i'm sitting in a cafe this morning and this woman walks over to me and says, "hi, do you remember me?"
this usually under any circumstances is awkward.
half a second later the visuals are matched with some place in my brain. oh it's margot! we used to work together at cks. gee, that was like...ten years ago. i was surprised that she would recognize me. it must have been due to the crazy antics i participated in back then when we worked together. yeah, things like roller hockey in the office, skate-by nerf gun shootings, and the occasional obligatory primal rage bouts at 10:04am with her boss bruce when he was having a bad morning.
anyway, it was good to see her. we exchanged contact info and agreed to get together for lunch or something sometimes.
it was a good way to start the day...
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
local morning news
conversation that the local morning news foster among my inmates i mean housemates:
- discussion as to a particular sports jock shouldn't be allowed back in the game.*
- the complexities of lying and denial behavior in the michael jackson trial.
- complaints as to the ambiguity of the weather forecast, 50% chance of rain in the morning and possibly in the afternoon as well brings forth the comment "well, what the fuck does that mean? is it going to rain or not? what kind of a weather forecast is that?" [old asian slogan: "man who believe weather forecast voted for bush"]
- "you know it man, you know it man, right?" [yes, i know it is a waste of hot green tea if i throw it in your face before taking a sip. my blood caffeine and polyphenol level is less than .10% stay out of my body schema.]
*i say sports jock as supposed to "athlete." the dictionary defines "athlete" as "A person possessing the natural or acquired traits, such as strength, agility, and endurance, that are necessary for physical exercise or sports, especially those performed in competitive contexts." a sports jock is someone who participates in spectator based activities who drives overly large american made s.u.v.'s and is an unwitting object and platform for advertisement all the while believing that he is being paid large sums of money for his ability to: a) hurl his bacon and barley malt induced abdomen at anything in front of him b) drop his super sized burger created gluteus maximus to the ground while sliding to second base c) flaunt badly designed tattoos on the inside of his biceps thereby exposing his underarm and discouraging any opponent to come within proximity of his olfactory schema and preventing the basketball from being stolen from his possession.
part two soon to be published....
- discussion as to a particular sports jock shouldn't be allowed back in the game.*
- the complexities of lying and denial behavior in the michael jackson trial.
- complaints as to the ambiguity of the weather forecast, 50% chance of rain in the morning and possibly in the afternoon as well brings forth the comment "well, what the fuck does that mean? is it going to rain or not? what kind of a weather forecast is that?" [old asian slogan: "man who believe weather forecast voted for bush"]
- "you know it man, you know it man, right?" [yes, i know it is a waste of hot green tea if i throw it in your face before taking a sip. my blood caffeine and polyphenol level is less than .10% stay out of my body schema.]
*i say sports jock as supposed to "athlete." the dictionary defines "athlete" as "A person possessing the natural or acquired traits, such as strength, agility, and endurance, that are necessary for physical exercise or sports, especially those performed in competitive contexts." a sports jock is someone who participates in spectator based activities who drives overly large american made s.u.v.'s and is an unwitting object and platform for advertisement all the while believing that he is being paid large sums of money for his ability to: a) hurl his bacon and barley malt induced abdomen at anything in front of him b) drop his super sized burger created gluteus maximus to the ground while sliding to second base c) flaunt badly designed tattoos on the inside of his biceps thereby exposing his underarm and discouraging any opponent to come within proximity of his olfactory schema and preventing the basketball from being stolen from his possession.
part two soon to be published....
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
emptiness without proper enclosure
5:20am walking into the kitchen...
why are guys sometimes such fucking idiots?
me: all right, i want to know who is the idiot who peed, didn't raise the seat and can't aim for shit and didn't even have half the decency to flush afterward?
thinking to myself: "i'm gonna beat this person on the head, pull his pants down and duct tape his crotch."
"I will show you fear in a handful of dust." -- T.S. Eliot
why are guys sometimes such fucking idiots?
me: all right, i want to know who is the idiot who peed, didn't raise the seat and can't aim for shit and didn't even have half the decency to flush afterward?
thinking to myself: "i'm gonna beat this person on the head, pull his pants down and duct tape his crotch."
"I will show you fear in a handful of dust." -- T.S. Eliot
Monday, March 21, 2005
sunnyvale starbucks umbrellas
me: "uh, if you have umbrellas that provide shade and protection from the rain...how come they are under the eaves?"
is this something like the narthex of a church?
is this something like the narthex of a church?
odanata oniseptera
me trying to integrate ebonics into latin:
me: odonata anisoptera
rob: is he kin to obi wan?
me: obi wan kenobi?
me: he be gone!
me: he be gone to the force!
me: he be so gone to the force you can see right through him!
me: odonata anisoptera
rob: is he kin to obi wan?
me: obi wan kenobi?
me: he be gone!
me: he be gone to the force!
me: he be so gone to the force you can see right through him!
