Despite the soul-stabbing beauty I find here, I reminisce...

California, you have stolen much of my soul

And I will always love thee...

My first cloudy day in Portland was great. I went to Holy Rosary Catholic Church downtown, and discovered that they have 24-hour Adoration and confessions every day, twice a day! I spent about an hour there, and the priest gave me the biggest penance I have ever had. More Catholic churches should be like this! In the morning I ran across a very cool little coffee shop called 'Wired on Burnside'. (Burnside, by the way, is probably the coolest street in downtown). I talked with the owners for a while, and they said they had just recently opened shop after moving up here from the Bay Area. According to them, starting and running a coffee shop in Portland is as easy as falling off a log, which gives me hope for my dreams of barrista bliss...

Later that day I got creamed by a Businessman in a Lexus while crossing the street. Pedestrians screamed, tires wailed and I ended up, bike and all, on his hood in the middle of the street. WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING ASSHOLE!!! (The light turned yellow when I was halfway across the street, and I guess he just gunned it without looking the minute the light turned green). Oh well, I glad my leg took it and not my bike; I need that bike to get around! I must have pedaled my way through 20 miles of city streets today, but it was worth it, job prospects are getting more numerous. Needless to say, I am now very aware of streetlights...!

I'm content.

The high-schoolers in their mom's grocery-getter yelled 'FAG!' at me as I rode home on my bike after job hunting. The blonde bike-shop owner laughed at me when I walked in, and snickered again when I said I needed street tires for my mountain bike because I was going to be riding to work every day. I didn't understand why until he said, 'You're from California, huh?' I'm not sure what all this means; maybe I should get a haircut. Then again, I have never minded being thought of as the weirdo.(I think TAC is the only place where I haven't universally been thought so). But I feel the old thrill of making the best of what you have, and you know what? I have it better than most.

I'm down in a hole, I'm down in a hole, I'm down in a deep dark hole. -Gillian W.

Portland is an interesting place. 10 miles of hoofing it and poking into many odd little counter-culture stores, asking for work, and just taking in the rush and strangeness of being in a new place have left me dog tired. This is the first time I have actually lived in a large city; it's exciting and weird at the same time. I always liked wandering around in cities, especially S.F., Denver, and towns like those; Portland is cast from the same mold, so it feels new and foreign at same time as feeling very familiar. My first encounter of the day was with a very friendly black man in trendy casual/business attire on the Metro; but every time my gaze drifted even close to him he seemed to get quietly offended. Whatever. The next person I met was in a warehouse thrift-store: [he] shyly asked if I needed help with a 'dressing room'. I regarded him coldly and snatched my purchase from his mushy, lotioned fingers as he tried to fold them perfectly before he put them in the bag. There was a cantankerous old 88 year-old man up on Sandy Blvd. that hated Bush because of the war: 'War is hell, son. I lost 23 buddies in WWII. Don't vote for Bush. He killed 1100 people. Don't matter how bad a person is, if you talk to them enough, they listen.' I wish you were right about the listening, old man. But he owned an International Scout dealership, (for old restored Scouts) so I forgave him. Later, as I was drinking a soda in front of a Starbucks I picked up a paper to try to find the classifieds, and as I read it I began to be extremely irritated by the amount of gay and lesbian ads and articles in it...until I looked at the cover (which had previously gone unnoticed): Just Out. I GET it, I GET IT! I threw the paper on the ground and left it there in the dirt to ROT. Dinner with the Happy Remixer was nice; after my complaints about the homo-ness of this city, he gave me a simple proportion:
S.F.:Gays::Portland:Lesbians. So much for a girlfiend, eh Sean? On the way home the guy next to me wearing the mushroom-print shirt, carrying an Emily the Strange purse, and drawing an elaborate unicorn on his sketchpad asked for the time. I told him, and he pleasantly asked where I was from. In the course of our brief conversation he informed me he was moving to be with his 'partner' in a 'well protected' community. Good. STAY THERE. What is with this city anyways?! On the upside, the day was beautiful and sunny, full of all that Autumn glory I have missed so much for the last few years, and Gillian Welch is coming to town with Old Crow's Medicine Show, and Social D. is coming too! So life is great, and I am stoked! Now to just make some money...

A sobbing girl,
Face down,
Shoulders shaking...

Clouds, backlit by the moon.
Johnny Cash on the speakers,
Black treeline against the sky;

Whirling thoughts
A little this,
A little that.

A crying girl,
Not knowing;
Not caring...

Anymore

Sleepy...just got a text from Donny in Africa: he's sitting watching the sunset at prayer hour; I'm riding in an old truck at 1:23am headed for Portland. Funny, I bet our lives couldn't be much different at the moment!

