i've this wonderful wonderful book. But i won't divulge the name of it, not yet. and it's filled with the ability to mix and match animal parts to create new ones. I've decided i will from now on occasionally share some of these carefully concocted concoctions.
accordingly todays animal is:
a capricious specimen with a sturdy caparison hailing from the malaysian forests.
Bueller? Bueller?
ok so despite the fancy hit tracker that shows up to the right of this post i really don't have any clue who, what, where, why, people read this blog.
so in an effort really do fill the time on a lazy sunday i've decided to do roll call,
except i have no idea what your names are (with one or two exceptions)
so everyone or no one.
please comment with at the very least, if not a name, a city, it'd been fun to see where people are stumbling onto this blog from.
sometimes when nothing else seems worthy of my attention i cram my short term memory full of random images from flickr. I feel like i'm cramming them full of a random slice of lives. Laughter, people spinning, mediocre pictures of buildings and dogs, gadgets, half naked girls, pain, sadness, memories.
and then i'll move on. write. listen to music, do something unrelated and all that imagery that represents the fragments of someones life just vanishes into the mist of forgotten new memories.
and tomorrow i'll submerge myself in another set and it will affect my mood for a few minutes and then pass.
It's an odd sort of meditation on life and voyeurism.
I've stopped counting the end of my past relationship.
for some time now, I stopped paying attention to old anniversaries.
But i've sorted of done away with them in general. Some day this summer.
On a nice day with a good
breeze i'll somewhat arbitrarily say "it's been a year" for my new relationship.
No date. No anniversary. No marking of a calendar. I think it's nicer this way.
I'm at the part where i start processing the little random bits that were once me, us, her, that chapter.
some moments are awkward like watching my new gf put on the cooking apron i bought once for valentines many years ago with old gf. It seems so bizarre that my stuff, my things, my sheets, my pillow, my stuffed animal, a green frog, all once seemed so shared with that one person. They're all analogous with me i suppose. It's the realization that i'm sharing of myself again.
another something i noticed: no one ever quite fits in your arms the same way. the small evolved patterns of holding, nestling, sleep, are utterly different, devastatingly so, because however unfair it is to say so, a small part of me wondered if she would fill the spot on my chest that the old "she" once fit into.
instead it's my right ankle that notices her absence when i sleep alone. It's the leg with which i reach and touch her leg as it reaches for mine since we sleep facing opposite directions.
Quote: Before Sunset from Luis Sosa on Vimeo.
I stumbled across this song playing Rock Band.
and man was i into it. "jamming" to Seven by VAGIANT.
and boom. I'm singing along to the chorus but i'm alone, and the mic isn't plugged in.
cause "I----I-----I-----AYYYYY Got your back until i DIEEEEEEEEE-AYYYYYYYY"
and fuck me but i was moved by the fucking punk rocking stalkerish sentiment to this song.
moved man, fucking moved, thinking i want someone to love me that fucking much.....enough to stalk me....
enough to sing to me
"and I'------gonna protect you till i die....I won't let nobody hurt you again...i'll fuck up your next girlfriend if she breaks your heart"
Got home more.
More than i did when i left new york for mexico.
More than when i spent 11 days in new york in March purging my belongings.
I got home a little more this time around.
some of it has to do with closing doors.
but more so it's about realizing what the corridors i've got in front of me are.
I can see the burdens on the horizon.
If i knew what to look for i'm sure i could smell them.
It's growing up time.
putting it off has been fun and necessary.
TIme to figure out what sort of man i'm.
my mother's bipolar. It's a subtle bitch of a condition. It masquerades as stubborn pride or indignation but ends with her sobbing in self pity in the corner of her room. It starts with some round about logic about how everything you've agreed upon for the past 3 or 4 days has really been wrong. It begins with what sounds like a suggested alternate course of action.
Mother: have you considered that if you don't do what we've agreed upon because secretly i resent you for not being able to give me exactly what i want and feel i deserve because once i was very wealthy and beautiful and coveted and now i'm not, that it might actually work out better.
Son: well i can't do that. cause i can't afford to.
Mother: well how come your father has a nice house and a nice car and...
Son: well because he's a different person than you.
Mother: it's not fair.
Son: no it's not
Mother: well now i don't want anything. I'd rather not having anything than accept what you can give which isn't what i deserve.
"i've been driving WV cars since i was 16, why should i stop now!"(actual quote)
and it deteriorates from there.
But i have come to one conclusion. She's stable for 4 days. it's the 5th day that sends her off on one of her bipolar induced rages of self pity and anger.
My original return flight home was yesterday Wednesday at 8:50pm. It was perfect. i would have left right at her stability peek. But i had to delay my departure and now i've overstayed my welcome. Her brain is fighting back against my subtle attempts to placate her. to comfort her and control the mental tangents that lead her down dark roads of regret.
