words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Tuesday, October 29, 2002
We want to be more,
more than just our own time.
We want to cause events;
we should be the beginning or the end,
never a dot in the middle.
We want control and power and ecstasy,
as if it belonged to us;
our daydream worlds recognize us,
Laud our abilities and ideas
or else they cannot see our greatness.
Who is content to be who they are?
People have told us since we were young,
You will mean something;
people will listen and know you.
We believed these plans, easily.
Maybe if we were more,
more than our dreams,
we would be enough.
yes, enough.
but nobody ever stops craving.
Then we can do nothing but love,
which is never more nor less,
which was, and is, and will be.
we must find love to satisfy,
to relieve our wanting.
11:42 PM
Time shortens, night lengthens,
light plays, steam escapes,
highways flow like rivers and
corn stalks bend towards ground
under the fall's grey clouds.
Tell me i'm not a secret anymore, that I can walk in the open without the fear i've always had but instead with the confidence of a madman, saying what I feel I need to say. Speech is liberty, and we all know what to choose without liberty.
Anyone can say nothing matters, give up and stop trying. But maybe everything matters, and we don't know how to comprehend everything. All of it, every news report, every stinky baby, every morning. I hate to say it, the sacred and the mundane entertwine together, the double helix. somehow it matters. we have to figure it out, and not let it drown us.
6:14 PM
Monday, October 28, 2002
Until 22, I was all mind, studying, reading, focusing on my brain alone. When I turned 22 and came out, I was all body, loving both my own and those around me, trying to forget that I had been all mind. Now I'm working on my soul, the part of me I might have once denied having. A friendly blogger said he thought guys who don't cry have no soul. I only remember crying once before 22, and I had forced myself to cry over some guy I knew I would never see again. That wasn't soul, that was selfish. So I guess I can't expect my soul to open to me, much less anyone else, after only a year of looking for it. My brain might understand what I need to do, but the rest of me takes a while to catch up. I've never much liked the word soul but I have no other word to describe the part of me that exists on a separate plane from my body, whether inside it or outside of it, I don't yet know. I could call it spirit, but if I did that, then I've been trying to nurture that since I was five, focused on being a good Christian since I can remember. And as much as I remember that effort being good for me, I never understood what I was doing and how to involve more of myself into my understanding. How can you understand God when you don't understand yourself? The Quakers say there is a part of God in all of us, but you have to listen to yourself first. Emotions? No wonder I've never had many of them. They don't come from your brain or your body. But all this is ok, and I have no use for looking back in regret, just to analyze what I did so that I can do better. There's a part of me growing that wants to recognize the metaphysical world, that wants to listen to what I have never heard. I've become very familiar with tears. I don't fear them any more, and don't encourage them. They remind me that I am alive, and that I can feel, no matter what my brain and my body may tell me.
7:55 PM
Sunday, October 27, 2002
Spend more time crafting friendships than you do garnering lust. That's what I'm hearing inside, that I'm all too eager to go out to some bar to be ogled rather than spend time with good people, getting to know them, understand them, share myself and listen. A lesson I knew long ago and then forgot. So teach me again to remember what I used to know. See, I've paid more attention to trees and buildings than I have people in this city. Yes, I love the trees and the buildings, the parks, and the sidewalks, but when am I going to love the people, not just hope they love me?
7:09 PM
Thursday, October 24, 2002
I'm starting to love my apartment, starting to feel like it's more home and more comfortable than anywhere. I remember feeling a bit of that in my Sacramento apartment, but almost none of it in my last apartment here in St Louis. A couple of months though in this new place, and I am quite comfortable. Especially recently, I have had a few more visitors see it, and spent time in the evenings at home instead of always wandering around town. I still have trouble with the concept of home though. Yes, this is as much home as I have; I would call no other place home. Still, I'm not completely satisified that this home. It feels so transitory, knowing that I will leave in less than a year. Should I care? I know that my home will most likely lack other occupants for quite some time. I can't expect to find any kind of family in the near future. But regardless of other people, I can still have a home, right?. Maybe it matters that I have easily accessible friends. Maybe it has something to do with how much time I spend in it, or what I do there. Maybe it depends on how much of me it represents, if I can overcome the rented feeling and make it something of mine, or if it will always remain a bit foreign. I've also learned that I can feel comfortable almost anywhere, wandering a park, enjoying a coffee shop, or driving in my car. these somehow are the same feelings of home, that I am me and doing the things that make me happy. Isn't that enough?
