not antagonist, she is... omnipresent, dangerous, a natural element controlling... she is the director of the scene... near the end of the song some chaos, some climax to the tension built by the looking at each other and over their shoulders... Oh... I need to block all the characters to make sense of it... Ending... Oh man, this could be so good. The protagonist should sing, but very limited, perhaps only at the end? The calm last couple lines after the intensity?

Words unsaid skit idea:

Scene opens; man running for boarding gate in airport. gets stopped at gate.. man holding his emotions just barely from exploding, keeping reasonable but clearly in stress debating with gate agents, tears in his eyes "I know I am late but it has been delayed, they haven't closed the door, please please you don't understand I need to get to New York tonight... he won't make it to tomorrow night... the plane isn't leaving yet it was delayed... My brother is dying... I have to tell him, i have to see him before he goes... you don't understand... etc. etc."

Co-pilot arrives, that's why plane was delayed, co-pilot convinces gate manager to let man board.

Cut to man is in airline seat, flying, deep in thought, silent plane, late night.

Cut to man walking fast through hospital. takes wrong turn in hallway, takes stairs up a level, walks into patient room. Pauses. See nurse, says to nurse ,"is... is he..." nurse says he is here, pulls back curtain and walks out. brother is on the bed, weak but alive. No facial expression upon seeing his brother.

Man has stone face also. They look at each other, brothers, zero read on faces/body language, they just look each other in the eyes.

After a very long pause man says "Fuck you."

Option A: Turns and walks out, end.

Option B: After a responsive long pause brother weakly says "No. Fuck, you." No change in attitude or body language except, eyes smile kindly/sadly. end.

"The way you do anything is the way you do everything". I imagine some people think of it as "do all things the same 'proper' way." I interpret the meaning as "How you act is who you are".

When I was a child I wrote my name on the wall. Or, perhaps it was just abstract art. This is fairly common for children, except in this case I didn't have crayons or a pen. In this case I was just using my finger as a paintbrush and my butthole as the paint bucket. Luckily I was discovered before my Manzoni masterpiece had really even gotten started.

Side thought, what if poop came in all the colors of the rainbow... can you eat things to change your poo color? Leads into another memory, my mother once called 911 because she thought I had been poisoned and was bleeding rectally but in fact she had just fed me beets earlier that day, she cancelled the call halfway through when she realized the cause.

Be appreciative.

Morning Ritual:

Wake slowly.

Remember Dream.

Relax; closed eyes upward.

Black Market Economy. Many perceive the legalities against goods and services being traded between individuals sans government simply an issue of lost tax revenue. This is one aspect, so is safety regulations, but neither is as critical as the threat of an independent workforce. If we met our own needs, we wouldn't be needing theirs. 

Honestly, I do not wish to return to the settled life. I want to continue living the freedom, experiencing the joy of solitude, of being one with nature. We are vagabonds, nomads, travelers, and we do not wish to return to the race, the grind, the city.... we want the good life.

I hate having to explain myself to people. Everyone wants to understand your actions, nobody wants to understand your feelings. You act weird because you feel weird. 

Sthg happens to a man. A small thing. Maybe a cop gives him a taillight ticket. That small thing causes him to miss a rent payment. He ends up evicted. He lives on the streets... etc. etc. He goes so low he suicides. Story starts over but this time he takes a different road and avoids the cop, no ticket. But sthg else happens. He twists his ankle. No health ins. Similar cause/effect, ends up living on the streets... suicides. Returns again, different path.. (each time try to relate to people living paycheck to paycheck the fact they are one shit event away from a fall all the way to the bottom).

You must spend time with people who enjoy spending time doing the same as you, else you will spend unenjoyable time together. Jay and I both enjoy facing fears, pushing limits, pushing our physical, mental, emotional capabilities. I take some pride in the one-up, in a healthy competitive way, I (mostly) try not to be an ass about it. I also work hard on not being an egotistical chauvinist jerk when she on-ups me. I should tell her more often how proud I am of her; scuba, food art, art, and her voice is spectacular. She has some very respectable achievements.

