Revolver

Urban Hike #1

2012-01-21T14:21:00.000-08:00

Today we got a break from the rain. I hurried and got on my boots and went for a nice walk. I got a little rained on, but it was well worth it. I took some photos while I was out and about. These were taken in the neighborhoods known as Irvington and Sabin.

The Art of Walking

2012-01-19T20:25:00.000-08:00

I don't think I have ever written about this on my blog, but I love the outdoors. I've been cooped up for the past few days recovering from surgery, and tonight I was near campus outside waiting for my dinner date, enjoying the cold crisp air after class. Just being outside for that short bit lifted my spirits.
I like to think about where I'm going to explore next? When can I go? How much time can I take? I work and go to school, so I am very limited in my actual getting-away, but I have many days where I "urban-hike." Last week, for example, I walked from Albina and Interstate (the yellow line max stop) and to home. I stopped there after class intentionally so I could get the chance to see a different stretch of a neighborhood I so often just pass through. When I got home I want to see how far it was from point A to B so I Googled it. Google said it was about 2.6 miles. Which isn't that far. But considering the extra walking I did around campus and at work, it adds up. (And it is certainly more the average American.)
On my urban outing, I stopped in at The Rebuilding Center just for fun, didn't see anything I couldn't live without and decided to grab some food at Mississippi Pizza before heading the rest of the way home. All in all I probably walked more than 4 miles this particular day. I walk a lot, often because I don't own a car, but often I prefer the pace of walking. Cars often seem claustrophobic, and if I'm on the bus during rush hour, walking is often the better choice for peace and quiet.
There is so much to see in the Northwest that gets absorbed much better when I take the time to hike around. The urban trails I've made and committed to memory make life that much more satisfying. It isn't about the gear that gets packed or the weight I eliminated off my shoulders, it is about the journey. A walk seems to put things into perspective. It isn't technical or stressful. Most days it is the most satisfying thing I do.
I read other people's blogs that are backpackers and ultralighter's, and I am a bit of a gear-nut myself I admit. I like to go to REI and visit all the websites that obsess about backpacking gear. I am often reminded that this is just how adults get to be kids again. The big difference between the times I spent outdoors as a kid and the hiking trips I do nowadays has to do with planning and price-tags. I had gear when I was a kid. I had so much gear and camouflage one of the neighbors in my old neighborhood, a Vietnam-vet, said "We didn't even have that much stuff when we were fighting in the jungle." So, now that I'm an adult, and the prospect of playing in the woods is somewhere in the near future, I get to be that kid again. Although I'd love to have some of my camouflage gear back. -R

2012-01-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

Letting go

Two monks were returning to the monastery in the evening. It had rained and there were puddles of water on the road sides. At one place a beautiful young woman was standing unable to walk accross because of a puddle of water. The elder of the two monks went up to a her lifted her in his alms and left her on the other side of the road, and continued his way to the monastery.
In the evening the younger monk came to the elder monk and said, "Sir, as monks, we cannot touch a woman ?"
The elder monk answered "yes, brother".
Then the younger monk asks again, " but then Sir, how is that you lifted that woman on the roadside ?"
The elder monk smiled at him and told him " I left her on the other side of the road, but you are still carrying her "

-From Zen Flesh Zen Bones

New Years' are about letting go of what happened last year. I like to burn some of the things that I need to rid myself of. It is a good ritual. It helps the mind let go of a physical thing. Up up and away, I offer my past to the fire. It gives me smoke and new hope.

2011-12-03T14:24:00.001-08:00

I am a fan of lists. I stumbled on this one the other night. It is an interesting list. I would be impressed if a person of any gender could do 15 of these things.
http://www.esquire.com/features/essential-skills-0508

Regrets

2011-12-03T14:17:00.001-08:00

Woman with no regrets?
Haven't met her yet.

Does she shine different in the sun?
Does she shimmer?
Is she iridescent?
It that how we would know her from all the others?

Is her to do list filled with simple tasks?
Does it read: Wake, breathe, sleep?

2011-11-10T21:10:00.001-08:00

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/06/AR2009080603039.html

2011-11-10T21:09:00.001-08:00

Ugh.

untitled

2011-11-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

The fusion of busted riders

sends me to solitude of garden soliloquy

hidden harmony orchestra

trumpets of crickets

diving into water movement undulations

escaping the infinite living moment

where nothing hurts but the thorns of an artichoke

and nothing scorns but a running hose

Two year old poem get's new life

2011-10-30T11:42:00.000-07:00

Family's naive fodder follows my every which way.

I maze through

life

Etched in me

are

mistakes

patterns

rituals

rites.

Around the fire we sit

watching embers dance

the smoke and ash

reveal the past.

The fire leaves us with visions

and more family lore.

What should have been on the radio that day

2011-06-08T23:21:00.000-07:00

I absolutely love this song. It feels like a shared experience. It feels like when you are in the car after you grandmother has died, and only you and your sibling understand the meaning of this moment and how it will live -- embedded in your grey matter for the rest of your life. This song feels something like that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9KrotLtC-Y

2011-06-08T23:18:00.000-07:00

It makes you wonder...

In the night

When your body is cold

And you look at your history

Sitting on the laptop

Quite awake

And drunk

Who should you blame?

The lover who sucks at it

Or the mute that never says so?

I'm trying to communicate with you

2010-11-13T12:54:00.001-08:00

This is for the people that are leaving posts. I am not smart enough to understand them.

グリーをも dominates する meets いサイト[スタービーチ]! Th を is all the rage し like として the posture を to disappear suddenly したサイトが now Soviet る! The love 経験が does not have い Fang でも Jan 単に to leave meets えるのが works as サイト! ぜひご applies flexibly ください

The cold is near

2010-11-03T10:41:00.000-07:00

I want to dip my hands in a barrel full of scratchy wool socks.

I will pluck out a pair of discounted misshapen army-regulated green stockings. They will go over the meaty part of my calf. They will cut off the circulation and keep my legs below the knees warm as I stand in the coldness waiting for everything and anything.

Sac

2010-08-04T17:15:00.000-07:00

It was 1997 and I was in love with the freedom of living out loud. I had a job delivering copies and I drove all around the Sacramento area delivering goods. I experienced traffic like never before. Driving became a sport.

I had received an electric guitar as a birthday gift and I worshiped Stevie Ray Vaughn. His songs and techniques were all I could hear. I snuck into Old Town bars to here blues bands play and occasionally they would cover one of his tunes. In my delivery van I kept cassette tapes of SRV to learn his phrasing.

After I worked all day I would venture out into the city. The night was full of opportunity and the sky full of stars. I sat on the hood of my car atop one of the parking garages and watched fireworks light up the riverfront during Pioneer Days. The cool river wind blew at my face.

In the tunnel that stretched from Old Town to the Downtown Plaza mosaic art moved us along.

The farmer's market appealed to all the senses.

I was young and my pores were open to all that was this time.

I can still feel it.

I would go to the river front in twilight hours and catch glimpses of river otters hunting for food.

Even in the city I would look for hiding places where I could find nature. In capital park I climbed a tree and sat looking down at tourists.

I always wanted to be observing. I just wanted to be still.

The adventures are fun, but being -- just simply being, is the great challenge.

2010-08-04T16:47:00.000-07:00

Create.

2010-04-13T18:08:00.000-07:00

I haven't written on my dear blog in awhile. I decided to share some of the ramblings from my writing class journal:

"How would you describe the carpet? It is green and blue Berber.

Or you can say...

The carpet winds across the room; shattering the white of wall paint. It meets the chair legs and shows some classy reservation by not taking hold."

How would you describe the act of clipping your finger nails? They were long so I snipped them.

Or...

An inch would be too gross. They start to measure a 1/4 maybe and I start to feel uncomfortable. They get crooked, yellowed, and dirty. It is hard to play guitar. They snag on my sweater. When I splay them on the ground, I bid farewell to some more of my DNA."

The dryer of my mind

2010-01-30T16:54:00.001-08:00

My energy was restless

under the sheets

when I was supposed to be listening

to the quiet menageri

I grinded my teeth

right down to where everything is naked and still

and still

you haunt me

like a lost

lost

bill

circling the realms of the dryer

of my mind.

Passion and bite

2010-01-12T23:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it is not a superiority complex,

It is an aspiration complex.

2009-10-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

Success may come but all we know is the struggle. We mourn the loss of the one who struggled and although your dreams are fulfilled you are left with this sadness and emptiness that this gift has given you. You are left to reconcile with this gift.

2009-10-09T18:27:00.001-07:00

Wow Christian Slater got old and turned into a boring guy. I wanted him to turn into Spider Jerusalem.

Maybe I want to turn into Spider Jerusalem.