7:16 PM
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
I am still listening to Joan Osbourne's recent release, though it is not playing. Her voice and interpretations of these soul songs have snuck into my life, tuned to me because I need them, their solace, passion, and calm. She sings with just enough grit in her voice, a bit of gravel perhaps, like when my friend Bippy jumped off of a swing thinking I would catch her but instead fell on the ground when I couldn't hold on. She pulled dirt out of her teeth for an hour afterwards. I can hear it in Osbourne's voice, revealing she too has been dropped in the past and has hit the ground because she gave her trust. The electric guitars, the horns, the music together still works through me, turning How Sweet It Is into a lonely ballad, and War, What is it Good For into a quiet protest, demanding an answer from each of us, not just from the politicians who we so conveniently blame. I didn't know all of the songs, but I will now, loving them as they work into me, calming me, comforting me, reminding me of pain. A few other albums have done this, have been so poignant when I bought them, that they stick in my memory as a piece of healing for that moment. Yo La Tengo's "And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out" played when my dad left me before his visit was over, too furious about my sexuality to even talk to me about it, when my parents turned their disgust on me and opened up more pain by including my grandmother into their derision of me. The songs of Percy Sledge still bring back memories of the guys I have separated from, the hurtful feelings that I still feel I caused, unable to stop myself or to even explain my cruelty. Bjork's Vespertine sounded like a holy church bell during my depression last winter, when I finally woke up to death everywhere and couldn't handle such weight. I invited them in to my head when I needed something I couldn't explain, and each cd's melodies flooded through me with their own healing. I am glad for them, thankful for their help. I am glad to let Joan Osbourne in now.
5:49 PM
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Seems like I dreamed on the way to work today, with the wind blowing through the car, Morcheeba's first album playing, passing all the fields. So many heavy subjects, so much everywhere, so few of us doing anything substantial. Last night I read for an hour or more, something I haven't done for a long time, lost in the book, remembering how books used to be my best friends and understanding why. They never asked for anything but the time it took to read them. They were their own world where I just stood by, watching. I would like to do that again, not spend my time cooking, driving, cleaning, planning, or any of these adult realities, just stuck in nothing. I know that the blessings of adulthood are the freedoms we have, to go where we want, to cultivate friends, to decide much of our own lives. But of course, we also gain responsibility for taking care of ourselves. In some ways, taking care of ourselves is enough; many people hardly get that far. But when you have taken care of yourself, met the needs of shelter, food, and money, you have to step out of yourself and try to benefit those around you. I know I'm doing almost none of that right now, focused on my own needs and my own priorities of restructuring my life.
After college, I recognized a need to just take care of myself, to enjoy life instead of suffer through it as I did during my four years at the Air Force Academy. I felt comfortable being selfish, living alone and away from people. I kept telling myself that time would have to end, but I haven't been able to give it up yet. Since September 11th of last year, though, I have not been able to enjoy it like I used to, when I reveled in my life. Fine, better to have an event that knocks me out of my habitat than to continue going nowhere. It's been a year now, and I haven't changed much. Seeds are growing, and I'm about to take a very important step. I need to take many more steps, to realize that I can no longer act alone in the world, that I avoid people to the point that I have become greedy in my affection and my time. Maybe I can change.
6:46 PM
Saturday, October 19, 2002
I didn't know he was the poet laureate. 