But in the end she resents me. she resents that i've accepted my fathers help and secretly and not so secretly at times just wants me to suffer her mistakes with her. to tell my dad to fuck off and shove his money and go hate him from a distance with my mother and my younger brother who did take my mom up on her strategy for all the good it's done anyone.
My father probably was a bit of a dick. I know him enough to accept that half what my mom has accused him of is probably true.
But sometimes. as i myself have recently discovered, you need to let go of the anger or it will just tie you to the person you're hating.
my mom's been tied to my dad through hate for more than a decade.
enough mom.
enough.
anonymous comments are delightful and vexing. mainly because i'd love to know more about my readers.
haha readers. there is probably like 5 of them.
But hey 5 readers is 4 more than the ones i have in my head.
anonymous comments remind me of secret admirer notes i got in highschool...or the secrete nemesis notes that i also got.
i never did find out who sent either of those.
love.
i really believe it can only exist when two equally fucked up people come to understand both sides of pain.
breaking hearts and having yours broken.
that pain. that scaring permanence of loosing love that I'd started feeling was as constant as consciousness is the only thing jaring enough to have made me finally figure out who i am. (apologies for switching to first person but it was necessary)
So i stopped looking for damsels to rescue. or beautiful fucked up girls, broken girls, wounded girls who i could wrap in my sense of centeredness*
i want awareness of humanity. our condition is flawed. we slam into wisdom like jumpers leaping off tall erections and crashing into concrete.
I'm still learning. realizing how reluctant i've been to forgive, how much the loathing simmered and settled into a substrata that helped me force a distance between me and that one person i once loved so utterly. But i have to let go of that hate. It's no longer serving any real purpose, except ironically to tie me to her.
in hate as i was in love.
enough now.
enough.
I'm in Houston. unpacking the boxes upon boxes that are the artifacts of a life lived in New York City. Boxes which up until two weeks ago had spent a year and half at a storage location in Harlem.
When we start coming across some decidedly feminine products. some empty facial cream tins, some decorative jars to hold bathroom supplies and other misc. She asks me what i'm doing with these things and i say "the were probably ______'s (my ex)" "She lived in my place for a few months after we broke up while she looked for a new flat. "Que bien la tenia, todavia vivio en tu depa?" (She had it nice, she actually lived in your flat?" She then asked how could it have ended if she had it so good, something which reminds me that in my mom's generation all a man really needed to do was take care of his girl and that's it. No messy emotional baggage to deal with, at least not on the surface. I say something about it being complicated and then in something that struck me as suprisingly naive for a woman as bitter as she is she said "But she seemed so in love with you when i saw her at your graduation."
"Yes" i say
"She was" i say
"We were" i say
but it had nothing to do with it.
and it didn't.
There was a time when all i needed to lead me to my newest frivolous technology purchase was that rush of Dopamine that the mere knowledge of a new gadget would elicit. My life for my first 25 years or so followed a steady stream of update after update that kept me on the relative cutting edge of whatever.
in the last two years though i've started to mellow. Tech purchases now undergo a less that rigorous evaluation through whatever part of my frontal cortex is responsible for responsible. The words "do you really need it" mock me. I sometimes find myself doing what no early adopted should ever do...wait...for the next version!
my computer will be two years old in sept. that for me is an eternity and yet other than the limit on RAM (2gb) i'm actually doing quite okay with it which doesn't help justify the mac pro i want to buy.
*this is a fairly mediocre post. but in the interest of the daily. i'm just gonna let it float onto my blog like that piece of poop that won't flush.
Because i firmly believe everyone should have a laugh at the expense of this blokes parents choice.
much has been written about muxtape in the last few days by the blogsphere. and for good reason. It's exceedingly simple, beautiful, fun, and clever and yet like most things that achieve this combination of adjectives it runs the very real danger of crossing the digital overlords of the RIAA (who appointed them anyways. fuckers!) for those that don't know it's very simply a website that allows you to upload 12 songs (that's it) and create your online mixtape that you can share with your mates. simple. except for it to be legal i'd have to actually have permission from the 12 different copyright holders to upload the songs. It's actually much grayer legal territory since the DMCA does allow provisions for fair use. but fair use is somewhat subjective. I hope muxtape sticks around, because its cool and clever and created by new yorkers, and as former new yorker i tend to root for the home team.
once upon a time on this blog i said the month of june was my favorite. It was. but really it wasn't what i really meant was a favoritism for a remarkable young girl i still haven't met that i got to know in the spring of 2007. Today i had the chance to catch up with her. a friend i'd lost touch with. It was pleasant and was a pleasant reminder of the fact that sometimes people drift in and out of your life like ...things that drift in and out.
like migrating birds.
like a taste for Gun's and Roses
part of the impermanence of life is that on occasion somethings drift naturally back into your personal sphere, by an unseen osmosis and that is really quite nice.