Sunday, March 22, 2009
7:49
france's friendly faces. six ugly aces. three's waning widget. york yelled yoke. dope crack smoke. poke prod pronounce. slice dice denounce. Twenty six letters come together to form all the words we use? can you separate language from life? my face is red, flush. its from standing in the sun today. its like some kind of perma affect of this job. always a little sun kissed. i've been there for a month, and my skin has yet reach a point of tan that discourages the, oh wait, actually its the wind, too. Its like a windchapped. Sun drenched wind chap. Thats what it is. I bought a game for my phone. It is basic math skills, mainly factors of and multiples of numbers 2-12. Its pretty fun though. Its basically impossible to lose. It makes me think of numbers. The times tables. Times tables. Six times seven is always 42. All the other 7's are tricky, except 7 x 5 (35), 7 X 10 (70), and 2 X 11 (77). Which doesnt leave that many and with a quick head calculation the answer can be achieved. its a game i know all the answers to. Did I just end a sentence with a prepositional phrase? Is it poor grammar or have I met the goals of communication? Shine, shine, shinedigggery. prime post place.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
only bores tell people thier dreams
And only boring people get bored. So telling you this dream makes me a bore but not a boring person. clarity is a rarity.
I awoke this morning from a dream of epic standards. the kind that affects you for hours after waking, confusing, confounding, meddling, intriguing, annoying.
Working in a this back room never sure what I was doing, working in secrecy, not knowing what I was doing and not asking questions or never having questions answered in any coherent way. And there were secret operations and exploding apples and underground chambers and experiments gone wrong and half torsos and coasts and overlooks. And one huge labrador and one average sized labrador and one white kitten who were all partly my pets but I couldn't remember their names or hear the answer when I asked again what their names were, except the kitten was named Ruby and she was the favorite because the grown dogs where adopted from a shelter and didnt have any bond to me but they did like their other owner. and explosions and destruction and computer windows with radio programs left playing as clues or mistakes. And familial bonds forged through time and tragedy and a movie that made itself. and the a secrecy, secrecy, secret companies doing secret things and sarcasm, and really, i think it was just that the secret was a joke. but it also involved peril, or maybe just being an asshole. The closing shot was a picture modeled after my kindergarten classroom where I played the role of my mother.
the rest incapable of you or me or baby makes three or wine and dine and blah blah boo boo hoot hoot woot woot. worn, shorn, and shaped. tongue out eyes rolled. pick up sticks pick up feet put then down one after another.
I awoke this morning from a dream of epic standards. the kind that affects you for hours after waking, confusing, confounding, meddling, intriguing, annoying.
Working in a this back room never sure what I was doing, working in secrecy, not knowing what I was doing and not asking questions or never having questions answered in any coherent way. And there were secret operations and exploding apples and underground chambers and experiments gone wrong and half torsos and coasts and overlooks. And one huge labrador and one average sized labrador and one white kitten who were all partly my pets but I couldn't remember their names or hear the answer when I asked again what their names were, except the kitten was named Ruby and she was the favorite because the grown dogs where adopted from a shelter and didnt have any bond to me but they did like their other owner. and explosions and destruction and computer windows with radio programs left playing as clues or mistakes. And familial bonds forged through time and tragedy and a movie that made itself. and the a secrecy, secrecy, secret companies doing secret things and sarcasm, and really, i think it was just that the secret was a joke. but it also involved peril, or maybe just being an asshole. The closing shot was a picture modeled after my kindergarten classroom where I played the role of my mother.
the rest incapable of you or me or baby makes three or wine and dine and blah blah boo boo hoot hoot woot woot. worn, shorn, and shaped. tongue out eyes rolled. pick up sticks pick up feet put then down one after another.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
rationing out rationality 11:37
There is a car parked on the street in front of my apartment building and for the past day, maybe two days, its alarm has been going off. Not constantly. It goes in rounds, it will go off for maybe thirty seconds every five minutes for an hour or so. I am making all these times up. Here are the cold hard facts. The tan Honda accord parked on Pacific between Leavenworth and Hyde, yes, that one, its alarm keeps going off, often enough for me to notice that something was awry yesterday, figure out which car it was, contemplate calling some government office, hear it again this morning, decide to tell, since I heard it again and I said if I heard it again I was going to tell somebody, then decide I actually don't want to talk to some police dispatch office or the department of traffic and parking or who ever it is that you call when something is disturbing the peace.