Funny, I just learned recently that America still had poet laureates. I thought we did away with that before I was born. Apparently, Howard Nemerov, a St Louis native, was poet laureate sometime in the sixties maybe. But Billy Collins is our current poet laureate. I thought I was alone in loving him. He's pictured to the right, next to my notebook, as one of my favorite things. I've never loved a poet more than him, except for maybe William Carlos Williams. I picked Collins out of a shelf of poetry at the independent store on Market St, near the Castro in San Francisco. I think the night I picked him out was the same night a small Asian man invited me over to watch a movie at his place with his friends. I can't remember why I declined to join him. So it's nice to find a NYTimes article on him, although it would be nicer to actually meet someone who knows Collins' poetry. But then, I'm not sure those people actually exist, not sure I have enough hope for that. Still, I love him, and I keep a book of his by my bed, just in case. He makes me laugh, makes me want to write, makes me think and dream and pause over life. I would have paused today, had I been able to, driving into work through Illinois, watching the slope of the fields curve to meet the trees, colored a bit by the playful fall. Even the ferns change colors--i didn't notice that last year. Soon I will be able to see my favorite evergreen more clearly when I drive to work, no longer blocked by the leaves on the other trees, although it stands taller than the rest of them and is always easy to find. That drive is beautiful, and it feeds me everyday I drive it. And that is Collins' essence, able to describe such wonders of everyday life with such honor and humility that he elevates them to great parts of our lives, worthy of remembering and pausing. Fall is when I went to hang on to the world and say, stay, stay where you are, dont move too quickly, i just want to watch for a while because I know it's all going to change so fast. all going to change so fast.
ok, so i just learned that William Carlos Williams was also appointed Poet Laureate but did not serve the post. all the things i don't know.
4:51 PM
"The problem with being afraid is if it makes us do things that actually increase our risk." NYTimes article "When Risk Ruptures Life." Yes, I think that's what's going on in the world. America is afraid, and so we're doing things to cover up for and tend to that fear that actually decreases our security. But I'm not a political scientist.
4:30 PM
Friday, October 18, 2002
What I'm eating now:
Asian cabbage soup if I have to give it a name. I started by boiling some water and adding chopped cabbage, dried shitake mushrooms, fresh ginger, fish sauce, soy sauce, and rice vinegar (gave it too much tang, won't add that again), fresh basil, tofu (some creamed in the blender with almonds and basil, and some chunked), green bell peppers, and sauteed garlic and onions. The creamed tofu mixture gave the soup a nice dirty look and texture, so the broth feels more substantive while the cabbage and the mushrooms give a nice bit to chew on.
8:34 PM
Let me just sleep, sleep away these fears, sleep away these times, until a better time arrives. Or can that happen? Are we as humans doomed by our own mistakes to live in difficult times? Seems so. The speech my colonel gave to us today furthered my resolve to take what little action I can to prevent my involvement with the nasty future of war. I dread the role I'm taking, dread having to stand up for myself, to claim what I think is right, but what so few people will back me on. I know I will have to lean on people I have not tested yet, people who I have stayed away from for one reason or another. I know that I will have to lean on myself, gather courage from a place that has not been much exercised. I don't want to sip from this cup, but unless I want blood on my hands, unless I want to avoid what I know is right, I have to take that sip, willingly. Nobody will ever coerce me into doing right. But I would rather sleep, rather give up on this, have no desire to stand up in front of people. The thought tempts me and scares me at the same time. I think I have waited long enough.
I've been haunted lately, attacked by faint memories, sinister feelings of deja-vu, of past uncomfortable dreams that make me sick in my head and stomach. Haunted by these images, as if they connect me to a world I don't understand. Where is this world; why does it haunt me? How do the vague triggers of these episodes relate to the actual problem? I wanted to blame these on my fears around the world, wanted to say that since I had made up my mind to do something, they would go away. They did, for a time. Have I waited too long, have I sat on this decision trying to cover all of it's ground, see every angle lest I act rashly? Or is this a haunting I can't understand, a feeling that has no connection to me or my stresses? Is it merely a symptom of my stress, my emotions creating an outlet because I have not opened one up myself? Maybe all of these is the answer, that I should attend to my emotions like I never have before, that I should finish my deliberation and get to what I must do, that I should open myself up to let go what I am holding so tightly. I know I can't handle this if it continues; the panic will break me down. But somehow I have hope that I will take the necessary steps, that I will feel my way through this situation. I can feel the hope growing, even though it makes no sense and seems a mockery of the tragic events around the world. But no, instead of a mockery, it's the only way to overcome the tragedies of the world. Just like revenge only creates more revenge, hope creates more hope, and if I can muster hope in myself, then maybe I can inspire it in others. And if I have trouble with my own hope, look to other sources who can inspire me, those from the past or the present, or maybe even the future. Gil Scott-Heron sang to his daughter how much he loved her and how she kept him hoping "good things for tomorrow." His love for her created that hope. So who do I love? Who's future is worth this hope, that I have to take steps to ensure its brightness? Faith, hope, love, but the greatest of these is love.