Or John Muir?

Mmmmhh, must ponder.

2009-09-30T21:35:00.000-07:00

Bus Pass Day

Rain was a hallmark card that

fell from grace

and stumbled down the stairway of clouds

Slamming a door of sunshine

Running away with the rainbow of your absence.

So she's not home.

She's not home.

My shoes holler to be stripped down

and my jeans are guilty on the floor.

She is not home.

Shadows mind.

I mind.

Running around like a chicken monkey

Catching my breath between pots of coffee

standing at the bus

stop.

Wondering why people talk so loud?

Every other Wednesday should be mine to take.

Just to make sense of myself.

Just to make some sense.

Just to take hold of all the pleasure and pain.

I catch me stuttering in comments

left in boxes. Illuminated by whiteness

that is not there,

that is as real as nothing.

As real as pushing you away.

Technology

Sometimes I want to throw my cell phone and laptop into a tub of hot water.

Blog is a sound you make when you don't feel well.

Twitter is when you let something go.

Sharing should be more personal.

Not highlighted by so many damn emoticons.

For ME

2009-08-28T20:55:00.000-07:00

I wrote a song today. It took shape as a woman walked by.

She sang "Is it still gonna rain"

And repeat.

The rain came about 4 o' clock.

The smell came 'round and let us out.

I ran with wet guitar inside

The green bugs crawled all over me

from the dill plants I intend to use for pickling

It dawned on me....

You aren't coming home today.

I set down the mail

And put down my keys

Watered your housplants and sat down for this

I sit here with wrists and muscles aching for soft things

I cradled my self like cartons of fragile eggs today

I needed to be soft

I need to hold on

Today is my beginning

Today is my song.

A call to arms

2009-08-09T10:54:00.000-07:00

I have a proposal to all you pixel addicts.

Just think about this for a moment,

What if we could start a movement to save an essential American element?

An institution that keeps going in struggles and strife's. An almost invisible cog that works magic,

that intertwines the fabrics of our lives. How can a government organization be so personal and prolific?

I tell you if you do anything this year you ought to send a letter. Save the Post office. That's right! Buy a card, scribe a letter, make a note, send it to your aunt, your ma, your old lonely pa. Write it down, I'm literate and I'm proud.

Look at how paperless our society has become. We've nearly decimated the postal service. We can't do this. These brave folks are such a unique part of our culture. They walk our hoods, they handle our personals. They need our support.

I have family who live without the digital confines of communication, (beyond them really). How disappointing it would be to have the Saturday service cut off. That is one more day that gives someone a sense of purpose. The trek out to the mail box looking for that card, that something special that connects that person to the outside world. An old-fashioned sentiment that needn't go away. We like seeing our name in print on an invitation. We revel in that new magazine coming just for us. We need all that the post has to offer. I tell you nothing makes me feel more like an adult like going to the post office and buying stamps. The institution of forms and files and ancient boxes on the wall. I suspect you remember how to get there. I suspect you will answer this call.

Zip code, address, capitals and fire, tomorrow's mail will make me a liar.

Envelope, stamps and black ink, this day's mail will make me think.

Be the hero in your own comic today. Wear a cape and proudly type set your name with a capital. "I am a writing fool, I can make someone's day having given the right tool!"

laundry

2009-07-08T18:57:00.000-07:00

in a mad dash for freedom

I purged and laundered my emotions

not forgetting to separate the darks from the lights

they sat separated

I realized

they didn't need to be

I tossed the painful bleak runny ones right on in with the

bright cheery ones

they mingled and forgave and

swallowed the colors of one another

in the end

they dried

and were worn again.

Sliding Glass

2009-06-27T12:14:00.000-07:00

The throngs of bacteria

churn inside me.

My blood smells like metal.

I walked past large work benches

that have been scoured, ground down

and sanded to the gleaming fragments of their core.

"I can't get no satisfaction" plays over again

as I work the bass line

in my mind.

Your trickery and lament dispel the rumor mongers

that hold court

amongst The Rolling Stones.

Morrison's Ghost

2009-06-02T21:36:00.000-07:00

The long night howling

From the window outside

pressing the issue at hand dear

the answer for you to hear,

Lost in the night for I can't find the road,

wandered too far from town

left the tavern alone,

went hunting down the green rolling

grass of the hills

and sought the ghosts of the past.

When you answer the night calling

lest you don't forget your way

more often than not you'll find

your lover won't stay.

Mystery will find you

but make no mistake

the green hillsides

are no saving grace.

The long night howling

from the window outside

pressing a hand dear

for you to hear.

Money rant

2009-05-02T09:41:00.000-07:00

So I write personal stuff on this blog but mostly I let my alter-egos live on my blogs. Today my real thoughts are needing some space. So I just got of the phone with GE Bank who are the holders of my debt. And this debt is a dark cloud, but not a huge one- I chip away at it and sometimes sunshine peaks through. Today a little sunshine peaked through.

I am a small time spender. I don't buy boats, furniture or motorcycles. I don't have cash hidden away. I get my paycheck in my checking account twice a month and it goes bye bye quick. I pay almost half of my earnings to rent this room I dwell in and occupy, and the rest of my money goes to eating and drinking and getting there. I spend most of my folding money on coffee (big surprise huh?). I don't have a car, I ride public transit, I ride my bike and I get rides with my buddies and my love.(who helps me stay sane) I don't watch t.v. or pay a cable bill.(I pay for internet) I don't spend crazy. My designer bag is a North Face backpack that hauls everything I use day to day like school stuff.

Every once in a while I buy a book, a cowboy shirt or some guitar strings.

Yeah so, a little credit forgiveness would be nice, and I got some this morning, but I'm worried.... I go to school, I have a job, but it's not enough.... And like most of America, I'm feeling the hurt. I have to be smart and stay strong and keep my folding money tucked away I guess. Yeah, that's all I have to do.

Waiting

2009-03-28T10:54:00.000-07:00

So this morning I open my inbox and I have received an email from a very good friend about Obama's plan to nationalize farming, control every aspect of agriculture and outlaw organic farming. So for the past hour I have been sitting here, reading through some of my most trusted news sources to have a response or explanation for why I think this is an absurd story and completely untrue. In the headlines and the commentaries I get lost with "Barry" bashing. Where are the answers? I've tried to be educated about the new administration and "his radical ideas" but I can't say I have a good grasp on what the future holds. I am a student, waiting for the word on what I will get for school this year. I am waiting for my math book to come in the mail. I'm waiting to see if I will get a raise any time this year. I'm waiting to see if I will have a career to build a future on and buy a house and grow old and wait.

How can I answer the question my friend sends? She sends it to me because I've been the voice, the only voice of hope at times? We work to together and share our pains together. How can I, an individual react to the idea of this injustice being inflicted onto our environment and compromising our national/natural freedoms? How can I forget where my values and virtues lie? I will be brave in times of trouble. I will choose the middle path, as Buddha did. That is my only answer for now. Hopefully Barack will do the same.

Walk each path as if it is your first, your last, your all. Eat slowly and taste the bounty you intake. Breath slowly and mindfully for it is a gift to live. That is my answer and my blessing to you my friend. Namo Amitofu. -R

http://kalman.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/03/26/so-moved/?em

Temple of fallen women

2009-03-24T17:57:00.000-07:00

I took woman studies two terms ago and wrote a ranting poem. I felt like posting old stuff I have written and wanted to share. Here's part of the piece:

Pink Dress Blue Shirt

I woke up with a war in my pants

Leslie Feinberg wanna dance?

I am torn down from both sides

only succeed in building

a wall for my lover

climb the ladder

Success should not be based on lackluster testicles

it should be based on smarts from the start

I won't succeed with a partner dragging his feet

Why should I settle to live life on my knees?

Businesses can be made with suits -ties that get by

And we wonder why

I stand accused

Bare my breasts for plastic beads

Bare my knuckles and feed

Expose my anger and fight

Female form blessed

strength strife

Anxiety attack

2009-03-16T06:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Abb,

Hey you know love is a fickle thing, like Portland's love of Thai restaurants. But what I actually have to say is in regards to regret....

See... I don't feel regret in love, past, present or future. I don't secretly pine for a girlfriend that got away, some fling that slipped through my fingers or the one night-might-have-beens. I don't need to worry about that shit. Its fleeting, wasteful, useless like a wistful fart in temple.

I'm not on a soap box here. No Ms. Abb, I'm trying to lay it out for you. I got these reasons, these aching reasons to sit here and tell ya that I'm not trying to fool anyone. I have nothing to hide. This isn't a rant. No, this, this right here, has reason. I won't sit for being made a fool of. I won't sit with shaking hands. The hiding of the heart is the devil's only playground. Only the biggest fool would walk down the path of a hidden love. So yeah...Am I a fool?