I am worried. I have been thinking and I am worried. I mean, what if this job is awful and it kills me softly or hardly and quickly or what if it just sucks. Oh god, there is the car alarm again. That's it. I'm googling this problem. Google gave me nothing, which is okay because I remembered that when I go get some coffee on the corner I am going to leave a note on the car. It is going to say:
Dear Car,
Please STFU.
Best,
Russian Hill
Russian Hill is my neighborhood, for those of you unfamiliar with San Francisco burros. No, what I am thinking about is: I DON'T WANT TO WORK! I WANT TO BANG ON THESE DRUMS ALL DAY. So, I am a little worried about going to work tomorrow. I mean, I tell myself that if I had a cool gardener job, then I wouldn't be worried, then I would be all psyched. And its probably true, like if I had a gardener job so cool that it also gave me things to put on future resumes about computers, or managing or kids or other skills, I mean, if it was more than a gardener but still having the majority of my work be centered around plant cultivation, then, well then I might be interested and able to abandon all worries about the rightness of my choice to take the job. So, that job doesn't exist.
I am worried about so much. About this job not being good for me. About losing my freedom. The weighty hours of unemployment seems so far and all I keep thinking is, but, my freedom!, my total control of my time. Not that I exercised self control enough to make my period of unemployment (car alarm is going off again. no shit.) um, you know, what I wanted it to be. I mean, jeez to think of all the opportunities lost but well, now I am going to have an obligation to someone, something outside of myself. I mean, sure family and friends, don't you worry, I feel plenty of obligation to be someone I cant ever be to fill all your holes and voids. But I am talking about a forty hour a week obligation. This is pretty huge. Whats weird, is that my past two jobs, which have taken up more than a year and a half of my time, have been live and work positions. So, I am kind of like, wait a minute, you want me to work and live in separate spheres? And you want me to work 40 hours a week? hmm.
Well, its true that I am opposed to the forty hour work week. I think its too much. Not that I am suggesting that society restructure its self so I can flatten out my fat ass by sitting on the couch eating Doritos (ohh, Doritos, I was thinking about these last night. Really, what I was doing was imaging that I was talking to my future coworkers about my eating habits, and telling them that I am an everything eater, but then thinking phrases about not processed, the whole whole foods (the not copyrighted meaning of whole foods assholes) thing, but how I can still get down with some Doritos. but then, I had to be honest with myself, and admit that I haven't had Doritos in years and years. Like, when I think about eating Doritos, I think about being in high school. The uniform triangles, the heavy orange colored cheese flavored dusting that would cover your fingers. Or maybe it was the cool ranch variety (this brings me back to elementary school) with its red and green spice flakes covering each chip like little christmas presents for the tongue. Anyway, the point it that I was wrong, I had a wrong thought (alert the press!) and though its true that I can get down with some junk food, these days I prefer tortilla chips and chocolate over Doritos. Forgive me father, I have sinned.
Anyway, what I am suggesting is that 40 hours a week is too long to spend at a place, or engaging is something that is not connected to your daily survival, like eating, sleeping, etc etc. Sure, work may pay rent or buy food and I'm not suggesting that it shouldn't, but I have thought that its impossible to live the life I want and work forty hours a week for someone else in exchange for just money. Money cant buy consciousness. On the other hand, I haven't worked this kind of forty hour week before, all for one entity, the same schedule everyday. in and out. punch in, punch out. I just have to see it as an experience. Thats all it will ever be. Thats all it will ever be to me.