7:33 PM
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
quiet surprises me.
9:34 PM
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
There's a beautiful piece of forever changing art hanging above us. The sun's rays played near the horizon as i ran tonight, flitting through clouds, darkening, coloring, even lightening the sky as they left us. The moon had already risen on the other side of the world, a nice moment of duality combined, reminding us that no matter how often we try to separate the world into halves, the two sides converge on us, meld, one circle crossing the lines of another, creating that unnamed geometric shape, a curvy diamond that nobody really knows what to do with. As usual, i laughed quite a bit during my run, at the sky, at my random thoughts, at my joy in being outside running, at all the cars driving by, at life. Today's the first day in several that I've done anything worth remembering. I've been so dull lately. That sun woke me up though, reminded me to live and to watch. I have more to do with my life than just sleep and eat, fortunately.
9:59 PM
Monday, October 14, 2002
I read a poem of mine last night. it needs reworking before i do anything else with it. surprisingly enough, I liked it. I'm becoming aware though that I'm the only one who understands these things. That is, if I write a poem, of course i'm going to understand it. I can see all that lies behind it, that I didnt' tell. Yes, it helps to have some distance, but I've been reading my own words for years now. And really, nobody else has. I guess the only way to find out is to let people read my things. Maybe that's the secret point of writing this blog. or maybe i just feel like being noticed here and there. I also noticed in my poem that when I let go of the poetics and just told the story, i wrote more convincingly. It wasn't strained or difficult like the first two stanzas which need serious help. Does that mean I should write all future poems in such a prose-like way, or does it just apply to this poem? I don't see the point of structure for it's own sake. My favorite kind of dancing is just doing what i want, spinning around the floor. I don't feel like learning anything complex. My favorite kind of cooking is playing on old ideas that I have in my head or that I find in a recipe book. Those meals turn out the best for me, when i'm not following anyone else's dictates (I made a fresh pesto today with almond, basil, tomato, olive oil, tofu, and buttermilk - it turned out all creamy without being fatty). So maybe I'll keep writing poems that are just me talking, give them enough structure to be poetic, but not so much that I'm faltering over the process.
I caught the arch today, driving by downtown, stopped by a long red light. I've always seen the reflection there, in the buildings, but never had my camera. This time, I tore open my bag to grab for it, and snapped a shot well in time to check it out before the light changed. maybe tomorrow i'll go there on purpose, find more reflections of that giant curve. I'll post the picture soon, i promise.
6:09 PM
Sunday, October 13, 2002
Every day I put my uniform on, I wonder why I chose to in the first place, how I am in this strange world. I chose it, nobody drafted me into this service. But yes, service is the word I saw, too. I saw the military as a great big fence around the country, one that deterred anyone from attacking us, one that would keep us safe just by being there. How noble, how just, how sacrificial. But in some ways, I still aspire to that, to the point of being willing to stand for my country. I have no doubt that as Americans, we have many many freedoms and possibilities others don't. Even still, I don't have a full concept of what other countries are like, though I have visited them. In none of them was it as easy to get what you wanted as it is here. I know I went into the Air Force with naive presumptions, and nobody asked me to consider the price of having to kill someone else. Furthermore, I know that as a communications officer, I will most likely never have anything personal to do with killing someone else. I have lost the sense of honor, but I would still like to serve, would like to think that putting on my uniform somehow helps. Because I put on my uniform, does it mean that I am willing to kill? Does it mean that I support what the Air Force does around the world? Does it mean that I too am arrogant and selfish like my current leadership?
It may not mean any of these things. It may mean that I am simply finishing a committment I made to spend this much time in the military, right or wrong. It may mean that I am in the middle of a decision process to determine my role in life. It may mean that I don't quite know what I can do, or what I should do.