Saturday, March 19, 2005
bits & pieces of the old country
i have a fascination for language, especially those that are not really used much. especially the pretty ones.
so today i started learning how to write in nom which is a more or less dead writing system that used to be in use in vietnam. vietnamese was romanized thanks to the efforts of some catholic missionaries way back when so that christianity could be spread. gee whiz, yet another culture pawed by rome. but that is another story.
i am telling a happy one right now. well, sort of...
beauty is not always pretty, i believe...
i'm learning new ideograms/characters and am excited to write them with a brush. funny thing about ideograms, there is not really room for mispellings. if you misdraw the character, then you may be saying something completely different. well, i suppose it is like the spoken language as well. mess up the inflection and you may be cursing someone's ancestor or something...
--
there was a man sharing his story this morning. and there were parts of his life that held dark troubles for his soul. and i came across this poem today. i can't tell if i went looking for something like this. lately, things just turn up.
Bomb Crater Sky
by Lam Thi My Da
They say that you, a road builder
Had such love for our country
You rushed out and waved your torch
To call the bombs down on yourself
And save the road for the troops
As my unit passed on that worn road
The bomb crater reminded us of your story
Your grave is radiant with bright-colored stones
Piled high with love for you, a young girl
As I looked in the bomb crater where you died
The rain water became a patch of sky
Our country is kind
Water from the sky washes pain away
Now you lie down deep in the earth
As the sky lay down in that earthen crater
At night your soul sheds light
Like the dazzling stars
Did your soft white skin
Become a bank of white clouds?
By day I pass under a sun-flooded sky
And it is your sky
And that anxious, wakeful disc
Is it the sun, or is it your heart
Lighting my way
As I walk down the long road?
The name of the road is your name
Your death is a young girl's patch of blue sky
My soul is lit by your life
And my friends, who never saw you
Each has a different image of your face
Translated by Martha Collins and Thuy Dinh
so today i started learning how to write in nom which is a more or less dead writing system that used to be in use in vietnam. vietnamese was romanized thanks to the efforts of some catholic missionaries way back when so that christianity could be spread. gee whiz, yet another culture pawed by rome. but that is another story.
i am telling a happy one right now. well, sort of...
beauty is not always pretty, i believe...
i'm learning new ideograms/characters and am excited to write them with a brush. funny thing about ideograms, there is not really room for mispellings. if you misdraw the character, then you may be saying something completely different. well, i suppose it is like the spoken language as well. mess up the inflection and you may be cursing someone's ancestor or something...
--
there was a man sharing his story this morning. and there were parts of his life that held dark troubles for his soul. and i came across this poem today. i can't tell if i went looking for something like this. lately, things just turn up.
Bomb Crater Sky
by Lam Thi My Da
They say that you, a road builder
Had such love for our country
You rushed out and waved your torch
To call the bombs down on yourself
And save the road for the troops
As my unit passed on that worn road
The bomb crater reminded us of your story
Your grave is radiant with bright-colored stones
Piled high with love for you, a young girl
As I looked in the bomb crater where you died
The rain water became a patch of sky
Our country is kind
Water from the sky washes pain away
Now you lie down deep in the earth
As the sky lay down in that earthen crater
At night your soul sheds light
Like the dazzling stars
Did your soft white skin
Become a bank of white clouds?
By day I pass under a sun-flooded sky
And it is your sky
And that anxious, wakeful disc
Is it the sun, or is it your heart
Lighting my way
As I walk down the long road?
The name of the road is your name
Your death is a young girl's patch of blue sky
My soul is lit by your life
And my friends, who never saw you
Each has a different image of your face
Translated by Martha Collins and Thuy Dinh
Friday, March 18, 2005
misery is a butterfly
made my day. well it is a song called "misery is a butterfly" by blonde redhead but it really made my day better. i don't know how to explain but it just is. it is one of those songs that you can't remember the lyrics to or what it's about but you remember how it feels. that is what is important some times.
today came with an overcast sky and droplets of moisture at dawn. it turned into a beautiful day in scotland. hehe...
rob is smoking crack! he really isn't actually, he doesn't need it. that is because he is from texas. we really ought to be planning what we are going to do to dave to make him feel paranoid but we are too busy laughing at the people walking by starbucks who are taking themselves way seriously with their young offspring strapped to the seats of their gas guzzling suv's. oh, we can't forget those who are doing the park, skip and a double latté with nonfat milk too to go either. basically, the slice of the suburban population who do so much to provide me with material to write about not to mention mock.