I am worried. I have been thinking and I am worried. I mean, what if this job is awful and it kills me softly or hardly and quickly or what if it just sucks. Oh god, there is the car alarm again. That's it. I'm googling this problem. Google gave me nothing, which is okay because I remembered that when I go get some coffee on the corner I am going to leave a note on the car. It is going to say:
Dear Car,
Please STFU.
Best,
Russian Hill
Russian Hill is my neighborhood, for those of you unfamiliar with San Francisco burros. No, what I am thinking about is: I DON'T WANT TO WORK! I WANT TO BANG ON THESE DRUMS ALL DAY. So, I am a little worried about going to work tomorrow. I mean, I tell myself that if I had a cool gardener job, then I wouldn't be worried, then I would be all psyched. And its probably true, like if I had a gardener job so cool that it also gave me things to put on future resumes about computers, or managing or kids or other skills, I mean, if it was more than a gardener but still having the majority of my work be centered around plant cultivation, then, well then I might be interested and able to abandon all worries about the rightness of my choice to take the job. So, that job doesn't exist.
I am worried about so much. About this job not being good for me. About losing my freedom. The weighty hours of unemployment seems so far and all I keep thinking is, but, my freedom!, my total control of my time. Not that I exercised self control enough to make my period of unemployment (car alarm is going off again. no shit.) um, you know, what I wanted it to be. I mean, jeez to think of all the opportunities lost but well, now I am going to have an obligation to someone, something outside of myself. I mean, sure family and friends, don't you worry, I feel plenty of obligation to be someone I cant ever be to fill all your holes and voids. But I am talking about a forty hour a week obligation. This is pretty huge. Whats weird, is that my past two jobs, which have taken up more than a year and a half of my time, have been live and work positions. So, I am kind of like, wait a minute, you want me to work and live in separate spheres? And you want me to work 40 hours a week? hmm.
Well, its true that I am opposed to the forty hour work week. I think its too much. Not that I am suggesting that society restructure its self so I can flatten out my fat ass by sitting on the couch eating Doritos (ohh, Doritos, I was thinking about these last night. Really, what I was doing was imaging that I was talking to my future coworkers about my eating habits, and telling them that I am an everything eater, but then thinking phrases about not processed, the whole whole foods (the not copyrighted meaning of whole foods assholes) thing, but how I can still get down with some Doritos. but then, I had to be honest with myself, and admit that I haven't had Doritos in years and years. Like, when I think about eating Doritos, I think about being in high school. The uniform triangles, the heavy orange colored cheese flavored dusting that would cover your fingers. Or maybe it was the cool ranch variety (this brings me back to elementary school) with its red and green spice flakes covering each chip like little christmas presents for the tongue. Anyway, the point it that I was wrong, I had a wrong thought (alert the press!) and though its true that I can get down with some junk food, these days I prefer tortilla chips and chocolate over Doritos. Forgive me father, I have sinned.
Anyway, what I am suggesting is that 40 hours a week is too long to spend at a place, or engaging is something that is not connected to your daily survival, like eating, sleeping, etc etc. Sure, work may pay rent or buy food and I'm not suggesting that it shouldn't, but I have thought that its impossible to live the life I want and work forty hours a week for someone else in exchange for just money. Money cant buy consciousness. On the other hand, I haven't worked this kind of forty hour week before, all for one entity, the same schedule everyday. in and out. punch in, punch out. I just have to see it as an experience. Thats all it will ever be. Thats all it will ever be to me.
Monday, February 16, 2009
if-ing you wanna, 11:11
whoa, i just wasted ten minutes. which really is just a drop in the bucket, but its funny the hedging, is that what its called, no. its not hedging. hedging if for gambling, bets. nope, no, I looked it up, I was right, partially. I mean hedging like I was hanging out beside the hedge. I was hedging, that is being as the bushes and shrubs that come together to form a border. Hedging. Look it up, make it up.