Sincerely yours, Secret Heart.

2009-03-08T21:39:00.000-07:00

The 1st period is won by the best technician. The 2nd period is won by the kid in the best shape. The 3rd period is won by the kid with the biggest heart.
Dan Gable

When I want to give in, when I'm out of breath, when things are lost, I look to my heart to see. Following it never goes wrong. -R

2009-02-12T16:08:00.000-08:00

Website I stumbled upon today:

http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

miso thoughts

2009-02-10T15:40:00.000-08:00

My hands are shaking. My knees and feet ache. I feel like a bad Elvis song.

Sick

'I cannot go to school today, '
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

Shel Silverstein

Bite in your voice

2009-02-06T18:55:00.000-08:00

Maybe them piranhas ain't half bad

Maybe they only nibble a little bit till they find themselves full

Maybe I am a bottom-feeder on the outside

finding inspiration listening to guitar solos

or on a tagged tea bag.

Then I float up top

gasp for the first time

grow some feet and walk on the dry land

Walden Woods

discover my voice echoing in the timbers

Shaking legs, shaking breath. Hum. Silence. Stillness.

Yeah, maybe that is me there, reflecting in the pond.

Take a dip with me

Today's Urban Grind

2009-01-25T18:59:00.000-08:00

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.

Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you...
while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." -John Muir

Today I was up by 7:30. Stayed horizontal for another 30,

avoiding the cold.

I looked outside suprised by the blanket of white.

I made towards the kitchen and then started coffee input. I turned on the computer and checked my email. Plans were still on...I connected with pal and looked out at another snowy day in Portland.

I put my boots and thermals on while I watched a bit more of the Wild Bunch.

The plan was to hike Forest Park. Trimet would not get me to the St. John's access, so we opted for the Upshur entrance. After a few bus transfers finally we reached downtown. We had a big breakfast for energy and made it to the trail head around 12:30. We stayed primarily on the Wildwood trail and trekked through mud and snow.

We emerged tired, hungry and accomplished. It was a beautiful day. The sun came out and melted the snow. The trees shed their heavy loads and I was born anew.

Hello

2009-01-20T19:23:00.000-08:00

Despite my physical and mental limitations it is still my life goal to hike the Pacific Crest Trail.

Bottom feeders

2009-01-08T19:55:00.000-08:00

Did you know that writing in a classroom setting, with a room full of other writers, who are there to learn and critique you, is like writing poetry for a room full of piranhas. How do you write poetry for piranhas? How do you let them eat the flesh of your poem like their bait. My poem is new, and fragile and eggshell white and able to break and shatter. The piranhas in the pool all feel the same sensitivity. Once the first bit of bait drops and the water stops boiling, there are only a few fierce enough to stay. The rest are just bottom feeders.

2009-01-02T19:05:00.000-08:00

Improve upon what you already possess.

Those who see your true nature will not falter your steps.

The truest of truths. The truest of thoughts.

Gentleness of life,

peeled sweet layers,

gulf storms can,

memories wash away,

nights fold in,

covers blew off.

Cliff face of rocks, tumble to the plain.

Blanket of grey,

Warmed by the coast,

Hearts of mingled mist.

And truest of truest form,

And truest of truest things.

The truest of true thoughts,

The shelter of the wing.

Blade

2008-12-09T20:46:00.000-08:00

Our shared experience like a knife that stuck us both.

The warm blood of our open wounds felt with fingers and forgiving flesh. An inclining...

So much more.

The newness fills our spaces, heart races.

Felt like salt, like lemon, like acid in that wound.

A burn deepened as we hold our breaths.

In mornings wake the waves came ashore. In the undertow we choked.

I grasp through murky waters for you.

I feel you.

I hold your fears.

Relax with me and breath.

Oceans of stillness await and soothe the aching wounds of the soul.

Grain's Unrest

2008-11-18T20:15:00.000-08:00

Walking past the tidy houses I wish for salt in my mouth/ Maybe the taste of sweat in the summer maybe the sand spit/Winter is/

I sense a shift in the tides/ In the sand/ We stand feet apart grasping the land/ Past behind/ future ahead/ Standing on the shoreline /with wishes/fears we must shed/My padded footprints sprint along the/ the bouncing /the bouncing shadows. If I stand still I can watch the sidewalk fill in/

Is this 2008? Two-thousand...Really?

2008-11-12T17:04:00.001-08:00

Yay Conneticut! Come on California get your head out of your ass!

The Electoral College of the Human Heart

2008-11-11T20:03:00.000-08:00

The Electoral College of the human heart looks like a battle field of pink coffins set adrift in a hypodermic sea of waves made of silk and knives that nick past the non-competitive vessels. They do not race successfully. Never is there a finish line. Never any blue ribbons awarded.

Threaded needles attached by love wash ashore crippling, growing voters, like cockroaches with genitals. Roses and receipts in wallets overflowing like fat Buddhas.

Freedom is in the absentee bachelor ballot of love.

Its a cake walk of hardness. The straight forward notion of singledom can stare you down and scold you like an extra-hot-black-angry-barista-made-americano in a flaming styrofoam cup.

Silk scarves and painted nails float ashore. The tidal wave of red hot love and passion cools the country of blue cool. In the promised land of love the President walks around like the embodiment of the word "swagger." In thee secret heart we hold close in our jacket pocket, we cast our ballot, hoping to be counted forever more.

Things to enchant the eyeballs with

2008-11-08T18:28:00.000-08:00

When I feel yucky I like to cuddle up and watch a loved movie. I have my standards I could watch over and over. Today I could watch any of the following... (And yes, appearantly I love musicals).

Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994). I saw this movie when I was in high school. I went and saw it with my sister at the theater in Fig Garden village that has since been torn down. Love the humor, love the last bit with the agreement " Can we argree...not to get married?"

Pulp Fiction (1994). I saw this with my dad and my sister when it arrived at the cheap theater. I was in high school, my sister had already seen it she couldn't stop talking about it. The theater was crowded with teenagers the night we went. I've been loving the replay in mind ever since. This film made me love lanky Uma Thurman. And helped me make movies of my own.

Steel Magnolias (1989). Classic chick flick, always good to watch. The one liners in this film spill out so well. "Like two pigs fighting under a blanket."

The Color Purple (1985). Sad, rejuvenating, entertaining. Love the singing scene down by the river.

Mary Poppins (1964). I always wanted to jump in a chalk drawing. The penguins are great.

Grease (1978). I've seen it a million times but I still love Stockard Channing singing 'bout Elvis.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001). Say what you will but that's some good writing.Saw this at the GLBT film fest in ol' Fresno. Great flick.

All About My Mother (1999). Pedro Almodovar's films get to my soul.

The Motorcycle Diaries (2004). New favorite. The cinematography is breathtaking. Based on the true story of Ernesto "Che" Gueverra and his friend Albert "Mial" Granado.

In a journey that lasts eight months, the partners travel over 14,000 kilometres, from Argentina through Chile, Peru, and Colombia toVenezuela. Key locations along the journey described in the film include: In Argentina, Buenos Aires, Miramar, Buenos Aires, Villa Gesell, San Martín de los Andes, Lago Frías, Patagonia; in Chile, Temuco, Los Angeles, Valparaiso, Atacama desert, Chuquicamata; inPeru, Cuzco, Machu Picchu, Lima; The San Pablo Leper Colony; Leticia, Colombia and Caracas, Venezuela

The Birds (1963). Great Hitchcock movie. Good for any lazy hazy Sunday. No soundtrack to this film. Just the sound of the birds.

The Shining (1980). This is a great thriller Jack! Oh man the maze scares me.

Stand by Me (1986). I feel so nostalgic watching this film. Every time I hear of Castle Rock it brings me to this movie.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984). Saw this when it first came out. I was six years old. My mom took me and my teenage sisters to the Manchester theater to see this film. We missed the intro so we stayed through the credits to catch the beginning of the next show. Love all the catch phrases. "Dr. Jones!"

This is not a definitive list, but I would watch any one of these movies if they fell into my lap right now.

I am your embryo

2008-11-05T19:41:00.000-08:00

I miss you father.

Now I'm not attached but free.

Look at how our country has changed.