I'm a single input multiple output type. If I have too many sensory inputs I overload, however if I try to complete a single task at a single time my mind wanders.

I should aspire in all my writings to ask two questions:

Is my writing honest?

Is my writing kind?

I must be conscious of and make clear when the words I am using are designed to be imaginative, or sharp. Imaginative can be honest, and sharp can be kind... but carefully.

If journalistic; 1) observe 2) make observations 3) make observations about the observations 4) remember it all 5) write appropriately 6) don't ever take it too seriously

Dream Journal: 5/16; Deja-vu instead of dreams... no dreams, only a feeling, waking up feeling like a hallucination of another person residing in my body 5/17; Maze and labyrinth. Fish, fish food, trying to sell the caught fish, or maybe spacecraft. Flying spacecraft and a landslide. Undercover agent on an adventure. Sneaky, hidden, exciting, tired. *Only had one hour sleep. 5/18; Levitating. Python-thoughts. Crocodile ride at theme park. Hidden departments/compartments/sections. 5/19; Crazy lady. She had mental powers. Clairvoyance or telepathy? No, more like she could affect the future, she was crazy. Greg was trying to buy a car. I was helping make sure it would be a good one… not a Peugeot. 5/20; The clock was broken at 9:20 and the steak was taking forever to eat. 5/21; Jumping Stilts. A random circus show. Oprah was a cop. Turned into a meme. Was at a hotel parking lot, but was my mother in the room with somebody. An asshole dude who treated her bad but she kept trying to get his love. And I walked away to join the random circus. 5/30; Anthropomorphized cats competing in races (drag races and such) but with vehicles like hero & villain competition, james bond style devices that would ‘eat’ the stadium toward the cat, until the stops rescued it.

*Side note: Story: Consumer Tracking Software, Designed Misinformation, Low Tech Revolution: Johnny Mnemonic. 

Dream date unknown; Snook and I have apt in some foreign city. Lots of characters & adventures. I get cinder block from bodega down the street to pay parking meter but instead pay with 1000 bill and get change, no problem. A neighbor is playing music. Beastie Boys and Beatles Mashup. There is a missing person case we are trying to solve, but it’s in another country. I go swimming, people are spitting from a bridge and then watching it float.

*End of Dream Journal.

Koh Lanta. Notes from my walk; Beach. Look up n down. look forward n back. look out n in. and, lend a hand. Be a warrior. Appreciate all energy you consume. Shooting star. Go to Batik. Make another inspiration. End of beach. Temporary evidence of my existence. But only known to be me, by me. Bioluminescence. The squid boats green on the horizon. Across the entire horizon. The vast amounts being netted, the hunger of humans shall never be sated. Walking. No light. Another person is walking in front of me. We keep walking. Occasionally he shines his light back at me. At one point I'm looking right at him when he does. Annoying. So I run, giving enough space not to freak him out, and then since I'm running I keep running. Until I almost run into a fishing pole anchored in the sand. Hello. Hello! the fisherman yells as I dodge. Run a little further, almost the entire beach. Then walking again. Skipping rocks. Not bad left handed. About avg. either way. What's worse, getting children to fight blindfolded... or betting on the winner? Finally back at the other end of the beach where I started just a moment before. Scenario; I am leaving the hotel and Nice asks when I will be back. I say in a moment. She asks how long... I delve into Einstein relativity and speak on how time is relative to the observer and answer I will be back exactly when I arrive and I will do my utmost to make both our moments equivalent in length. She hates when I give her bullshit answers like that. Funny enough, we never ask each other when we will be back, instead mentioning when we may have a time request and checking to see if that can be a moment in time can be shared. Smoked a cigarette. Half anyway. Like everyone who smokes wants to live as much as they want to die, so do I. My deepest fear is dying without accepting it must happen, and without having done enough kindness. Mask fixed. Starch glue; water & tapioca. Initial mix is concentrate small amounts tepid water, 2x water and add concentrate mix until viscous.