at the end of each day, i really ought to utter a prayer of gratitude for this rich source of material. they are as abundant here in silicon valley as there are sardines in monterey bay.
today came with an overcast sky and droplets of moisture at dawn. it turned into a beautiful day in scotland. hehe...
rob is smoking crack! he really isn't actually, he doesn't need it. that is because he is from texas. we really ought to be planning what we are going to do to dave to make him feel paranoid but we are too busy laughing at the people walking by starbucks who are taking themselves way seriously with their young offspring strapped to the seats of their gas guzzling suv's. oh, we can't forget those who are doing the park, skip and a double latté with nonfat milk too to go either. basically, the slice of the suburban population who do so much to provide me with material to write about not to mention mock.
at the end of each day, i really ought to utter a prayer of gratitude for this rich source of material. they are as abundant here in silicon valley as there are sardines in monterey bay.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
small, medium or large. damn it!
waiting in line for a cup of coffee at starbucks. i'm feeling like i need to go to coffee anonymous and confess that i went to starbucks today because there is not another cafe around in the vicinity and because i need to get wifi access immediately. (this particular starbucks doesn't provide free wifi, the network belongs to an adjacent business; most likely case).
anyway, the person in front of me says, "a grande latte please." i'm still waking up because i'm only on my first refill. the thought that races through my head is "starbucks has successfully convinced this person that 'grande' means medium!" how insidious! how terribly fucking linguistically insidious!!! he reminded of me of another occasion when i was at another cafe (an independent one) where there was this silicon valley type engineer in front of me ordering and was having trouble communicating his desired size so he told the barrista that they should use the same "sizes" as starbucks. this jolted me and i blurted out loudly enough, "NO!, small is small, medium is medium, large is large!!!!! why would you want your "sizes" branded? and moreover, why are they branded in different languages using words that don't even work well for designating measure within the set? (articulating terminology that an engineer would understand) and do you even know what the words mean?!!!"
tall is qualitative but not specific. tall in relation to what? what? huh? an espresso cup measured from its base? a pint of beer? a giraffe? tall is an english word, grande is italian and it means "tall, big, heavyset, large, great." what gives? you are going to use two different words that can mean the same thing and it's okay because they are different languages? and what the hell does venti mean? so i looked it up. it means "20," probably referring to 20 ounces as most places size their coffee drinks to 12, 16 and 20 ounce cups. so venti doesn't even mean large! but what the hell, there are poor marketing fooled, blotted people out there who will subscribe to it.
what gets me in the end is i'm not sure which is more insidious, the fact that starbucks has successfully branded sizes or that people are so willing to behave like livestock that they aren't willing to think for themselves. and what really bothers me is a parent who asks their child, "do you want a tall or grande hot chocolate?"
anyway, the person in front of me says, "a grande latte please." i'm still waking up because i'm only on my first refill. the thought that races through my head is "starbucks has successfully convinced this person that 'grande' means medium!" how insidious! how terribly fucking linguistically insidious!!! he reminded of me of another occasion when i was at another cafe (an independent one) where there was this silicon valley type engineer in front of me ordering and was having trouble communicating his desired size so he told the barrista that they should use the same "sizes" as starbucks. this jolted me and i blurted out loudly enough, "NO!, small is small, medium is medium, large is large!!!!! why would you want your "sizes" branded? and moreover, why are they branded in different languages using words that don't even work well for designating measure within the set? (articulating terminology that an engineer would understand) and do you even know what the words mean?!!!"
tall is qualitative but not specific. tall in relation to what? what? huh? an espresso cup measured from its base? a pint of beer? a giraffe? tall is an english word, grande is italian and it means "tall, big, heavyset, large, great." what gives? you are going to use two different words that can mean the same thing and it's okay because they are different languages? and what the hell does venti mean? so i looked it up. it means "20," probably referring to 20 ounces as most places size their coffee drinks to 12, 16 and 20 ounce cups. so venti doesn't even mean large! but what the hell, there are poor marketing fooled, blotted people out there who will subscribe to it.
what gets me in the end is i'm not sure which is more insidious, the fact that starbucks has successfully branded sizes or that people are so willing to behave like livestock that they aren't willing to think for themselves. and what really bothers me is a parent who asks their child, "do you want a tall or grande hot chocolate?"