You should have followed me.

http://www.oregonlive.com/editorials/oregonian/index.ssf?/base/editorial/122586091457650.xml&coll=7

Rollingstone's 100 greatest guitar songs

2008-11-02T21:47:00.000-08:00

This is such an interesting article, but I can never manage to finish reading it. I always get distracted or inspired to go make my own music. But if you get the chance, read it!

http://www.rollingstone.com/news/coverstory/20947527

Here's the list:

The 100 Greatest Guitar Songs of All Time

1. "Johnny B. Goode," Chuck Berry

2. "Purple Haze," The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1967)

3. "Crossroads" Cream (1968)

4. "You Really Got Me" The Kinks (1964)

5. "Brown Sugar" The Rolling Stones (1971)

6. "Eruption" Van Halen (1978)

7. "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" The Beatles (1968)

8. "Stairway to Heaven" Led Zepplin (1971)

9. "Statesboro Blues" The Allman Brothers Band (1971)

10. "Smells Like Teen Spirit" Nirvana (1991)

11. "Whole Lotta Love" Led Zeppelin (1969)

12. "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)" The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1968)

13. "Layla" Derek and the Dominos (1970)

14. "Born to Run" Bruce Springsteen (1975)

15. "My Generation" The Who (1965)

16. "Cowgirl in the Sand" Neil Young with Crazy Horse (1969)

17. "Black Sabbath" Black Sabbath (1970)

18. "Blitzkrieg Bop" Ramones (1976)

19. "Purple Rain" Prince and the Revolution (1984)

20. "People Get Ready" The Impressions (1965)

21. "Seven Nation Army" The White Stripes (2003)

22. "A Hard Day's Night" The Beatles (1964)

23. "Over Under Sideways Down" The Yardbirds (1966)

24. "Killing In The Name Of" Rage Against The Machine (1992)

25. "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" The Rolling Stones (1971)

26. "How Blue Can you Get" B.B. King (1965)

27. "Look Over Yonders Wall" The Paul Butterfield Blues Band (1965)

28. "Where the Streets Have No Name" U2 (1987)

29. "Back in Black" AC/DC (1980)

30. "(We're Gonna) Rock Around the Clock" Bill Haley and His Comets (1954)

31. "Keep Yourself Alive" Queen (1973)

32. "Sultans of Swing" Dire Straits (1978)

33. "Master of Puppets" Metallica (1986)

34. "Walk This Way" Aerosmith (1975)

35. "1969" The Stooges (1969)

36. "Interstellar Overdrive" Pink Floyd (1967)

37. "That's All Right" Elvis Presley (1954)

38. "Stay With Me" The Faces (1971)

39. "Black Magic Woman" Santana (1970)

40. "I Can See for Miles" The Who (1967)

41. "Marquee Moon" Television (1977)

42. "Hideaway" John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers (1966)

43. "Holidays in the Sun" The Sex Pistols (1977)

44. "Dig Me Out" Sleater-Kinne (1997)

45. "I Saw Her Standing There" The Beatles (1963)

46. "Miserlou" Dick Dale and the Del-Tones (1962)

47. "Panama" Van Halen (1984)

48. "London Calling" The Clash (1980)

49. "Machine Gun" Jimi Hendrix (1970)

50. "Debaser" Pixies (1989)

51. "Crazy Train" Ozzy Osbourne (1981)

52. "My Iron Lung" Radiohead (1995)

53. "Born on the Bayou" Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)

54. "Little Wing" Stevie Ray Vaughan (1991)

55. "White Room" Cream (1968)

56. "Eight Miles High" The Byrds (1966)

57. "Dark Star" Grateful Dead (1969)

58. "Rumble" Link Wray (1958)

59. "Freeway Jam" Jeff Beck (1975)

60. "Maggot Brain" Funkadelic (1971)

61. "Soul Man" Sam and Dave (1967)

62. "Born Under a Bad Sign" Albert King (1967)

63. "Sweet Child O' Mine" Guns n' Roses (1987)

64. "Freebird" Lyrnyrd Skynyrd (1973)

65. "Message in a Bottle" The Police (1979)

66. "Texas Flood" Stevie Ray Vaughan (1983)

67. "Adam Raised a Cain" Bruce Springsteen (1978)

68. "The Thrill is Gone" B.B. King (1969)

69. "Money" Pink Floyd (1973)

70. "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" Smashing Pumpkins (1995)

71. "Take It or Leave It" The Strokes (2001)

72. "Say It Ain't So" Weezer (1994)

73. "Summertime Blues" Blue Cheer (1968)

74. "La Grange" ZZ Top (1973)

75. "Willie the Pimp" Frank Zappa (1969)

76. "American Girl" Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers (1976)

77. "Even Flow" Pearl Jam (1991)

78. "Stone Crazy" Buddy Guy (1970)

79. "Silver Rocket" Sonic Youth (1988)

80. "Kid Charlemagne" Steely Dan (1976)

81. "Beat It" Michael Jackson (1982)

82. "Walk — Don't Run" The Ventures (1960)

83. "What I Got" Sublime (1996)

84. "Gravity" John Mayer (2006)

85. "You Enjoy Myself" Phish (1988)

86. "I Ain't Superstitious" Jeff Beck (1968)

87. "Red" King Crimson (1974)

88. "Mona" Quicksilver Messenger Service (1969)

89. "I Love Rock N Roll" Joan Jett and the Blackhearts (1981)

90. "How Soon Is Now?" The Smiths (1985)

91. "Drunkship of Lanterns" The Mars Volta (2003)

92. "Memo from Turner" Mick Jagger (1970)

93. "Only Shallow" My Bloody Valentine (1991)

94. "Money for Nothing" Dire Straits (1984)

95. "Omaha" Moby Grape (1967)

96. "New Day Rising" Husker Du (1985)

97. "No One Knows" Queens of the Stone Age (2002)

98. "Under the Bridge" Red Hot Chili Peppers (1991)

99. "Run Thru" My Morning Jacket (2003)

100. "Vicarious" Tool (2006)

Renewed

2008-11-02T09:03:00.000-08:00

I have been an addict, a lover, a leaver;

A dreamer, a wisher and a foiled achiever.

Despite the stitches, I've strengthened my failures.

I've inhaled after been smothered.

I returned the lost hearts to their makers. I stand with my own wounds.

More Rich

2008-11-02T08:58:00.001-08:00

Wait

BY ADRIENNE RICH

In paradise every
the desert wind is rising
third thought
in hell there are no thoughts
is of earth
sand screams against your government
issued tent hell’s noise
in your nostrils crawl
into your ear-shell
wrap yourself in no-thought
wait no place for the little lyric
wedding-ring glint the reason why
on earth
they never told you

2008-11-02T08:39:00.000-08:00

It has taken me awhile to jump on this wagon. In two days I will be thrown into the madness that it this election. After much consideration I finally conclude he is a great leader for this nation. Here's another article that led me to my final conclusion.

http://www.newyorker.com/talk/comment/2008/10/13/081013taco_talk_editors

Working Stiff

2008-10-21T12:26:00.001-07:00

In collared moments shattered whispers lie.

In between patient breaths, we hold ourselves and try to seal up the cracks.

Our secrets are all we have left.

In time they will fall like leaves, and our walls made of old stones will come down.

Winter is here, and we throw ourselves against the hardness it brings.

The park is still. It's months till spring.

Courage...in a month's worth of Sundays

2008-10-16T19:39:00.001-07:00

I think of this Paul Newman quote tonight and over the past few weeks.... When this interviewer asked him about why his marriage has been so solid, why he didn't cheat? He said, "Why go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?" -Loyalty.

Occupation

2008-10-15T18:29:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I work late on the dark side of the moon.

At night my head is caressed, falling deep, lazier than honey nestling a spoon.

Lore swirls in my head, knocks in the night make my body tense.

Firelight becomes my only friend.

A howl somewhere nearby sends stars away.

Piano keys and thunder cradle me tender, rejoice my very milky way.

Ballast

2008-10-10T23:42:00.001-07:00

Main Entry:

¹bal·last

Pronunciation:

\ˈba-ləst\

Function:

noun

Etymology:

probably from Low German, of Scandinavian origin; akin to Danish & Swedish barlast ballast; perhaps akin to Old English bær bare & to Old English hlæstload, hladan to load — more at lade

Date:

1530

1 : a heavy substance placed in such a way as to improve stability and control (as of the draft of a ship or the buoyancy of a balloon or submarine)2 : something that gives stability (as in character or conduct)3 : gravel or broken stone laid in a railroad bed or used in making concrete4 : a device used to provide the starting voltage or to stabilize the current in a circuit (as of a fluorescent lamp)

....And his words I revisit because it how we began this lyrical dance.

His arguments outstanding, his abstractions are the only words for this.

I feel the pulse of my own making below.

In its beat echoes stir in my ears and become all encompassing.

In between the rhythm we make, I catch my breath.

When I look into your eyes I don't see the reflection of me,

I see deeper into the phrase "I hope you stick around".