Just when we were far enough away from Ojai we couldn't turn back the Scout crapped out. Of course. Not completely though; it was still driving, but it kept going slower and slower, and when we finally pulled into my uncle's place in Sacremento 12 hours later, we were only going about 25mph. I swear, car problems have haunted me since last Thanksgiving! (DAMN! Sacremento has the worst smell of any other city I've been in!) After 2/3rds of a day of frustrated repairs we discovered that it was a very simple problem: a mal-adjusted float in the carbureter, and we are finally driving again! Laptop tunes and broken heater (blasting full power on our legs on a 95 degree day) help to compliment the roaring, shaking, squeaking truck as the northern horizon rolls gently away under our wheels. I will welcome cooler weather, that's for sure.

Update: 2 hours later, that was not the problem. After an entire night of driving, trouble-shooting, sitting parked and frustrated, and whining about our plight, we replace the fuel filter. Thank you God! We are moving once again.

Ah, the glory of the road! Words fail to describe that feeling at the start of each new journey...your favorite music never sounded sweeter, your joy never fuller, your expectations never higher…

9:36am
Denison Grade (East Ojai)

I am going to try and keep something of a log of the trip as we head North; obviously I won't be able to post this until I get to an internet connection, but it's good to write while things are happening. So far everything has gone smoothly enough, the Scout is running good and the day is beautiful. This truck is loaded to the absolute max! It would be impossible to fit even one more backpack in here. But all our stuff is here, and we are happily on our way.

A poem you say?

I think not!

But soon, and soon, and soon enough
Though the words be harsh and rough
And the tone one of quiet gruff
Bitter? Never!
Hopeful? Forever!
To make a rhyme is forever tough...

In recent posts I have mentioned an International Scout:



well, tomorrow I go North once again, with a trusty and loyal friend:



and as before, the mode of transportation falls to his $500 dollar pile of American tough.



After many days worth of hours of plugging holes in the floor, installing a new radiator, filling rust holes in the body, rebuilding the carburetor, heads, and front and rear suspension, among many other little things, it seems finally ready to go. The road stretches before me as of old, and the tingling in the spine is back. So go check out some very Good Music, and pray for a safe trip. (Trip blogs to come...)

I just sold my (or rather, my brother's) car, and despite all I tell myself I am looking forward to, I feel a sharp sadness coming over me. It's hard to see that loyal old beater go. I spent a lot of time in that car, times when I didn't have a home, times when there was nothing but me and the car and a lonely empty road. Times when I felt as if I would never have another friend in the whole world. So many changes since graduation. Nothing has been the same for more than a week at a time; people and friends come and go, familiar places left behind, jobs lost in the sea of survival. It leaves a person with a feeling of not belonging anywhere somehow, of rattling around in a world that has no place for him. And now, looking ahead again, I wonder. What will come with passing of the miles? Where will I next rest my head? Who will see as I walk home in the rain?

J: Why do you have a QUEEN of HEARTS cigarette case?
P: (Laughs)
J: A QUEEN of HEARTS...!
P: Because...
J: No, you don't understand: QUEEN! HEARTS!
P: Right. The queen represents women in general, and hearts is for Love. These are perhaps the two most lovely and mysterious things on this earth, therefore...
J: And cigarettes? (Still skeptical)
P: Those are for coping the lovely and mysterious...!

There's something about pain...something that makes you feel like you are strong and capable; to have blood dripping from a smashed knuckle, or the burn in your arms after you have been pulling on wrench above your head while sprawled underneath some filthy car, or even the bruised-rib feeling of sleeping on the floor for way too long; these things give a sense of pride and dignity. I look at my blister-covered hands and scarred shins. My back is knotted up like an old sea-rope. My face is stubbly and all my clothes have holes in them. Yet, somehow I feel more a man than ever before. The aching brings on a wry smile, a smile that makes you want to walk tall and confidant as you face the world, surrounded by loved ones, and still somehow alone...Strange, that.

"Don't take your guns to town son, leave your guns at home Bill, don't take your guns to town." -The Man in Black

O





HELL





YEAH





!





FLOGGING MOLLY

Sitting outside on the hood of my brother's beat-down BMW under the orange glow of a streetlamp I taste the bitter-sweet smoke of a Nat Sherman Black & Gold and talk to a dear friend on the phone. It is very reminiscent of another phone call from the hood of a car not so very long ago; but then there was pain, intense pain, and the sinking feeling of real loss as our words faded, empty, lost in the boiling summer heat. This conversation, however, was comfortable, caring; a simple sharing of life, and the ease that comes from real understanding. The night air is chilly and my sock-covered toes wiggle to keep warm. The stained, rusty hood under me is comforting; reminding me that God is here, that He cares--- for this car would not still be taking me places without His mercy. Many thoughts run through my head...I complain too much. There is no real need for worry. Life always works out if you have faith; and sometimes it's strangely nice to think that in a sense you have on occasion been the 'me' in that old song, 'Me and Bobby McGee': free and homeless and down, but full of life and singing and sharing what little you do have. I crush the pretty gold butt of my cigarette on the sidewalk and hear the old graceful ballads distantly in my mind. The phone clicks softly in my ear: bedtime for all. Funny how just someone's voice can carry you through anything when you know they care...