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
i'm gonna drop you
scene: 5:30am, in the kitchen
dave (he says this whenever rob or i give him a hard time): i'm gonna drop you right where you stand!
then turns and walks away
me: hey dave
turns around and faces me with a quizzical smile on his face. i reach into my pocket and fish for a coin. i grab a penny and hold it out.
me: hey dave, you mean like this?
i flip the coin into the air and watch it fall to the ground. behind dave, rob and ronnie are standing watching. ronnie bursts into a fit of laughter. dave looks at me.
deer in the headlights.
he is just so fun to have around!
mental note to myself: send thank you note to intel for providing badly needed comic relief
dave (he says this whenever rob or i give him a hard time): i'm gonna drop you right where you stand!
then turns and walks away
me: hey dave
turns around and faces me with a quizzical smile on his face. i reach into my pocket and fish for a coin. i grab a penny and hold it out.
me: hey dave, you mean like this?
i flip the coin into the air and watch it fall to the ground. behind dave, rob and ronnie are standing watching. ronnie bursts into a fit of laughter. dave looks at me.
deer in the headlights.
he is just so fun to have around!
mental note to myself: send thank you note to intel for providing badly needed comic relief
Saturday, March 05, 2005
two days...
the beginning of two days away from the nuts i affectionately call "co-habitants" (as opposed to vermin). of course there are those i will miss cause i hate it when i am the most sick and twisted person around. i grate on my nerves.
today, i'll get to throw slabs of flesh on a hot grill. ha, it's only salmon! psych!! ok, that is pretty lame. the timing of my caffeine intake was not well regulated this morning. it is now going through funny spurts. probably should switch to maté at this point but seeing as i have no maté that is going to be tough.
today, i'll get to throw slabs of flesh on a hot grill. ha, it's only salmon! psych!! ok, that is pretty lame. the timing of my caffeine intake was not well regulated this morning. it is now going through funny spurts. probably should switch to maté at this point but seeing as i have no maté that is going to be tough.
Friday, March 04, 2005
friday horoscope
"It's not your imagination. They've been staring at you, and you've been staring back. Think about all those secret smiles you two have exchanged over the past few weeks. It's time to take this thing out for a test-ride."
oh gawd!
--
earlier today:
the morning starts with noise from the tv. cheap tabloid gossip disguised as news. the chatter is followed by relentless superlative expressions and bloated gurgling voices that are empty. empty not in the way the universe is empty but empty in the way hatred is void of introspection. and the subjects range from lacie peterson to the bible, which they all believe to be equally important in the big scheme of things. important in the way that sports celebrities are equated to spiritual leaders. important in the way in the way the jock of the moment is equated to mahatma gandhi.
in the long run, i’ll hold no resentments towards them. they teach me valuable lessons. they remind me i have the choice between toiling in ubiquitous mindless jibberish or reflecting upon the choices that we can, in fact, make.
dave just started laughing hysterically as i walked by and muttered to myself, “stupid people shouldn’t breed.”
--
the pitfalls of using wifi in a public place:
sitting next to you is a cisco technocrat who exhibits antisocial behavior as he is self-important enough to plant himself in the middle of a bench with two tables in front of it. the manner of his placement is sort of the same as the way the old chinese culture sees and calls itself the "middle kingdom" (the character in question is the symbol for "center"). another workable analogy would be the way the catholic church used to insist (with fear of excommunication) that earth was in the center of the solar system.
i would normally not go through such a discourse with the others in my head but after asking twice (politely) if i could scoot in (read: make room [polite form]; move your ass over [vernacular condescend form]) he doesn't even so much as utter a "oh," "sure," or "yes." instead he is too busy looking at his yahoo! financials. if he is so significant, why is he using a free service to track his stock options?
some might say that i have acquired an incredible distate, almost dislike, almost hatred for the technocrats of the high tech economy. it could be true. i will have to contemplate. however, "hate" is such a strong word. as a friend once said, "it takes a lot of energy to hate something or somebody." i think he is right. karmic energy used toward hate is not a renewable resource. it just comes around one day and you find yourself reincarnated as a banana slug!
ah, it makes sense now...il est français! ha!
--
it's just after 5pm. i've survived...
oh gawd!
--
earlier today:
the morning starts with noise from the tv. cheap tabloid gossip disguised as news. the chatter is followed by relentless superlative expressions and bloated gurgling voices that are empty. empty not in the way the universe is empty but empty in the way hatred is void of introspection. and the subjects range from lacie peterson to the bible, which they all believe to be equally important in the big scheme of things. important in the way that sports celebrities are equated to spiritual leaders. important in the way in the way the jock of the moment is equated to mahatma gandhi.
in the long run, i’ll hold no resentments towards them. they teach me valuable lessons. they remind me i have the choice between toiling in ubiquitous mindless jibberish or reflecting upon the choices that we can, in fact, make.
dave just started laughing hysterically as i walked by and muttered to myself, “stupid people shouldn’t breed.”