Very good day

2008-09-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

Wake up early. Make coffee for me and the one I love. Listen to music. Enjoy the sunlight. Play my guitar. Study, read and write. Discover new poetry. Continue to look forward to the prospects of the eve. Hard work paying off. Blessed am I today.

Evening Love Song

Ornamental clouds compose an evening love song;

a road leaves evasively.

The new moon begins  a new chapter of our nights,

of those frail nights we stretch out and

which mingle with these black horizontals.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Jack Kerouac

2008-09-27T17:28:00.001-07:00

Fellow writers were always asking Kerouac how he did what he did. So Kerouac set down 30 essentials in something he called “Belief and Technique for Modern Prose.” These tips may or may not make sense to you, but that’s Kerouac, man:

Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
Submissive to everything, open, listening
Try never get drunk outside yr own house
Be in love with yr life
Something that you feel will find its own form
Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
Blow as deep as you want to blow
Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
The unspeakable visions of the individual
No time for poetry but exactly what is
Visionary tics shivering in the chest
In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
Like Proust be an old teahead of time
Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
Accept loss forever
Believe in the holy contour of life
Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
You're a Genius all the time
Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

A legend

2008-09-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

Goodbye.

Aluminum heart

2008-09-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

Girls come with secrets and locked drawers.

They come with faces you'll never see.

They want to be swept away, and yet stand all alone, despite the shaking knees.

They muster up bravado when they are tarnished and lost.

They bring in the last flowers to be saved from the frost.

They'll stand like a patriot, against all odds,

For their unknown country, and their undying selfless cause.

They wound like no other creature can. They can stomach heartaches no one could ever understand.

They cry for their children in the night.

They hide their tears in the shadows, and smile in the light.

They are the girls that walk the streets. Feeding themselves crumbs of dignity with a woman's slave deeds. They are always second class, always last. All encompassing. All woman. All me.

Hour Desire

2008-09-16T19:13:00.001-07:00

I want to exhibit with you in a forest grove.

Pictures upon pictures of our black and white pasts immortalized, seconds pass like ashes. We age evermore;

Built on sticks, dirt and earth our watershed met.

I want to play with you in a forest grove, melt away our muscles The ones that hold our heads up and make us nod, and arrange ache around our eyes and jaws.

In my teeth I can feel you.

You and I mix together our breathes and wake -reaching... thirsty pores meet each other.

Our song is in the tone that makes heart strings pulled, tears almost come.

Foundations built on a strong ground with a crack running through.

Underneath flows the river, pain spills over the falls, and our souls regenerate in the pool undertow.

I want to be an explorer of rocky ground, and a wind chaser, and a bridge builder over all these land markings and forebodings. The notes bounce on the violin, it is made of fire. We reach for the neck, just as its about to explode.

Warming up

2008-09-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

Is there inspiration under my nail?

In between this tooth?

Crawling around with the gnat at the bottom of my salad bowl?

I have yet to find a swirling word, lingering with the hops in my beer. I have yet to see a letter mingling with the clouds, although I did see some while tripping on LSD. It was a mysterious stew of alphabet soup floating overhead and tripping me on....

I do find inspiration in this most spectacular thing. This unrest that makes me toss and turn in the night. This bumbling human, wearing pants I am, has found a sentence pouring from the tips and spelling out phrases and searching the dictionary for more, more, more! It is in you I find an emotion, or two, to speak and lyricise-an exercise of my wit and foil, and kneed entries of endless bliss- I hope to find with un-gloved hand. It is you that has sharpened the led. Tonight I will give myself a good talking to....

Sauce Recipe for Boiled Tongue: An excerpt

2008-09-08T22:11:00.000-07:00

When one proceeds to prepare a tongue...
You must remember it is one of the strongest muscles in the human body.
It has been flicked,
flittered, tainted, burned, bit, and bittered.
It is the connected filament of our purpose.
It is the taster of the fine times, and the salivated expression of ourselves.
It pleases and teases and makes moist motions to come hither.
It is both; the softer side of the sharp whip, and the merciless dom that takes toil- a fierce, coiled, cobra like spitter.
So when preparing the sauce,
mix equal parts pure,
with equal parts intent.
Stir, serve and swallow. It will taste what you meant.

War crimes

2008-08-29T21:24:00.000-07:00

In times of war you should conserve your "thank you's".
Don't let them wash up on the shore like drift wood.
In times of war be aware of Halloween and the costumes at the drugstore that come apart at the seams.
In times of war all things should be considered and forgiven. It is good to acknowledge every missed sentence overshadowed by trips to the battlefield, every interruption made by the haphazard gun fire of a mouth out of the trenches.
The soldier-self rat-ta-tatting off words like it has more to offer than what the ego says, and more to tell than you... with ears, a brain, a heart... and you....with your own words firing back, shell shocked, like lovers do.
In times of war, people feel apologetic and sketchy like the first-time gambler.
In times of war, we walk with pregnant bundles of limbs that dangle for anothers reach.

number 70

2008-08-26T21:34:00.000-07:00

This town, place of my rebirth.
I ride swiftly with swollen skies of mystery.
Painted clouds, worn out shingles of the awning below the heavenly stars.
Clouded nights prevail, stars emerge again like my poetic blanket soothing MINE OWN ACHE, from my freed fingers I wake.
I hurry on with night standing behind, he drifts slowly in. I search with a peerless eye-the back of my eyelids. the future is beheld there. with crisp thoughts, I enter the fragments of me. In between wrinkles I had once fell. I look toward the remembrance. Night shakes my hand. I am alone again. Sweet kisses to my pillow. My smile tastes the past, I do not mourn this season.
It is its will to outlast.

I wish upon a falling me

2008-08-23T00:11:00.000-07:00

I saw a falling wish tonight.
I mean, I fell upon a wish tonight.
I mean, a star fell for me tonight.

What do my seeds taste like? Are they galaxies? Suns dying in the night?
Sometimes I feel like the author of A Million Little Pieces.
His aftermath, a heart piece he wore out too long. It eventually lost its way.

I trapped my heart in a shark's cage.
The steel kept it from feeling the razor sharp teeth. Now its been kept away so long, soft fingers barely pry it close.
Maybe I should bring it out once in awhile, leave it on my sleeve and keep it moist?

Feeling the head within

2008-08-20T18:20:00.000-07:00

My monster, my mood, my voice that wanes....
You are my cancer. That festering canker that comes to a head.
The faceless malformity of my insecurities pops out of my chest, moseying past my rib cage, protruding like a green puss filled boil about to erupt on my cleanest dirty shirt.
This volcanic creation stemmed from the inability to communicate needs and wants...

Perhaps it isn't faceless after all...
Maybe half of it is squinting like eyes closed by the sun, or someone about to sneeze, or a receiver of a punch. But certainly half of it is suffering with paralysis and living a scabby, backwards blistered existence. Its face is the color of refrigerated olive oil. The kindred color of a soulless booger.

It also resembles a deformed erection of a misled penis... an angry eye... a neglected perversion.
Its grotesque soap opera plays on like an overlooked starlet's waiting for her tarnished Emmy.
It hovers. I malnourish it with positive thinking , reassurance and long walks. Its monolith like head falls flaccid when I give precedence to what my red blood pumping heart wants. And in the assembly of my woman heart, insecurities are banished and silenced.

A few new chords

2008-08-18T18:49:00.000-07:00

I. Fast car

Acts of desperation, followed by disdain. Bad humor knocks down a wall, and gathers up a friend. Fueled by lines, fiery passion, longing love, hands outstretched. Looking to jagged ears for help. I doodled on all my work today. And I rolled in the grass. Ants are crawling on my skin, and I'm bleeding through my pants fast.

II. Alpha

Old alleyways. Immigrant trail.
It's a morning dripped with thunderstorms and a walk that resembles our drunk driving.
The message I won't send declares, "YES."
I'm tired, stinking. Thinking of dryer sheets.
Horizon cracks like eggs of breakfast.

III. Buzz

My body's sore and bruised from mysteries and blissful rides into the oblivion of future fun.

IV. Reminder to her

A million days a million ways,
I am the person in your corner.
Helping you along, hearing your hurt.
Knowing that your star shines as bright as the others.
A family built on cracks,
Only to live as a being supreme, should we look back.

Faced value

2008-08-11T20:04:00.000-07:00

What is a weed?
An idiom?
Something not in need?

Can my pursuit of compassion calm the tension?
I'm full of questions, marks, bruises and pain.
I want a bed warmed by souls reminiscent of summer rain.
I want the cover of night to kiss my eyelids and bring sweet.
In between every breath I can feel your peace.

There is a garden where I fill my cup. Favorite flowers grow there. In the eyes of their petaled faces, I see the friendliness of childlike curiosity.
I smell lavender, jasmine and spicy fragrances, dancing across the buds, and the extension of my tongue.