Yes, ten minutes really is just a drop in the bucket of time, and by waste I mean did not finish production of anything. I didnt make anything. I typed and backspaced and was saying something about having a job, or about being on the edge of starting this new job life thing and how I felt about it but all I was really doing was hitting some keys, then backspacing, a few more keys, a few more backstrokes. Its not like I wasnt saying anything, I had left some lines typed, but it was weird. Unlike this refined and elegant distillation of the thoughts that run through my head, it was just crap. And do you know why it was crap? Because I thought that genius was going to come pouring out of my fingertips. Seemingly edited but shockingly unedited, enjoyable, true, genius right from these very hands. Such expectation can only lead to this.
Its like I want to believe that everything has changed now because I have a job, which in effect, will change the way I live my life everyday, my sleeping schedule, my inputs, my outputs. Its like now I want to believe that I am on a train, nee, The Train. not the train that's bound for glory, sure, yes, all aboard i been traveling aboard that one, thank you jesus, but aint nothing new choochoo. The Train, is the one that takes me to the place where Everything Is Different in a Better Kind of Way. The Train leaves at the intersection of ego and good intention and goes the fast track to Heaven Is A Place On Earth.
Its only a state of mind, not really a geographical place anymore than The Train is a actual locomotive.
So, anyway, this is a leave-my-troubles-behind Train, and not just for the evening, but forever. The only damn trouble with The Train, is that the conductor is a fucking loon, and never gets the damn thing to the destination. So, cleverly, cutely, charmingly I may pack my perfect bag and feel so pleased as I step on board, wave to the imaginary crowd (The Train leaves no one) and All aboard, chugga chugga, this Train is, this train is going nowhere. Goddamn Train! Tricked me again! Everytime I move or travel or do something big with my life, I meet you, The Train, at the station, bags packed, unfailingly pleased with myself, ready to go. But the message is always the same, Departure Delayed Indefinitely, Reason: Destination Location appears blurry. Then I have to hope I'm not too late for my regular train, it thank god, runs like clock work, and takes me places both literally and metaphorically, all its locations falling, reassuringly if belaboringly, squarely within the limits of Reality Is A Place On Earth.
Yes, ten minutes really is just a drop in the bucket of time, and by waste I mean did not finish production of anything. I didnt make anything. I typed and backspaced and was saying something about having a job, or about being on the edge of starting this new job life thing and how I felt about it but all I was really doing was hitting some keys, then backspacing, a few more keys, a few more backstrokes. Its not like I wasnt saying anything, I had left some lines typed, but it was weird. Unlike this refined and elegant distillation of the thoughts that run through my head, it was just crap. And do you know why it was crap? Because I thought that genius was going to come pouring out of my fingertips. Seemingly edited but shockingly unedited, enjoyable, true, genius right from these very hands. Such expectation can only lead to this.
Its like I want to believe that everything has changed now because I have a job, which in effect, will change the way I live my life everyday, my sleeping schedule, my inputs, my outputs. Its like now I want to believe that I am on a train, nee, The Train. not the train that's bound for glory, sure, yes, all aboard i been traveling aboard that one, thank you jesus, but aint nothing new choochoo. The Train, is the one that takes me to the place where Everything Is Different in a Better Kind of Way. The Train leaves at the intersection of ego and good intention and goes the fast track to Heaven Is A Place On Earth.
Its only a state of mind, not really a geographical place anymore than The Train is a actual locomotive.
So, anyway, this is a leave-my-troubles-behind Train, and not just for the evening, but forever. The only damn trouble with The Train, is that the conductor is a fucking loon, and never gets the damn thing to the destination. So, cleverly, cutely, charmingly I may pack my perfect bag and feel so pleased as I step on board, wave to the imaginary crowd (The Train leaves no one) and All aboard, chugga chugga, this Train is, this train is going nowhere. Goddamn Train! Tricked me again! Everytime I move or travel or do something big with my life, I meet you, The Train, at the station, bags packed, unfailingly pleased with myself, ready to go. But the message is always the same, Departure Delayed Indefinitely, Reason: Destination Location appears blurry. Then I have to hope I'm not too late for my regular train, it thank god, runs like clock work, and takes me places both literally and metaphorically, all its locations falling, reassuringly if belaboringly, squarely within the limits of Reality Is A Place On Earth.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
3:01 and its the biggest rain day of the year.
