I don’t even know if I spelled pontificate correctly, damn spell check isn’t working on my laptop.

 

Should I do something good? Should I stretch beyond my own feeble hmmms and haaas and put something useful into the world in general? Most likely. But I don’t fucking feel like it.

 

I care, but not enough, it seems, to care about the world, the WORLD, conglomerate, more red tape than any government can imagine, more differing than any democrat cares to admit (barring agreement) and more infinite than any impact I can make would hold meaning over. I can only impact, care, influence, hold up those that are visible, tangible, and visceral, and trust me, they’re challenge enough.

 

The hardest sell. is (as always), myself. I see through my own rhetoric and pandering too easily, cannot convince myself of the banal sayings that if practiced become life altering thoughts. And as to the motives of others, they are always suspect, no matter the bond.

 

So here I am, I sit, spoiled, among decadence, longing for more, blind to what is before me in emotion if not thought, whiling away the days to the grand NEW, the grand SOMETHING, that when comes passes unseen until viewed in the retrospect of nostalgia and the good-ole-days, when I say "look, look what I had, that I have no longer, wasn’t it grand?" never to be appreciated in the now, a life appreciated in the then.

 

What a whiner. What a spoiled brat.

 

And what then! What now that you have said it, aloud in your head? l yell at myself, and change not.,

 

I condemn and forgive. I am my own god, and I am all-forgiving. Omniscience escapes me.

 

I dream my dreams that wake me in cold sweats and dried tears that swell closed eyelashes. I trudge my way through the drudgeries of life while pitying those that even suspect there could be something more.

 

I write my unpublished books and think my unpublished thoughts. Who would know? What can it possibly matter when we all end, as we must, when their is another life-form in charge of the world’s history, what will we be but the mysterious dinosaurs to ourselves? Could IT have thought, could IT have cares, doubted, passed over, as any self-aware creature must do to cement its own autonomy. Why do my thoughts jump so far ahead, not only past MY life, but all other human life? I know not, but they always, always, always, do.

 

So, for sanity, there is only the now, only the specific THeM, and yet THEY change, they move, they swell and subside on the waves and I feel like a piling, crashed by the same sea, touched by the same tides, yet forever buried in the sand far beneath, the  sand the floaters never see. And yet they sigh, they laugh, they soar on crests of waves, waves that only crash over my head to smother me.

 

It’s a pretty metaphor. It should be ugly.

So there, 10 minutes wasted on publishing of thought I shall probably regret.

well, not ruin, but I did just have to empty my savings account to cover rent... again. Putting money in there is beginning to seem rather ridiculous. I'm waiting on my Federal refund. I made the exact same amount of money this year as last and yet, for some inexplicable reason (seeing as how I am far from anything even close to a "rich" income bracket), they are giving me back $200 dollars less than last year. This has completely ruled out my wii fit idea for getting in shape. Walking around the park (free) it will have to be.

I'm babysitting Angel the poodle again. I should get some money on Monday for that to help last me until my next paycheck... but poor At&t is just going to have to resign itself to getting my monthly bill late... again... again.

It's hard to compare, your life to someone else's, it seems like apples and oranges, you know you should be grateful you weren't born poor in Ethiopia or Haiti, but you try to live at the level of life you've become accustomed too. I've never been "rich", I've never been incredibly poor either (there was that stint of months upon months of raman noodles and peanut butter sandwiches in college but I don't think you can count that as "poor" when you're really just trying to save enough money to be able to get drunk every weekend). The point being, twisted and rambled side-which-ways as it is, that my current financial situation feels very much like limbo. I have a fairly un-extravagent life-style (I don't even have a TV for pete's sake). I have a few vises of course, I drink, I smoke. But 89% of my salary goes directly to fairly unavoidable bills (rent, phone, electricity, car note, insurance, student-frickin-loans, credit-frickin-card). I'm always worried about money so much that I know I'm living outside my "means" but damnit, if I lower enjoyments anymore my hellish job and other annoyances are going to be all I have, and I just don't think I can handle that kind of bahdy-blahness and maintain sanity.

Anyway, rambling out loud.

Saints are going to the Super Bowl!!!
No... REALLY!!!

The city was insane last night. After the game everyone driving was blaring their horns from the Quarter, to Kenner to Uptown and beyond. From any spot outside, from any direction, all you could hear was a cacophony of screams, and "who dats" and fireworks... wilder than Mardi Gras, more joyful than anything I've ever heard so many people participate in collectively.

It's a good thing.

Sitting on my porch listening to band in my driveway. Keyboard no longer has a functioning backspace, one, or two key anymore. This leads to much frustration.

Today is a day of wine and music, and friends who will show up soon one hopes.

I haven't been posting. I've been writing or working on paintings for so long.... now with Christmas coming I see more and more artwork presents in my future so this may be the last post for another 7 weeks.