Prickly feelings of atrophy are going away slowly.
Blood starts to rush to the places that were numb.
I wish I could grab the head of the oppressed and press it into the dirt, in anger, in jest. Breath deep. Emerge with dried grass in your cuffs, and bugs in your hair. Don't forget to wipe your feet and leave your senses there.

We fight, because we are the faded sides of the same coin....
All of us, abused, spent, rubbed, gambled, tossed in the gutter, spat out by the vending machine of society.
When the collector comes along, we are reinvented and remembered.
Our plain metal selves are anxiously awaiting to be molten down and made anew again by the cosmic coin maker.
Flipped, fashioned, pressed in "trust", anyone's the taker.

Whisky tango foxtrot

2008-08-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

Sweat etched into my neck the time line I waited.
Frustration built.
My shoulder and back made of stone, asanas won't touch this week or next. I wish to set forth my prayer in motion, a ride I await, my vessel my freedom. I'm enslaved waiting for the ride.
I get home, a small prayer answered. A cold quenching cure for thirst quickly dies. The undercap reads "To the wheels on the bus." I scoff and go downstairs.

Some..thoughts..bound..together.

2008-08-05T22:03:00.000-07:00

Your sad grin at mornings wake. A light I don't turn off.
I watch you gather your things to leave. I swept up today, please bring more of your soil.
My nail beds, still colored with Sunday's paint.
Rough edges, getting smoother with every unplanned night.
The abrasion is good for tattered souls that got frayed by lords of lust and freckled fantasies flailing into emotional waves. The sea bottom is littered with vessels who crashed.
I stay afloat.
I see shoreline.
My craft secure.

Hot August stuck to my flesh. I smell tomorrow on your breath.

Fleshly shaved pillows imprinted on my mind.
I'm writing with wrapped up unmentionables soft as a watermelon's insides, protected by that deep, dark green rind of me.
Crack the hard shell between your teeth.
Let my seeds fall.
Liquid muse waters are shed between.
I pass out from the epiphany.

Downtime

2008-07-29T21:36:00.000-07:00

In my downtime I make sentences. Sometimes more. Sometimes I throw out scraps of paper that were intended for more.
In my downtime I taste. I notice the detail of my nectarine.
I watch the afternoon glow dance across my floor.
I hear the birds, inside and outside my house.
I walk the stairs with care.
I remember the trash, and the bag.
I wipe off the sink.
I set things purposefully. Piles divided by their importance in my life.
I drink more water.
I fix my hair. Consider cutting it.
I stare at bumps on my face in the mirror.
I trickle. I lolligag, mumble, sing and talk to myself.
I answer messages. I read junk.
I look in my vegetable drawer.
I remember a chord. And I forget it again.
In my downtime, I do a lot of things....
Then I go back to the world of up again.

Stealing the bridge

2008-07-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

At the bottom of my glass of failure I found my success. I walked briskly towards it. It returned a smile and let me bask in rays of sunshine and sweat. I sat beneath a dirty awning gazing at open skies.
Listening to the singing and wondering "why?"
I boarded. Thankful, joyous, content.
I ran on in my head. Loot in hand. Art in tow. Projects bouncing around against the walls of my mind.
"Hooray!" I say. As I take the bounty of my labors, love, lost, into my room to pontificate and shed a layer of defeatism, and celebrate the wonderment of my lust for food and creative spirits that awaken me in the night.
I stir the contents of the cup once more....
Oh, it is not failure that the day brings, but more awakenings there.

Some maxims of Mark

2008-07-20T12:46:00.000-07:00

"Every one is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody."

"Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry."

"You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus. "

"Fortune knocks at every man's door once in a life, but in a good many cases the man is in a neighboring saloon and does not hear her. "

"Heaven goes by favor; if it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in. "

"It takes your enemy and your friend, working together to hurt you to the heart; the one to slander you and the other to get the news to you. "

"Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a member of congress; but I repeat myself. "

"Be good and you will be lonesome."

"The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause."

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do... Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. "

“Sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt, dance like nobody's watching, and live like its heaven on earth.”

“It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.”

“The trouble ain't that there is too many fools, but that the lightning ain't distributed right.”

"The only difference between a tax man and a taxidermist is that the taxidermist leaves the skin."

"Travel is lethal to prejudice."

Body at the dentist, mind on you

2008-07-19T22:44:00.000-07:00

I sat, staring at dots in the matrix that was the vent.
I thought of life's meaning.

You were in my mind. Moon shapes were emblazoned on my lips.
I sat, staring at the wall. The downfall of craftsmanship and cleanliness made me disillusioned.

You were in my head again. You giggled and smiled and wrapped your legs around me as I tied my shoes.

I sat staring at the clouds. I wanted you to be here, there, and everywhere. I'm glad my mind escaped with you.

smile of now

2008-07-18T18:01:00.000-07:00

Cartoon Physics, part 1

Nick Flynn

Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down -- earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run
back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come
with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,
& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point
the bridge will give, who will swim to safety
& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff
he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.

Work Day

2008-07-16T17:30:00.001-07:00

Today.... Arrived in my usual way. Sweaty, red-faced, somewhat eager to start. Shortly thereafter I am followed by my aged friend, he always makes sure I arrive in one piece and at least smile at him. One of my young associates asked the distance of my ride. I quickly mapped it online..."About 4.94 miles, it says." We agreed it was a pretty good ride in. I realized after starting my computer that I'd forgotten my headphones. My favorite -hard-to-handle-but-always-good-for-a-laugh co-worker was exuberant by this fact, so she could talk to me all day, (part of the reason I wear them is to tune her out and concentrate on the task at hand. Funny how I make less mistakes with music so acute in my ear, verses music playing out of a distant speaker.) This co-worker had a radio on at her work station. She said "Hey, come here, let me tell you a funny story." (...This is exactly the sort of thing that stops me all day long....) She proceeds..."So this contest on the radio was to win concert tickets, to win you had to call and give your best cheating on a significant other story. So this chick calls in and she says she went to Vegas one year with co-workers and she got drunk and slept with this guy. She was engaged at the time, and felt terrible about it. So, she gets back to work and another co-worker saw the cheaters go back to the hotel room in Vegas, and blackmails the chick into doing her a favor. The chick said the blackmail agreement was she had to go with the co-worker to a swingers club three nights a week for a whole year. The Dj's were dumbfounded. They asked how she got out of it? The chick said eventually she moved away and got a better job. She won the concert tickets." My catch phrase for the rest of the day was, "So I had to go to this swingers club for a whole year."
I rode home at a slow pace. I enjoyed the breeze. It wasn't as hot today. I was trying to enjoy the experience like a smoker who had just regained his sense of smell. Tonight I plan on sitting on the back porch, drinking a beer, and waiting for the sun to go down. The summer's night air will lull me to sleep and I will feel the embrace of an earned slumber after a long work day.

Cockroach Blues

2008-07-14T18:39:00.000-07:00

In cockroach heaven many reside;
Someone clicks on the lights, and millions hide.

The most beautiful cockroach lives in a shoe;
She is the princess, and waits for her special who.

She pines, night after night, hoping love will come her way;
But every time she peeks her head out, light turns her scared and afraid.

Even the smallest flea, and amoeba abound...
plays the blues till their special who comes around.

Either you run from the light, like a roach in a shoe,
Or you run through the night, knowing there's someone for you.

Outstreched arms

2008-07-10T06:45:00.001-07:00

Increments of time

Splendors in the grass
History unfolds Memories fading,
Holding on to make them last.

Earthen smells in the air
Dew on flesh
Wind messes hair
Running fast and far,
catching breaths long enough to stare.

Home on a hillside...mountain peak over yonder.
Wheels of destiny take me there.

Hurried days, long nights
Summer fading fast
Celebrate the coming of the season end
Mourn not for it will come again.

Random reading :-)

2008-07-07T21:38:00.000-07:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emoticon

Maximum Occupancy

2008-07-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

Today was rich. Woke up early to sounds in the kitchen. My fullness ensued. I drank coffee, ate crepes and swam in the pool. Late risers joined and watched as the sun made made flesh red. I sit now and ponder the quiet. To my right, a drink. A representative of the days length and things I will look forward to. Should I say all?
I only wonder, as I peer into the lives of her, how many occupants? How long?
I'm holding onto a moon beam.
I wonder if the season will end with more of just me?
Alone. Left to sit thinking in black and white, with a pen and journal as my only guide, and another story to tell about what was.
Family. Love. Tenderness. Away time. Home. Misses. Kisses.
My daily dose of needed prose. Heart with wings returns tomorrow to the land of roses.
Embrace me. Your traveled soul.