I can do this and its not a form of procrastination, okay, it is a form of procrastinating finishing job applications but not any more than doing job applications is a form of procrastinating writing. so there, gods of fairness. i had a dream that a journalist was killed brutally killed-- that one that's been captured. ha! that one, you know, the ONE. no.
Oops. I was going so well with the consistency and then its wrong, the consistency is wrong, or its write but its not what i think it should be. There is nothing better. I heard something the, no, no, I didn't hear it, I read it, a previous post here. a previous posted item. i liked it. you know, it sounded so much like me. yes, i thought, that is just about how my thoughts go. i dont imagine that anything about this necessitates anyone else being thrilled, but you know, its was good news to me. so, maybe i might have a job. i mean, i am looking for employment, which is going to land me squarely in the department of the employed. I wish I had better typing skills. There is nothing better than a quickly typed error free line. Of course there is always backspace. And that is there. right there.
wow. this day, i think this day is like a bay area stormy day. its windy, not as windy as it has been, but windy enough. and its grey, grey, grey, and then rainy rainy, and then whoa, like actual rain and not just heavy mist. and then it stops, blue sky peaks through, and the grey comes back. so, basically, yeah, it seems stormy. its coastal weather. you know what i never think about? earthquakes. mainly because if one comes I'm basically fucked. i mean, i live on the fourth floor, have no supplies, and dont even know where to begin to be prepared. there is no way, right? i mean, short of stocking and refreshing an earthquake preparedness pantry or something. but, one could come. earth shakes. i wouldn't be surprised if this rain leaking through the dry cracked dirt changes some pressure. i mean, i guess its always a possibility, and even though, yes, i do suspect that most earth quakes are the result of molten cores, but, this doesnt really seem like a rain that makes things mushy. but is is a soaker. whow. really. its pouring now. this is definitely the hardest rain of my san francsico residency. which is really great for me because i love the rain.
i love the rain mostly from inside warm sunny locales, but i also love it outside, when its hot outside and the cool drops of rain fall on sticky hot skin. its virtually impossible to be hot in a rain. after a rain, sure. but during a rain, no ways.
Oops. I was going so well with the consistency and then its wrong, the consistency is wrong, or its write but its not what i think it should be. There is nothing better. I heard something the, no, no, I didn't hear it, I read it, a previous post here. a previous posted item. i liked it. you know, it sounded so much like me. yes, i thought, that is just about how my thoughts go. i dont imagine that anything about this necessitates anyone else being thrilled, but you know, its was good news to me. so, maybe i might have a job. i mean, i am looking for employment, which is going to land me squarely in the department of the employed. I wish I had better typing skills. There is nothing better than a quickly typed error free line. Of course there is always backspace. And that is there. right there.
wow. this day, i think this day is like a bay area stormy day. its windy, not as windy as it has been, but windy enough. and its grey, grey, grey, and then rainy rainy, and then whoa, like actual rain and not just heavy mist. and then it stops, blue sky peaks through, and the grey comes back. so, basically, yeah, it seems stormy. its coastal weather. you know what i never think about? earthquakes. mainly because if one comes I'm basically fucked. i mean, i live on the fourth floor, have no supplies, and dont even know where to begin to be prepared. there is no way, right? i mean, short of stocking and refreshing an earthquake preparedness pantry or something. but, one could come. earth shakes. i wouldn't be surprised if this rain leaking through the dry cracked dirt changes some pressure. i mean, i guess its always a possibility, and even though, yes, i do suspect that most earth quakes are the result of molten cores, but, this doesnt really seem like a rain that makes things mushy. but is is a soaker. whow. really. its pouring now. this is definitely the hardest rain of my san francsico residency. which is really great for me because i love the rain.