--
the pitfalls of using wifi in a public place:
sitting next to you is a cisco technocrat who exhibits antisocial behavior as he is self-important enough to plant himself in the middle of a bench with two tables in front of it. the manner of his placement is sort of the same as the way the old chinese culture sees and calls itself the "middle kingdom" (the character in question is the symbol for "center"). another workable analogy would be the way the catholic church used to insist (with fear of excommunication) that earth was in the center of the solar system.
i would normally not go through such a discourse with the others in my head but after asking twice (politely) if i could scoot in (read: make room [polite form]; move your ass over [vernacular condescend form]) he doesn't even so much as utter a "oh," "sure," or "yes." instead he is too busy looking at his yahoo! financials. if he is so significant, why is he using a free service to track his stock options?
some might say that i have acquired an incredible distate, almost dislike, almost hatred for the technocrats of the high tech economy. it could be true. i will have to contemplate. however, "hate" is such a strong word. as a friend once said, "it takes a lot of energy to hate something or somebody." i think he is right. karmic energy used toward hate is not a renewable resource. it just comes around one day and you find yourself reincarnated as a banana slug!
ah, it makes sense now...il est français! ha!
--
it's just after 5pm. i've survived...
Thursday, March 03, 2005
reason #11
sterotypes exist for a reason...because they are really out there!
and in public places are the last optimal venues to discover them. especially when they sit next to you and they won't go away and you really don't want to go away. it is even worse when they like to laugh at anything in a manner that is astronomically more hysterical than it needs to be. reason #11 for why headphones were invented.
and in public places are the last optimal venues to discover them. especially when they sit next to you and they won't go away and you really don't want to go away. it is even worse when they like to laugh at anything in a manner that is astronomically more hysterical than it needs to be. reason #11 for why headphones were invented.
beauty in lament
Lament
Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun,
Those crags in childhood that I used to climb?
Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain,
Hidden is the heart.
A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between,
Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream,
Gone are the rocky places and the green,
Hidden, hidden under sorrow is yonder mountain,
Hidden, hidden.
O storm and gale of tears, whose blinding screen
Makes weather of grief, snow's drifting curtain
Palls th'immortal heights once seen.
Hidden, hidden is the heart,
Hidden, hidden is the heart.
Kathleen Raine
this morning i was googling for a poem from one of my favorite poets. i had discovered her work about two years ago at random. and just moments ago, staring at blue letters in a list of search results i learned that she died in 2003. but that first poem by her that i read said "Kathleen Raine (b. 1908). British". a twinge of sadness passed through me. it was then followed by the realization of the beauty in the form of her writings that she left behind. i remember how i printed out the first poem i had discovered by her. it was called "envoi." it was beautiful.
all thins change. in the fleeting moment when there is beauty it must be grasped with the heart. it must be grasped in its entirety, not just the pretty but the source and the non-beauty that enables that gives us the contrast.
Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun,
Those crags in childhood that I used to climb?
Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain,
Hidden is the heart.
A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between,
Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream,
Gone are the rocky places and the green,
Hidden, hidden under sorrow is yonder mountain,
Hidden, hidden.
O storm and gale of tears, whose blinding screen
Makes weather of grief, snow's drifting curtain
Palls th'immortal heights once seen.
Hidden, hidden is the heart,
Hidden, hidden is the heart.
Kathleen Raine
this morning i was googling for a poem from one of my favorite poets. i had discovered her work about two years ago at random. and just moments ago, staring at blue letters in a list of search results i learned that she died in 2003. but that first poem by her that i read said "Kathleen Raine (b. 1908). British". a twinge of sadness passed through me. it was then followed by the realization of the beauty in the form of her writings that she left behind. i remember how i printed out the first poem i had discovered by her. it was called "envoi." it was beautiful.
all thins change. in the fleeting moment when there is beauty it must be grasped with the heart. it must be grasped in its entirety, not just the pretty but the source and the non-beauty that enables that gives us the contrast.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
reflections on a dew drop
"...it makes me look farther down the road too, for myself. i would be lying if i said it didn’t scare me. there are so many things that i pick up to distract myself. they have the potential to make me ask what i’m doing and the value they bring forth. i realize that i must let them go, all the things i have no control over and stick to what i can control. i know i have to be patient..."
me quoting myself to remind me the brain still works...
me quoting myself to remind me the brain still works...