6:04 PM
Saturday, October 12, 2002
The letter n.
narwhale, nothing, never, napalm, nut, Narnia, noodle, nerve, nag
north, Nostrodamus, narcolepsy, nasty, nest, nibble, nighttime.
why I am awake at 5:18 on Saturday morning, I don't know. But U2's War is spinning under the needle, and my stomach grumbles. Time doesn't always make sense, and my bed isn't always useful.
new, natter, negate, numerous, ninth, nice, Nestor (main character in Nintendo magazine's comic strip), net, nampla, neither, nebulous, nimble,
and of course, napkin
5:25 AM
Thursday, October 10, 2002
The clouds and fall weather,
songs of death and life,
of peace and life
so sweet and calm over me
running through the sky over me,
in my head, dulling the bright sun
displaying their own way,
their blues and purples,
greys whites and pinks,
pulled edges, flawed roundness,
seeming weight and metamorphoses,
pull tears from me like doctors
pulled blood from the sick
to remove their ill tempers
and cleanse what blood remained.
my insides burn without consuming,
churn as if they hold the string of a kite
waving in the sky, colored against that sky.
Perhaps I am seeing what I shouldn't,
walking on ground I should hallow.
10:08 PM
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
I visited the Pulitzer Foundation for the Arts again today, with my friend Vincent (listening to Cassius on the way). Japanese architect, Tadao Ando designed the incredible concrete building, which is more impressive than the art, even though there are distinct spaces where the art feels as if the artist designed it for that space. The first stun happens on the waterfront. A small outdoor patio extends between the two lengths of the building but is cut off by a long expanse of shallow water, covering small rocks. The water and concrete form your horizon as a smooth mirror, an unnatural peace. You can sit on the carved stone bench and watch the water ripple a bit, or stare back into the building with windows that on the right only show the feet of visitors walking by. The water looks like it goes on, over the wall, but it stops, level with the concrete border, on the opposite end of the building. Back inside, there is an enormous stairwell decorated by a long rectangle of black and then blue on the opposite wall, directing you downwards, carrying you down the dramatic steps, large enough to be on the outside of a capitol building. My last favorite part of the foundation lies outside, the Richard Serra sculpture of what looks like rusted metal, with an dark orange tint, a leaning spiral, leaning in and out as you walk to the middle, disoriented by the lack of vertical surroundings. In the center, all you can see is the sky, extending from this rusted orange circle. I have long thought of the sky as the largest piece of beauty we commonly know; Serra's structure celebrates that passion. What is life for, but celebrating?
7:50 PM
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
Yes, Saddam Hussein may be capable and willing to kill Americans. I still have to love him. Even Hussein loves the people who love him. What I know is that I should love even my enemies, anyone who wants to hurt me, namely every human. In my mind, that means not killing them, no matter what they have done or what they may do. I recognize the inherent risk of my own death and those around me. None of that would compel me to think it's right to kill someone else. I know this is so against modern society that it seems lunatic. But how is wanting to save lives lunatic? I can't say what the world should do in this situation, to thwart any possible danger from Iraq. I see countries like Switzerland who is neutral, and nobody has attacked them in a hundred years. Aren't they doing something right? If we didn't have vital interests in other countries, would we be so vulnerable? Again though, I don't have enough education to supply my own solutions. I know that I too need to wean myself from the complications of oil. Like the rats of NIMH, I need to be more independent, stop taking from the system which has caused so many problems. My first step is to say that I will focus on love, loving everyone around me. Sometimes love is easier when done from a distance, and I need much practice. So this start will be to stop my involvement in a killing machine and to remember that I cannot blindly insult those who decide this is worth their lives. I am making this decision for myself, and not for anyone else. Were someone to judge me, I am afraid they would not look very kindly on my past. I must reserve judgement of those around me, hoping to escape their judgement of me. One step, although this seems like the most frighteningly giant step I could possibly take. Help me take it, won't you?
8:38 PM
Monday, October 07, 2002
I listened to Lauryn Hill's unplugged album again today, am still listening to it now. This world hates truth doesn't it? I have never heard a more honest album, have never been asked to look at so much truth. It helps me to see my own life, to see my own dishonesty, all the dishonesty around me, in all of us. Of course the critics didn't like this album, how could they handle it? She doesn't care what they say, what they'll ever say. She's not singing to entertain, she's singing to proclaim. And oh the honesty I need in my life, every part of my life. We all do, and there are consequences for it. Look at what Jhames has had to do, because he put too much truth out there. People can't handle it, but they need it, I need it, all the honesty I can dig out of myself. If i become so honest, my world will have to change; it needs to change, and though that change frightens me, I have to face it, to know that this change will invigorate and further me, will force growth into me. That is the sun that's finally showing through after such a long winter.