i love the rain mostly from inside warm sunny locales, but i also love it outside, when its hot outside and the cool drops of rain fall on sticky hot skin. its virtually impossible to be hot in a rain. after a rain, sure. but during a rain, no ways.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
you know, you say tomato, i say 155
what were the two words i was thinking walking here? something like, tide, tiding. no. light and lit? no. try and trip? no. flit. yes. flit and fight? no. flit. flit and something. it was all going so swimmingly. so so so, its amazing what an instant will do? right. amazing in that this-is everyday-life-good-luck-wrapping-your-head-around-it way. not in the a-meteor-just-fell-from-the-sky or i-just-found-out-G. Bush-is-my-first-cousin way. no, just in the everyday swallow and mood of life changing and flickering. i had a little run in with my crazy this morning. just popped out. "oh, well, hello there" i'd say i missed you but lying is a sin. but its not against the ten commandments. am i wrong here? google save me! i dont know. what does it mean to bear false witness? sounds like lying to me. 'bear false witness against your neighbor' how archaic. bear witness means, you know, like 'can i get a witness?' it means to you know, witness. to be a witnesser. OED save me! knowledge, wisdom, understanding, testimony are words the definition provides. sounds more like 'dont talk shit' which is like the cousin of 'dont lie' so many christians out there. so many. not so much me i dont think. nope. no so much there for me, for the there but for the grace of god. i really appreciate that saying though. it sounds so deeply grateful. there but for grace of god.... whatever. okay. allright. i'll redo it. one day i will do some work. i guess i'll work for money again. but until then? until then... until then... the biggest head trip of my human existence? death. one of the grossest stories i've every heard? monks self flagellating their backs till cut and bloody, then wearing coarse fur cloaks, fur side toward body.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
6:23
Its a dragging shoe. dragging tennis shoe across medium gravel. reluctant. negative, heavy, dead weight. its not energized, but its not pulling back. reluctant, hesitant, dragging, but all going on. reluctantancy implies everything but that you did it. its a set up. its over.
when lacking, i turn to temperature, to weather. when lacking, i turn to myself. i ask myself. there are some things i cannot give myself. or is that that i am the only one who can give myself anything.
i have a thought pattern i have been keenly aware of that goes something like. Its right. Its wrong. Its right and wrong. all things in balance, including balance. which really means nothing at all, though it is a common little dance i do. funny, i didnt realize just how unconscious that was until i tried to articulate it. nobody ever says 'somethings in balance' because its clear that everything in balance is the way to go. balance balance with chaos? yes. i think in this setting chaos a good extreme for balance. its certainly more palatable than imbalance. eww. what a filthy word. imbalance. dont even think the words! but chaos! chaos is dark and dizzying and rich and exhausting. and sure, imbalance, but in chaos balance means nothing.
freezing. i am fucking freezing. what is it with the chill in the winter? what is it with a chill that only bed or shower can take away? its on the inside. its being cold on the inside and its not dictated by temperature of the environment. it think it is about blood flow. and presence in the body.
when lacking, i turn to temperature, to weather. when lacking, i turn to myself. i ask myself. there are some things i cannot give myself. or is that that i am the only one who can give myself anything.
i have a thought pattern i have been keenly aware of that goes something like. Its right. Its wrong. Its right and wrong. all things in balance, including balance. which really means nothing at all, though it is a common little dance i do. funny, i didnt realize just how unconscious that was until i tried to articulate it. nobody ever says 'somethings in balance' because its clear that everything in balance is the way to go. balance balance with chaos? yes. i think in this setting chaos a good extreme for balance. its certainly more palatable than imbalance. eww. what a filthy word. imbalance. dont even think the words! but chaos! chaos is dark and dizzying and rich and exhausting. and sure, imbalance, but in chaos balance means nothing.
freezing. i am fucking freezing. what is it with the chill in the winter? what is it with a chill that only bed or shower can take away? its on the inside. its being cold on the inside and its not dictated by temperature of the environment. it think it is about blood flow. and presence in the body.
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