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
the sunrise is...
anthony: yeah, but the sunrise in santa cruz is so much better, more beautiful.
me: what? and the sun rises differently here in the valley?
anthony: yeah, the sunrise here sucks man.
me: the only thing here that sucks is your attitude. you need an optorectomy. it is the surgical procedure that severs the nerves between your eyes and your anus thereby relieving you of your shitty outlook on life.
two minutes later...
anthony: yeah man, as soon as i have a car i'm outa here. i don't like it here. i hate it here.
me: well, there is no one stopping you. go! go forth and make your life wherever! go to santa cruz!
me thinking to myself: just don't be there when i visit santa cruz or maybe even better, i could bring a shitty sunrise with me. yeah, i'll talk to god and order a shitty sunrise for pickup and delivery it myself.
--
my horoscope today:
"This may be tough astrological turf for some signs to travel, but you'll undoubtedly do just fine. You're no stranger to difficult terrain. In fact, you often secretly welcome the trek. Your partner or best bud may not be quite so enthusiastic about this challenge, but if anyone can talk someone -- no, anyone -- into seeing the positive that might come from the negative, it's definitely you. Get busy."
read: you are crazy enough to do what others know to be insane.
i never complain of being bored. never. people talking who are boring...that is different.
me: what? and the sun rises differently here in the valley?
anthony: yeah, the sunrise here sucks man.
me: the only thing here that sucks is your attitude. you need an optorectomy. it is the surgical procedure that severs the nerves between your eyes and your anus thereby relieving you of your shitty outlook on life.
two minutes later...
anthony: yeah man, as soon as i have a car i'm outa here. i don't like it here. i hate it here.
me: well, there is no one stopping you. go! go forth and make your life wherever! go to santa cruz!
me thinking to myself: just don't be there when i visit santa cruz or maybe even better, i could bring a shitty sunrise with me. yeah, i'll talk to god and order a shitty sunrise for pickup and delivery it myself.
--
my horoscope today:
"This may be tough astrological turf for some signs to travel, but you'll undoubtedly do just fine. You're no stranger to difficult terrain. In fact, you often secretly welcome the trek. Your partner or best bud may not be quite so enthusiastic about this challenge, but if anyone can talk someone -- no, anyone -- into seeing the positive that might come from the negative, it's definitely you. Get busy."
read: you are crazy enough to do what others know to be insane.
i never complain of being bored. never. people talking who are boring...that is different.
Monday, February 28, 2005
it is one of those days when i should have just stayed in a dark corner of the cafe and blogged. tried too hard to be productive or ambitious or both. made it all the way to downtown, could not find robert at the library where we were supposed to meet. almost lost both my new beret and umbrella in the library. this is after having thrown away my monthly bus pass for february (accidentally) after getting the march pass. spent too much money. i am still amazingly calm and collected. i am most likely on edge but calm for now. trying to build the instinct for being mindful. trying is the key word. there is no use for getting upset at anything since i have a part in each of the events. they are mostly my stupid mistakes. i am now heading back to the cafe in cupertino. gonna hole up so the sky doesn't fall on my head.
here i am blogging on the bus. what an experience hih? whatever works i suppose. fuck em if they can’t take a joke. fuck em all! makes me wonder what kind of material i would amass if i sat on the bus everyday for a couple of hours blogging about what i see. it would certainly make an interesting “day in the life” kind of blog. looking out the scratched window of the bus, the southern horizon of the valley looks beautiful. the sky is clear with scattered high clouds. it is that kind of washed out boring blue but in context it is beautiful nevertheless.
here i am blogging on the bus. what an experience hih? whatever works i suppose. fuck em if they can’t take a joke. fuck em all! makes me wonder what kind of material i would amass if i sat on the bus everyday for a couple of hours blogging about what i see. it would certainly make an interesting “day in the life” kind of blog. looking out the scratched window of the bus, the southern horizon of the valley looks beautiful. the sky is clear with scattered high clouds. it is that kind of washed out boring blue but in context it is beautiful nevertheless.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
old grounds new camp
another move, another camp. as someone said, the nomad is built into you whether you like it or not, whether you accept it or not.
so we'll see how the caravan will behave, i will see how many times a member of the "flock" needs chastising, direction, etc... nah, i didn't wake up cranky. i'm in a tranquil mood this morning. especially after the white chocolate mocha a friend bought me. in these last weeks, i have learned patience. sometimes i wonder where it comes from, there is no answer. there are periods of clarity now more often than ever. well, ever may not be accurate but a long time since...