1:22 PM
Sunday, October 06, 2002
Rep Mike Thompson, D-Calif, said this after his recent trip to Iraq: "I met a woman who worked in the gift shop of the hotel where we were staying. She said she was 25 years old, this will be her third war. The only hope is the bomb doesn't hit her house, and if it doesn't she'll get up in the morning and go to work. It was quite depressing to hear how so many people had resigned themselves to that, because their living conditions are already so terrible. Health care is poor, education system's poor, sanitation's poor. It's a perfect petri dish for breeding terrorists. That's the whole deal in that part of the world. If we don't figure out how to break that cycle, and give people some hope, we're always going to be fighting terrorism . . . I served in a war that saw 58,000 American boys die in Vietnam. If we go into Baghdad, a whole bunch more are going to die. It seems to me that if any of us can do anything to avert that, it's our responsibility -- it's our duty -- to do that."
How Bush can be so anxious for this fight, I don't know. I don't understand the thirst for blood, nor do I understand people who emphasize anything but the importance of human life, ours and theirs. Can we save these lives?
8:07 PM
Haven't done much today besides think about my emotions and enjoy the weather. This city looks so beautiful under heavy clouds. I think midwestern clouds may be the best I've ever seen. Where else do you get more variety of sky than here? They weren't moving much today, just stuck there as if waiting to be painted, explored by my mind. I love the tints, the way the clouds approach the trees on the horizon. I loved the Yaz playing in the car today, "midnight, it's raining outside. you must be soaking wet" I had to drive further today, to get around some traffic, and I was surprised to see some bogs or swamps by I-70, mucky fields of water and small trees, all bright green from the algae. I do just want to look, would rather wander around doing nothing, escaping myself by enjoying this world. I ran today, three or four miles around my neighborhood, down to Lafayette Park and around it a few times, grass and sidewalk, brick and stone houses, breezes, asphalt, curbstones, the seeds from the trees on the ground, the morning glories out the back of my apartment. stretching on my back porch, staring at the brick house. just staring.
4:58 PM
Saturday, October 05, 2002
I like that word, goat. It conjures up silly animals that chewed on my fingers at a farm my brother's friend ran. Reminds me of John Barth's novel, Giles Goat-Boy which was funny, bizarre, a mockery, exploitation, and celebration of Joseph Campbell's A Hero with a Thousand Faces. I can just see that shaking little tuft of hair, white or grey like some kooky old man.
9:08 PM
Underworld's new cd is surprisingly good. I think I like it better than their first two, which says a lot. There is much reflection in the music, tore me between staying inside to listen to it or running outside to enjoy the seductive coolness of the day. This is fall. Yes, I saw it on the way to work today, some of the leaves almost ready to change, the fields of growth some form of bright green or maybe yellow, orange. I never know, with my colorblind eyes. But somehow I can still see the beauty in those curvy fields lined by trees. Who knew Illinois could be so beautiful, when the sun isn't burning and the air isn't steamy, when the corn droops from the excesses of summer. I daydreamed of painting a large tree, playing with the fall colors because I don't know what I actually see, can't describe it to you. maybe I could paint it though, meld the colors to make something like fall, at least to my eyes. This is when I most want to have wings, to fly over the crop fields, see all the things you can't see from a car, be on top of things instead of just beside them. what views for my eyes, for my camera. When I daydreamed of flying in my four-wheeler as a kid, I never cared about being able to see the world better. Then it was escaping or reaching distances more quickly. Now that I have more solitude than I can handle, escaping isn't such a beautiful idea. But looking, looking, looking, all i want to do anymore is look at everything around me. I can't handle judging yet, I haven't seen enough, don't care whether this is better or worse, I'd rather find the beauty in what's in front of me. and oh, what's in front of me. the asphalt on I-64 when you exit at 14th street glitters in the sunlight. the stop sign at Lami, one street down from me, is crooked. the Flaming Lips still sing about love and death on the cd my brother mixed for me. and I still wonder what my ambitions for life are.
5:54 PM
Friday, October 04, 2002
I walk here sometimes
shirtless, after an evening out,
This bridge over I-44
the repaved Route 66
(not quite as glamorous)
which ends maybe 200 yards from here.