I have nothing profound to contribute to cyberspace.

I like dixieland jazz. That is all.

Monday is a day when it seems the veil that separates me from the annoyances of daily life is stretched and thinned so that the average jolt, usually no more than a poke, from the outside chaos, feels like being stabbed between the ribs.

 

I’m tempted to go on a tirade, or at least make snide pointed remarks intended to get my unspoken point across, but this is what has been annoying me from others, so I will make a  rare attempt at avoiding hypocrisy, which I will probably fail at, but I’m trying to keep this both balanced and personal.

 

Suffice it to say, I am going on record: Hard-core politicos from either party, I really don’t care what you think anymore.

Between the whiners and the moaners, the preachers and the prophets, the world has taken on cartoon-like proportions that defy any sane person’s hope of participation. The Democrats do it to the Republicans, the Republicans do it to the Democrats, both complaining about the rude/unfair/childlike behavior of the other side. They posture and waste valuable tax payer money on investigations into blow-jobs, or making a grown-man who has apologized in person apologize in session… I guess to avoid doing their real jobs in both cases, or maybe they really just never grew up, I don’t know. It’s just so god-damn frustrating, as is the sports-team-like support from their base constituents who seem to be unable to do anything other than shout “go team” or “boo ref” and will create a host of ludicrous and unsubstantiated reasons/facts in their own heads to justify it.

 

Even up until a few days ago I thought reasoned debate might still be possible on an issue by issue basis. You can always get into arguments based on generalities, but I’d found in the past when you broke things down into facts, and smaller points, you could still have a reasoned conversation that lead both sides of an issue to a greater understanding of the opposing side, if not in empathy.

 

But, the world has changed. I used to like talking to people and hearing their side and defending mine. I don’t anymore. It’s too ugly now. If someone can’t use logical argument to get their point across, the resort come-back now is so quickly and easily, “racist” or “communist” or “Nazi”. It’s depressing. And for the first time in my life I really think there is no hope for democracy.

 

My only remaining hope is the Libertarian party actually runs someone with a small modicum of sanity (I know it hasn’t happened yet, but there is always a chance) next election so I can vote for them. Until then, I will read the posts on various feeds, or hide them, depending on the severity of my stomachache that day; I'll try to not take it personally when friends, purposefully or inadvertently, call me a racist-moron while referring to something, and I will try not lash-out back, because name calling only escalates when you participate in it, while silence sometimes seems to multiply around you. Here is to the sound.

It's been a long while, in my spare time I've been working on a new book. Here is an excerpt:

Yellow light and dew heavy air, every-every mornng. No rain, just the constant tease. The large twisted plants, able to suck moisture from the sky itself, moving, searching, animated like no foliage should be. They had started to seem normal, if not normal, after two years, familiar at least. The body wouldn’t adapt as easily as the mind. A constant sticky film clogged human pores, left human hair oily and limp, skin burned from the unrelenting shine of the stars light. The star not the sun, always the star. The moon light, blue, it released unwonted amount of ultra-violet rays as well. Even the dim blue baked you... turned a person red, and redder, when no thought of that was possible. If not for the medicines cancer would take a human within months on this hell-hole of a planet. Instead, with haphazardly formulated treatments, health maintained, as skin developed a bronze, a leather surface, a hardness that required less medicines, but more oiling to keep it flexible. Like slowly becoming a living statue, of wood, of wood not marble.

And in that, the mind and body found syncronicity.

 

So, I will be arriving in Boston on Saturday evening, July 18th. How I’m getting from Boston to Maine is yet to be determined. It’s only like 2 ½ or 3 hours from the parent’s place, so shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out, either bus or Amtrak, or a pick-up from a parent.

 

I have reserved Sunday for the Thomas’ and whatever moving help they need.

 

Monday is my shopping day and visiting my Gram day.

 

Tuesday is preparation of camp day. Claire and Chris will arrive late Tuesday night and I will grab them and bring them back to the house.

 

Wednesday we’ll be getting Leah from the airport in Portland around noon, get her, maybe take in a few Portland sights, get some grub, and then head for camp. At this time all Mainers who want to head up to camp should converge at some spot so we can either car-pool or caravan. The camp is not easy to find. In fact, it’s damn near impossible (ask any of the high school peeps who attempted it in the past. I actually have fond/funny memory of finding some people in their cars sleeping in the middle of the woods because they thought the road had ended – Jen and Dale I think, good times).

 

Anyhoot, so Wednesday night will be the first big night at camp. If you are a local Mainer and have a tent, please bring it, we may run out of cabin space. We have one new tent up there. Also, please bring musical instruments and other fun stuff like games you may want. I plan on providing food, but extra liquid libation is always welcome, although there should be a good deal there for anyone who needs it.