Red, white, and blue

2008-07-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

My flag is not on my shoulder, across my heart or up my sleeve. My patriotism is a fly in my room, and a tooth ache. It rests at my unrest. It speaks when no one is around. It knows all my secrets, and it hides with them in my closet. Being free, means not being anything at all.

Sensory...epicurious...sleep

2008-06-30T22:50:00.000-07:00

I taste a liquor never brewed (214)
by Emily Dickinson

I taste a liquor never brewed – From Tankards scooped in Pearl – Not all the Frankfort Berries Yield such an Alcohol! Inebriate of air – am I – And Debauchee of Dew – Reeling – thro' endless summer days – From inns of molten Blue – When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee Out of the Foxglove's door – When Butterflies – renounce their "drams" – I shall but drink the more! Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats – And Saints – to windows run – To see the Tippler Leaning against the – Sun!

Sabicas

2008-06-26T19:00:00.001-07:00

Ripples kept entering my brain pond today!
I tried to work, but jotted down verse in between.
I listened to flamenco. Moved my fingers against the invisible strings.
In my mind I saw my good intentions floating in a pond.
Not a clear pond,
One without a bottom perhaps?
Still waters swayed by a pebble's fist of rage.
The motion reached the shoreline.
The water will be calm again, despite the best efforts of the universe today.
I cringed when I saw I was about to be struck.
It could have been much worse.
I haven't a scratch. Just a few waves to ride out.

Lessons from things....post 67

2008-06-25T21:03:00.000-07:00

"How did I think up my drawings and my ideas for painting? Well I'd come home to my Paris studio in Rue Blomet at night, I'd go to bed, and sometimes I hadn't any supper. I saw things, and I jotted them down in a notebook. I saw shapes on the ceiling..."-JM

The spoke and ballerinas from days wake have left my body tired.
I crave sleep and dreams so sweet.
My desire of endless want, has turned my lips red, and chapped from salty remnants of sweat and dirt I don't wish to wash.
At night the smell of the grass comes through my basement window,
Here I am to breath again.
Soft breaths cool my chest. My body weeps no more on this day.
Something went right, something feels good deep within.
I feel like I am on the bench at temple.
The man that sits next to me recites the dharma, and drifts off to sleep on his Sunday morning. I am the silent observer of this,
And I am the Sunday morning.
I am the slumber.
I am the embodiment of that.
Can you feel the embrace of this?

Questions aren't coming. I don't have any. The only perplexity is the imprint on the pillow.
Will the gravity of night's last kiss take hold, and fill me enough to be alone?
I unfurl.

Carpe Diem!!!

2008-06-24T13:06:00.000-07:00

Ok.... So I went to Trade Up music on Alberta to fiddle around after my appointment 'cus I needed to feel good. Anyways, played with the electrics (not really), went upstairs to the acoustics, sat and plucked. Plugged in one, that was fun. Looked over the cases. Caressed a couple accordions. Sat with this 159 dollar used Olympia, pretty acoustic/electric. Gray haired dude, with Hawaiian flowered BB King, shirt enters my space...I say, "hey what do you think of this one." He turns and says "I don't know let me hear it." So I strum some stuff, he says, its ok. Let me see. The necks a little outta whack," he checks the action, plays really good, says, "let's try another." So we picked up something worth twice as much (his idea) as the black, Olympia with built in tuner, and mismatched pickguard (selling point for me) but we found an Epiphone, passive electric/acoustic, beautiful good price, $179. Great tone. I like the action, the cutaway. It was sweet. He left after some encouraging words of wisdom. His name was, Bruce. Said he knew someone with my name. "...And to take care, and wished everyday could be as good as this one." Anyways...The beautiful part was Bruce said it was important that I invested wisely, but also, fell in love with the guitar I chose. So I came home to look at the two I already have, and, I don't love them, not in that way. I love the first one. My first I bought at the pawn shop in Fresburg with my buddy June (and she doesn't speak to me ever since I walked out on that job.). It's broken now, put away with strings too tight broke the neck.... And the other, well Jake gave me for Christmas our first year living together, so it's real special, but I don't feel bad trading in the one he gave me, 'cus knowing Jake, he'll be happy if I'm happy, and playing the guitar (besides Jake is in Costa Rica zipping through the jungles like a monkey). So...yeah, Thanks Jake! I mean really, I cheated on the guitars I have by going to the music store...I fell in love with that Epiphone. I'm going to go get it and bring it home and make it mine. -R

Ardha Matsyendrasana

2008-06-24T07:30:00.000-07:00

I'm awake. I have on a favorite outfit. My friend told me never to say the word outfit. Torn-Blue jeans; Black-T. Phone's charging. So am I.
I have a tickle in my throat. Is it the soymilk? I have to go to the doctor again. Then more bike riding today. Weather is supposed to be good. I had the best time at the thrift store yesterday. How appropriate for me. I find great mementos second-hand. I found a little silver statue of Don Quijote, man from La Mancha. It stands four inches tall at most.
I road home with a backpack full of goods.
8 records.
2 cd's.
Opened the window, let music out, fresh air in.
Dinner with b.
Tofurky and beer in my belly.
It was a simple, good, birthday.

Here's todays astrological outlook:

General Daily Horoscope for everyone...When the Moon is in Pisces the Fish, we are more sensitive to feelings that swirl around us like water. We could even imagine that we are all swimming in the same ocean, sharing the sea that flows similarly through each one of us. This vision of oneness that is often reserved for poets and mystics is available today to anyone who has an open mind. Still, the Sun's alignment with austere Saturn reminds us that our boundaries are necessary for survival.

Calling myself into the grass, dirt pushes into my nose, reminds me of what is real

2008-06-22T17:41:00.000-07:00

Push me into oblivion. I was not there before....

The gray skies above me were shadows of what could be. I heard you cry. You heard mine. I was looking. I came. I saw. Regret. Red turned into something other. Paint drizzles alike. Pushed me there. They pushed me to look. Posters faded on poles staples tore the edges.
The images hardly recognizable after the weather had come.

Marbles thrown all about....
There are those like minded who come to you in the night. They meet you in out of the way places longing to explore you. Like a shooting star they look to see if you chase. When you follow...they slow down just enough to let you grab hold. When you ask, "what next?" They giggle, shy away, play chase me once more. The chase, the race, no winner. Just the players and the stage. Longing looks. Fiery gazes.
Bob Dylan lyrics.
Souls emerge ripped like paper. The skin catches on fire and puts it out with tears. The wind whispers scents of her. was she ever there? What was that in the palm of your hand? Was that all there was to hold onto? A Halloween costume? A stolen bag of candy?

Was that a bridge between the houses of Frida and Diego? A bridge of trust? Why was it so small?

Days were easiest walking to and from the parking lot alone. Just done writing an article on the state of the world vs. the state of me. I was editor-in-chief. Summer's drink has brought on tomorrow. This is my glimpse, a telescope, an eye on thirty
with the moon blocking my view.

A gift on an absurd day

2008-06-22T16:40:00.001-07:00

New favorite poet.......

The Archipelago Of Kisses

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on trees, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now what? Don't invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious
and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whiskey.
It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,
but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth. You must
nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it
illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special beach. Place it on the tongue's pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The
intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy

Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice
the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive
insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt
in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds
of women—those you write poems about

and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you
a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.
My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction

lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M.,
whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked
within the confines of my character, cast

as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan
of your dark side. We don't have a past so much
as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power

never put to good use. What we had together
makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught
one another like colds, and desire was merely

a symptom that could be treated with soup
and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now,
I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy,

as if I invented it, but I'm still not immune
to your waterfall scent, still haven't developed
antibodies for your smile. I don't know how long

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it.
I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out travels faster
than the luminescence of one that's just been lit,
but I do know that all our huffing and puffing

into each other's ears—as if the brain was a trick
birthday candle—didn't make the silence
any easier to navigate. I'm sorry all the kisses

I scrawled on your neck were written
in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you
so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you'd press
your face against the porthole of my submarine.
I'm sorry this poem has taken thirteen years

to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding
off the shoulder blade's precipice and joyriding
over flesh, we'd put our hands away like chocolate

to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy
of each other's eyelashes, translated a paragraph
from the volumes of what couldn't be said.

Jeffrey McDaniel

Crumbs

2008-06-17T19:00:00.000-07:00

Life is full of crumbs.

Sifting though the blankets I find remnants of me.

Channels whiz by and I see moments of reality.

I don't want to have my 15 minutes of fame.

I want my name emblazened on a book,

with pages full of me.

I want my name to be famous.

I want a lifetime of infamy.