I have to see it, the twin lights
of each car or truck
the possible exits,
turn to see it
begin westward.
I have to hear it
rushing rumbling roaring,
wheels and engines and asphalt.
I feel it, through the bridge,
the breeze and pistoned heat.
I start to sense it
imagine the drivers
and passengers, travelers,
the goods in the semi
or family minivan.
I have driven this, too.
I change, become one of them
a car
dog in the backseat
wanderer;
the movement carries me,
each car a drop of water,
the road a Mississippi.
After too much,
after too much,
I return to myself.
It feels good to stay still.
1:47 PM
Thursday, October 03, 2002
Clinton. I never knew what to think of him while he was in office. I didn't bother. I was too good for politics and had barely started to care about anything beyond my world. As we got closer to the end of his eight years in office, I read many many reports about what he had done, or had helped get done. I was impressed. This guy seemed like he cared about someone besides himself, and that's rare. My whole outlook on politics changed, and I have no time to document that. Salon.com just posted an excellent speech Clinton made in England yesterday, to the Labor Party conference. They miss him more than we do. It's an impressive speech. Nothing seems easy anymore, and I think he is someone who recognizes that because the world is difficult, and multidimensional. One approach may not always work and you should be willing to look at other solutions, find the compromise and combination of ideas which will work. Amazing. Of course, looking at so many solutions can lead you to inertia. They all look so tempting . . . But I'm glad he's still talking. I'd like to hear more from him. not to mention his wife's future.
5:38 PM
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
My boyfriend comes back today (he's gonna save my reputation), after three months in Europe, i.e. Munich, Dubrovnik, and Zagreb. I'm still getting everything ready for him, mostly for his birthday which was monday. I can't believe he's coming back; I got to the point where i almost believed he wasn't going to, that October was just too far away from July to even imagine. Summer doesn't last forever, thankfully. But three months, what has happened to each of us in the past three months that we haven't shared? I wrote him many letters, and had fun taking them to the post office to see them stamped and swept away to another country. What a marvel that a letter can travel to such places wih only an address and less than a dollar. But did the letters convey myself? No writing ever accomplishes that much, does it? I suppose it doesn't matter. We had years before he and I met to develop ourselves. What difference does three months make? I am worried more about myself, though. There's no doubt I'll have to make room in my life for him again, and no matter how excited I am to have him back, everything will change. I want things to change. I want to share so much more of myself with him, that for some reason we never got around to. I can imagine so many good things, but not all of it can happen. questions, just questions.
1:03 PM
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
Summer's over. It's October, and although the heat will remain for a bit, all the mad growth and heat is gone for this year. Yes, this starts my favorite parts of the year. I have hated summer for the past four years, but I'm doing my best to accept is. The heat angered me, like a slap in the face. After escaping unending summer heat in Colorado for four years, I didn't know how to face it again. The warmth reminded me that I missed Colorado, that I was going to sweat, that I had to do more laundry. It made life more difficult, too hot to run or bike, the car heat after a day in the sun, the longer hours of sunlight, the trouble sleeping at night, all the extra things going on. And in Sacramento, I knew that winter would never really come and give me the cold I love. I have found joys in summer though and am trying to learn more. Lynda Barry's comic strip this June helped remind me of summer days as a kid, when the heat didn't matter much, when I focused on the better parts of summer.
Summer was experience, wondering around the world around you, watching, observing, figuring things out. I found the stick insects that blend into the tree, rolly pollys that would curl up in my hand, afraid of my intrusion. But if you waited long enough, they would open up again and crawl on your hand. Lightning bugs, and pools, more play time than any other season. of course, I spent many days reading inside, ignoring the outside world. But Barry reminded me how to pay attention, how to explore the new things that are in your backyard. Different ways to experience everything that you've already seen. We played games too, on the trampoline mostly, where the world was cushy and bouncy. You could defy gravity a bit, spinning and flipping. maybe the world is just a playground.
Summer's over though. And I have spent much more time this year, re-learning how to enjoy it. Now the real fun comes, when fall keeps me outside as often as possible, when rain makes me stare out the window, shocked that water just comes out of the sky. Shocked at how much the world changes, every day.
6:16 PM
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