 

Thursday will be hiking, and swimming (brrrr) and kayaking and drinking, campfires and fun madness galore.

 

Friday will be more of that. Until Friday evening, when I think we should head back to my house (all crashers are welcome) and either party there, or maybe play some pool in Gardiner.

 

Chris and Claire leave early Saturday morning. Like, butt crack early. Saturday left over peeps can maybe visit the beach, or some other Maine tourist thing I can’t think of because, you know, I grew up there.

 

Sunday morning it’s Leah’s turn to leave in the wee hours of dawn. I shall rest, and probably figure out someway to get to Boston with my Lil Bro for the evening as on Monday it’s my turn to fly out, yes, again, far too early.

 

Well… that’s it. It sounds like mad-capped mayhem to me, just the way I likes it.

My vacation time has been approved. From the 18^th of July through the 26^th I will be in Maine. I will go up to the camp, sit on the dock of the pond and listen to water lapping along the shore, attempt to skip smooth water polished stones, smell the camp fire burn the sap off pine logs, bathe in lovely clear but mud bottomed water and trek through the woods to use the outhouse where a small field mouse makes his home. I will drive a four-wheeler, and take long hikes on old paths that will seem different yet the same all at once, eat berries off branches on the way without washing them, drink coffee on the porch when the dew still chills the pine needle ground. I will probably step barefoot on a pinecone or two, and not even mind. Best of all, I will get to share the time with friends and family.

Until then I will ignore that which annoys me, which is everything between the hours of 7:00 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. I will be a robot, but a nice one, like Data. I will not scream, I will try not to roll my eyes. When the bosses are gone for the next two weeks, I will be patient with their poodle I'm babysitting. I will not complain about no lunch break, I will find the joy in solitude, and laud the benefits of a long day on my bank account. When the time comes for my vacation, it will be a reward not an escape. When I slip or fail in any of the above, I will not berate myself over it.

 

It all started last weekend when Leah came in to celebrate my birthday weekend early and spoiled me as we galavanted around the town, kicking butt at pool and forgetting names. :O) While our dancing was spoiled at the dungeon by some porn-star wanna-bes plastered against the mirror and eachother, we had fun all around anyway, culminating with Greek Fest wine and food.

Then this week I had another lovely Birthday weekend.

Saturday Bek and I went to St. Joe's and got midnight dinner at Reginelli's. It was very nice and fun, the perfect amount of chatter and beer and greasy yummy food.

Sunday Jesse and Tracey had a BBQ at their house, which wasn't for my Birthday, and I made a point of not mentioning it, but none the less everyone knew and LeiLani bought me a cake and they all sang Happy Birthday. It was really sweet (and decadent cake too I might add). The BBQ was very pleasant as well, starting at 2 for a late lunch, and then around six eating seconds for dinner, topped off with the cake. It was fantastic.

I loathe Monday, which is where my "actual" Birthday fell, and didn't think I'd be up for anything big, so Chris, Claire, Bek and Brock took me out for a scrumptious sushi dinner, gave me way too many presents, and treated me to even more beers afterward at St. Joe's. I had quite the hang-over the next day. It was all lovely and awesome and I felt super loved and spoiled all around.

Now I need to get to bed early and catch up on my sleep!

There are two little white pills perched atop the “Best of Elizabeth Taylor” DVD box set. I’ve forgotten what they are.

The kitchen floor is strewn with oily art supplies, pens and bottles of dried up paints, the bag they were housed in laying deflated to one side, its inability to produce the exact pencil I was looking for, having led to the disembowelment of its innards.

The dishes are stacked in order of scrubbing priority, that which is sponge washable, that which needs scrubbing, that which may require some sort of nuclear device to remove the caked on food stuff.

The bed hasn’t been slept in for months, and is piled with clean clothes and clothes that have only been worn once, in separate but equal piles, laundry segregation if you will.

The living room isn’t that bad, other than the in progress artwork and supplies in the middle of the floor. My fear is that if I move it before I’m done I may never finish it. This is not unfounded, it has happened before.

The bathroom is a graveyard of tiny termite wings, iridescent shimmers and writhing little flightless bodies. The casement window won’t close completely, and even with the lights off each night they make the trek into my bathroom like little hungry pilgrims to Jerusalem.

Anyway, this is what I need to fix tonight before Leah arrives at my little house of horrors.

Happy thought:

Last week the new baby mourning doves (Fyodor and Leo) flew the nest. Leo, in his first flight, after haphazardly landing on the railing next to me, (nearly missing the wall on his way out of the nest), took a long hard baby-bird look at me, and decided I was family. He flew over and landed on my leg and walked around there for a while before moving on to the next big adventure. They’ve both gone off into the big bad world now, but the moment was precious.