Passion Underfoot Onward Still

2008-06-15T18:13:00.000-07:00

I feel like a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition.
Or of that same tribe.
In my mind
I'm an explorer, running along shore whilst the other men sail slowly downstream.
I walk with big steps in my moccasins that are wearing thin.
I stride through tall grass above my waist line.
At sunset the men from the boat have gone ashore to set up camp, and supper awaits.
The fire roars, invitations to sit near accepted, it burns my face when I sit close, but it is too good to turn away. It warms me to the core from a long days wary walk.
I hold my head down and absorb smoke, blessings, and a fullness I haven't felt in awhile.
The moon is full overhead and the blanket of stars comforts me back to small, lulling me to slumber under.
I tuck in, my bedding surrounds my tired soul, bones and still I become.
There is more than a days journey ahead. Desire pushes us onward. The ocean we will reach, and it will greet us with open arms, accepting us, because we knew it was there.
We only had to cross an eternity's worth of land, dried grasses, muddy waters, and dirt , using only our hearts as a compass to find it.

goofy inspired sun tacos

2008-06-08T13:30:00.000-07:00

In my crispy shell I shall pile on a days worth of nothingness.
I sprinkle a dash of noodling, a smidgen of sipping, a taste of lime, lingering on my lingua.
I melt a colorful amount of queso de loveliness onto my sunshine tastiness awaiting my crunch. Yum yum time for lunch.

Fingers are sore

2008-06-05T19:50:00.000-07:00

Yeah so playing my guitar all day and loving it. Didn't wanna eat or nothing. And one of the most inspirational musicians to me right now is this woman. I happen to think she is one of the best-best bitches in rock n' roll right now and if you don't see that you're blind. Amen.

Procrastination, confession, messin'

2008-06-04T19:46:00.000-07:00

Tired, worn out, pooped.
Thirsty, sheisty, feigning fast.
Lost, bewildered and lazy.
Melancholy, yet content.
Mad, broke, hungry, loss of appetite, bloated.
Lack luster, brewed out-drunken no more.
Found my heart in a glass jar on the floor.
Shoe box runneth over with my bills to pay. I think they will again be late. Gas up more.
Bike helmets aren't cheap but neither are ambulances.
I need a check up. I'm anxious for a sunny day.
Can't lay in the grass when its raining.
Beer can dented, tooth broken. Mn m's stale. Bed a mess. Coffee's needin' to be ground.
Gotta make Tofurky sandwich for lunch and get my head focused for wheels on the ground.
I'm explaining all these things because I'm really okay. Thankful, fine, had a great day!

Medicine ball

2008-06-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5ddbdQtQ8I

10 Hours

2008-06-01T21:30:00.000-07:00

In ten hours I will clock into work....
I think of this with an ounce of hurt. Why must the week start with such anti-bliss? I work to live, to eat, to buy gas. I don't live for work. I am a dreamer. I dream of days filled with sun shining on my face and on the top of my head. The sun will eat the evidence of my pale confines. The sounds of song pull me through the week. The singer is a siren who promises weekends filled with pleasure. I crash upon the rocks every time. Tonight I write to express this desire of the things to come. Oh the audaucity of hope! I hope to shed some of this congestion and insecurity. My snot filled tissue is remnants of what was. I drink to futures. Salud!

cup's bottom swig

2008-05-28T06:34:00.000-07:00

Delicious renditions of swirling colors and lights delight.
Hailing winds of song prevail in the mornings sight.
Wishing stars to move through my summer moods, solstice to appear, nights laying beneath the blanket of, sparkles and flesh.
A conundrum, a must, a do, a want.
Hallelujah for answers and unexpectedness.

Gray

2008-05-26T00:11:00.000-07:00

The sun barely shone through the window this morning. My craving for coffee was great. I listened and thought long. I reached into the innermosts for somehow to express what is in my head right now. What to say? What to say? I think what I want to say is that we all have been hurt. What we do with the hurt makes us or breaks us. Some of us become teachers, learning from our sadness, and caring the weight and being stronger for it. Others wear the hurt like a suit of armor and never take it off again. My armor is being shed. I feel good again.

Inside and Out

2008-05-11T10:27:00.000-07:00

Today is mother's day. I don't have to look at the calendar to know it. I can feel it hanging overhead. I am several hundred miles north of my mother. I can probably guess what she did this morning. I can see her saunter down the hallway, getting up for something from the kitchen despite her ailments. She's probably enjoying warmer weather than I, and she might have stepped outside for a smoke and watched the dogs saunter about as well. I sent her a card. It was put out with the post on Thursday. I'm sure it didn't make it on time. The card I picked up at the bookstore. It was a simple card. On the outside of the card, a black and white photo of woman's hands holding an array of buttons. The inside of the card was sappy, I liked it. "She taught me how to love the simple things....."...something to that affect. And I do enjoy the simple things. Coffee on Sundays, sleeping in, lounging, updating this blog, thinking about a corresponding photo for this post. I played with a large mason jar of buttons my mom had when I was a kid. It was one of my favorite past times as she sat sewing. I'm happy to have found that card to remind me of these things.

la luna

2008-05-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

Little rant, green eggs and ham

2008-05-06T18:40:00.000-07:00

Weird On a Plate

"I did not move for furry cakes.
I did not move for ham bakes.
I did not move for a straight cloak. I did move to find hope.
I say, is that weird on my plate?
I didn't order this!
You can't make me taste it! I will never like it. It looks funny, it walks funny, it looks happy. It looks mildly great.
Well fine. I will just try a little. I will eat it with some toast. Okay just a bite. Don't push me. Here it goes.
Mm, hmm, ah...hum. Yes, yes! Yes I declare. I moved here for this. I ordered this! This tastes good. It feels right. Right as rain. Right down to my soul. I embrace this face. This marvelous taste!
Mmmm, mmmm, mmm. May I have another plate? Give me some more weird on a plate!"

About the nature of women

2008-05-04T22:11:00.000-07:00

I was trying to think of something terribly witty to say about the nature of women. But I don't have the words. Mostly I utter the word "crazy". So I searched for inspiration. Here are a few quotes that did it for me. They are all good, but the last one makes me smile.

"The reason novelists nearly always fail in depicting women when they make them act, is that they let them do what they have observed some woman has done at some time or another. And that is where they make a mistake; for a woman will never do again what has been done before." - Mark Twain

“How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.” -Oscar Wilde

“Give a woman an inch and she thinks she's a ruler” -Unknown

"A woman can say more in a sigh than a man can say in a sermon." ~Arnold Haultain

....The two women exchanged the kind of glance women use when no knife is handy. ~Ellery Queen

"Next to the wound, what women make best is the bandage." ~Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly

"A pessimist is a man who thinks all women are bad. An optimist is a man who hopes they are." ~Chauncey Mitchell Depew

"The rarest thing in the world is a woman who is pleased with photographs of herself." ~Elizabeth Metcalf

"There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women." ~Madeleine K. Albright

"A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction." ~Oscar Wilde

"There's something luxurious about having a girl light your cigarette. In fact, I got married once on account of that". ~Harold Robbins

"Women keep a special corner of their hearts for sins they have never committed." ~Cornelia Otis Skinner

2008-05-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

Bye and Bye by Bob Dylan

Bye and bye, I'm breathin' a lover's sigh I'm sittin' on my watch so I can be on time I'm singin' love's praises with sugar-coated rhyme Bye and bye, on you I'm casting my eye I'm paintin' the town - swinging my partner around I know who I can depend on, I know who to trust I'm watchin' the roads, I'm studying the dust I'm paintin' the town, making my last go-round Well, I'm scufflin' and I'm shufflin' and I'm walkin' on briars I'm not even acquainted with my own desires I'm rollin' slow - I'm doing all I know I'm tellin' myself I found true happiness That I've still got a dream that hasn't been repossessed I'm rollin' slow, goin' where the wild roses grow Well the future for me is already a thing of the past You were my first love and you will be my last Papa gone mad, mamma, she's feeling sad I'm gonna baptize you in fire so you can sin no more I'm gonna establish my rule through civil war Gonna make you see just how loyal and true a man can be

I want cheetos

2008-05-02T22:00:00.000-07:00

See, I was a vegan for about three or four years. When my significant other and I had a tiff I would run to the comfort of cheese. I have been eating without the vegan monkey on my back since late September '07 and tonight I looked to my pantry for some Cheetos. But there aren't any so instead I sit here and listen to George Lopez and drink my Mirror Pond and consider the thought of running tomorrow morning before the sun comes up, but instead I will rest my poor knees and be happy that I can see a Saturday and relax. Maybe low-impact yoga would be better? Gotta go, remembered I have a crunch bar in my backpack!