If the earth could speak
What truths would leak
Mysteries buried deep and safe
Our minds they creak...
Our souls wander like the waif

"I am afraid." An interrupted prayer
Sitting, lying---shaking there
Upward, forcing through a pensive frown
Reason peeks out like a cat behind a chair
But says nothing. Calmly straitens her gown

"Have you nothing to say, O reason?"
I, who against thee before have committed treason?
But the stars look on
For there is no season
When chilly flowers ignore the dawn

And cryptic I am
For it is but God to Man
Not for the knowing but the doing
From all I ran, O how I ran
But it is not for my knowing; but God's doing

It occurs to me that having a particularly close friend is perhaps the very best way to learn some of the most basic and essential things in life; such as: forgiveness, patience, humility, charity. It is only when you love someone deeply that you forget yourself enough to really put them first, and the more you do this, the more you develop habits and build these virtues. Maybe that is why married couples are often so amazing and admirable: they are faced with the greatest test of their ability to live outside themselves, because they must do this every day for the rest of their lives. For me, this makes marriage and family rather terrifying, but also unspeakably beautiful: for isn't selflessness that which we as Catholics seek the most? Looking to others, but good friends in particular is essential to living a good life; I think people, and our dependence on them, is the greatest gift that God has given us.

It's 5:03 in the morning and I'll sitting here blogging. BLOGGING of all things. Why don't I just go to bed? I don't normally have an addictive personality, but somehow I must blog. (Sigh) I am such F**king perfectionist. Never content with 'almost', or 'good enough' unless I am so stupidly tired that I'm not able to care anymore...I even dreamed about perfection last night!

But I ramble...(That's what I get for staying up late)

An observation: if the world around you is too disordered, you begin to develop disorder in yourself no matter how hard you try; and this applies to environment, but also to the people you spend time with. However, too strict of order becomes strangling and disorder grows as a reaction to the sterility and inhumanities. So as with most things, there must be moderation, drifting on one side or the other depending on personality...As for myself, I am losing my mind where I am at; I don't handle chaos very well...God? Is this a test?

And now, to the sweetness of the cables/electronics/screws/dog hair-strewn floor and crusty blanket that I call my bed; Sleep take me!

I seem to go through life with an odd flip-flopping motion: for a little while I am very laid back, focused on discussion and friends, writing poetry, reading, thinking...then I get in crazy motivation mode where I work from morning light to after midnight like a fiend and get butt-loads of work done. Then slowly I burn out a bit and calm down and begin to appreciate everything that is good and lovely again. This behavior strikes me as just one more throwback from being the oldest child growing up; and the upside is that I am capable of accomplishing a lot more than a lot of people...but this can also leave me feeling very used and tired and left out. I guess everything in life has trade-offs. Right now I have just fixed two cars, got the rest of the part for the go-cart I am building, fixed up my computer, started training on web design, am in the process of learning electronics...

Death Valley, almost 600 miles, and GREAT music: Flogging Molly, The Be Good Tanya's, Dylan. LISTEN to these people, it is good for your soul. Adventure is such a nescessary part of life...like eating dinner in a cemetary

after Mass and cutting the cheese for your french bread with a rusty machete

...uh, yeah.

Blacktop Fairytale

The deep desert sky slips us by
Like the endlessness of drifting off to sleep
Humming tires and an open-window high
There are no troubles left to keep
On this flight of spirits

Sand and rocks and heat so dry
The world has taken on a loneliness content
Perfect music persuades a sigh
We pray good fortune our way be sent
On this 80mph view of adventure

Fading sun against the towering black hills
Lend an awareness of living
From the back seat a whistle trills
For now it is easy to understand giving
When you live by faith

Destinations are not always known
But the trip is for the driving
Hungry and wind-blown
The road means more than the arriving
One hand on the wheel

Cold stars in a desolate sky
As darkness falls across the valley
In our travelers a glint in the eye
Nowhere but here we wish to be
The gears give off a sweet friendly hum

So listen to the call of emptiness
Find for yourself the mud in the dry lake-bed
Remember that not all must make sense
When poets are being fed
All on a baking blacktop fairytale

Just a thought:

So enthused, so intense
Trying to straddle every fence
Often making little sense
Alone with nary a defense

Books unsteady beneath his arm
Crooked hair and glasses charm
Gasping out a lengthy yarn
Still gangly-legged from the farm

Wrapping up his world so tight
Squinting in the heady light
Sure that this is all so right
Accepting all without a fight

On he sprints from books to words
Always returning for seconds and thirds
Spoon growing cold in rotten curds
Forgetting even the friendly birds

And now so tired, thudding fall
Trudging down the classroom hall
The liquor leaves an unhealthy pall
Bangs his head against the wall

At last gazing at ceiling bare
A taped-off smoke-detector stare
Dawning creeps stealthy through the air
'Not yet. No. Not there.'

Ash flies on the breeze of a morning new
Sprinkled with diamond drops of dew
Withdrawn now among the few
Beginning to see what he has to do

Forgotten books, coffee cold
No more running to teachers old
Quiet, but now in queries bold
Resting only in the Lord, I'm told...