in this clarity i am learning to be serious as well as goofy and not necessarily to anyone's detriment. this development is beyond nominal. in joviality, there is honest laughter hearty enough to wake sleeping dragons. in seriousness, there is enough compassion to subdue a crouching tiger. i am in fact learning.
so we'll see how the caravan will behave, i will see how many times a member of the "flock" needs chastising, direction, etc... nah, i didn't wake up cranky. i'm in a tranquil mood this morning. especially after the white chocolate mocha a friend bought me. in these last weeks, i have learned patience. sometimes i wonder where it comes from, there is no answer. there are periods of clarity now more often than ever. well, ever may not be accurate but a long time since...
in this clarity i am learning to be serious as well as goofy and not necessarily to anyone's detriment. this development is beyond nominal. in joviality, there is honest laughter hearty enough to wake sleeping dragons. in seriousness, there is enough compassion to subdue a crouching tiger. i am in fact learning.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
low clouds new paths
" I know that space is curved but my brain has been condoned by habit to grow in a straight line." --J.W.
learning to react differently to old stimuli. when i can't find in myself, i seek elsewhere. luckily this morning hasn't offered a lot for me to react to which is really pleasant. outside, the clouds are low. it's one of those beautiful mornings when the clouds are there but they have completely engulfed the air between the treetops and the highest parts where the hawks are at home. now only if i were riding a horse atop a ridge in sonoma somewhere...
ahhhhh!!!!!! stop it. stop the daydream, ok. everything is going to be fine. i was just slow in getting the caffeine into my system this morning. i suddenly had this thought of the perfect roasted chicken. don't know where that came from. well, that is not entirely accurate. i know where it came from. i just don't want to admit it exists.
learning to react differently to old stimuli. when i can't find in myself, i seek elsewhere. luckily this morning hasn't offered a lot for me to react to which is really pleasant. outside, the clouds are low. it's one of those beautiful mornings when the clouds are there but they have completely engulfed the air between the treetops and the highest parts where the hawks are at home. now only if i were riding a horse atop a ridge in sonoma somewhere...
ahhhhh!!!!!! stop it. stop the daydream, ok. everything is going to be fine. i was just slow in getting the caffeine into my system this morning. i suddenly had this thought of the perfect roasted chicken. don't know where that came from. well, that is not entirely accurate. i know where it came from. i just don't want to admit it exists.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Robert's Intro...
" Time to check in somewhere. For one thing, you may be willing to have murder committed, in the belief you won't be caught, to acquire the land or object that you covet. Or, to neutralize the feelings of jealousy you have for others. If you were cast in the role of a frontier rancher or a dictatorial government leader, the lives of others would become meaningless in your quest to conquer those whose land or material possessions are in your sights. Murder and carnage is just part of the game to you. You are probably clever, ruthless,relentless and unsatiable. You will do whatever it takes. You areprobably not warm and nice."
So says one of the many "personality tests" I've taken onliine say. Perhaps they were referring to the persons that Narthex wants to use a blunt force object on. Certainly I would never harm anyone... he he he!
More from the asylum later... and more from sanctuary.
So says one of the many "personality tests" I've taken onliine say. Perhaps they were referring to the persons that Narthex wants to use a blunt force object on. Certainly I would never harm anyone... he he he!
More from the asylum later... and more from sanctuary.
it's blue
"if you don't know how to use, ask for help. if you don't have the patience, don't use it. it's a computer, not a fucking vacuum cleaner."
followed by, "dude, this is the kitchen. there is food here and i'm making sandwiches. don't be taking off your shoes and asking for our opinion on your foot gunk. have you no consideration? take it out of here." oh, uh, i'm sorry, i apologize man. "man, just think about it before you do something. what the hell?#@*%!!!"
so begins my morning, a schizotypal in the midst of a bunch of crackheads who believe the 6 a.m. local news is gospel and that it is important to know what is going on in the michael jackson trial. with borrowed patience, gifted serenity and breathing exercises i manage not to misuse the sandwich board as a blunt instrument. a couple more deep breaths and my blood pressure came back down. creasing the top of the lunch bag into a neat self holding origami fold. i look up and leave and by the time i am outside i can sincerely bring a smile to the blue dawn.
often i find solace in words, in language that stir the mind and bring little wounds to our hearts. in hope, the little wounds might soften our hearts and make us stronger. in hope, the heart might learn to bear the pain and be able to carry the gift and burden of compassion. in hope, our shells might learn to live with our own self hatred and find forgiveness and somehow bring that deeply found understanding to the way we deal with others.
The Shortest Distance
by Erin Lambert
Perhaps the dead long for light, long for the sky and stars.
Why we fold them in boxes, shelve them neatly in rows
six feet beneath a world they lived long enough to die in,
I do not know.
I thought as a child that the hell-bound had it easy,
already down there, not much distance to go.
Those in limbo could rest awhile, stretch their bones
back into the earth and fashion new lives from memory;
live ten thousand lives in dirt and darkness.
But who can help those deserving heaven?
Even the statues turn away; angels with eyes lifted
or heads bent in prayers for the living because soon enough,
our turns will come. They try not to hear the dead who are good
tossing in their graves with desperate talk: Which way is up?
Was that a crow this morning?
Because the good are perfect, they are not tortured by memories
so they forget themselves. They lie with the damned
and those left to wonder, who try to give directions with talk of love
and light, the shortest distance between ground and sky. Remember God?
Those in waiting ask the good who, dumb as dirt, stagger for the answer
to a god too distant to wake the dead.
--
it's evening. i'm at the cafe. soon i'll have to head back to "sanctuary" and experience the myriad of random behaviors of temporal housemates. i'm promising myself i won't pick up the cutting board with harmful intent. yeah, i think that is probably the right attitude. hehe!!!
i had another one of my "reading shakespeare on the bus" moments today. it caused me to get off at the wrong stop and have to walk way farther than planned. but it was okay, i need the exercise (yeah, right!). but then the cut down passages from much ado about nothing are so good. now if i can just memorize some of the better lines. but robert keeps reminding me that my insults are ineffectual unless i dumb down my language. hell i'm not even a native english speaker. what the hell is going on with this country? is everybody trying to be bush? arghhh...
need to make effigies. making effigies will make me feel better, especially after i...
followed by, "dude, this is the kitchen. there is food here and i'm making sandwiches. don't be taking off your shoes and asking for our opinion on your foot gunk. have you no consideration? take it out of here." oh, uh, i'm sorry, i apologize man. "man, just think about it before you do something. what the hell?#@*%!!!"
so begins my morning, a schizotypal in the midst of a bunch of crackheads who believe the 6 a.m. local news is gospel and that it is important to know what is going on in the michael jackson trial. with borrowed patience, gifted serenity and breathing exercises i manage not to misuse the sandwich board as a blunt instrument. a couple more deep breaths and my blood pressure came back down. creasing the top of the lunch bag into a neat self holding origami fold. i look up and leave and by the time i am outside i can sincerely bring a smile to the blue dawn.
often i find solace in words, in language that stir the mind and bring little wounds to our hearts. in hope, the little wounds might soften our hearts and make us stronger. in hope, the heart might learn to bear the pain and be able to carry the gift and burden of compassion. in hope, our shells might learn to live with our own self hatred and find forgiveness and somehow bring that deeply found understanding to the way we deal with others.
The Shortest Distance
by Erin Lambert
Perhaps the dead long for light, long for the sky and stars.
Why we fold them in boxes, shelve them neatly in rows
six feet beneath a world they lived long enough to die in,
I do not know.
I thought as a child that the hell-bound had it easy,
already down there, not much distance to go.
Those in limbo could rest awhile, stretch their bones
back into the earth and fashion new lives from memory;
live ten thousand lives in dirt and darkness.
But who can help those deserving heaven?
Even the statues turn away; angels with eyes lifted
or heads bent in prayers for the living because soon enough,
our turns will come. They try not to hear the dead who are good
tossing in their graves with desperate talk: Which way is up?
Was that a crow this morning?
Because the good are perfect, they are not tortured by memories
so they forget themselves. They lie with the damned
and those left to wonder, who try to give directions with talk of love
and light, the shortest distance between ground and sky. Remember God?
Those in waiting ask the good who, dumb as dirt, stagger for the answer
to a god too distant to wake the dead.
--
it's evening. i'm at the cafe. soon i'll have to head back to "sanctuary" and experience the myriad of random behaviors of temporal housemates. i'm promising myself i won't pick up the cutting board with harmful intent. yeah, i think that is probably the right attitude. hehe!!!
i had another one of my "reading shakespeare on the bus" moments today. it caused me to get off at the wrong stop and have to walk way farther than planned. but it was okay, i need the exercise (yeah, right!). but then the cut down passages from much ado about nothing are so good. now if i can just memorize some of the better lines. but robert keeps reminding me that my insults are ineffectual unless i dumb down my language. hell i'm not even a native english speaker. what the hell is going on with this country? is everybody trying to be bush? arghhh...
need to make effigies. making effigies will make me feel better, especially after i...
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