Bug Poster




No, I'm not giving an explanation!

Someday I'm going to build something like this...




...or this

The trouble with intellectuals is that they can rationalize themselves into almost anything---regardless of right or wrong---our stubbornness toward the good is easily swayed by the delicate sophistries of the mind. However, we seldom lie about our faults and falls; for the truth is ever present in the mind, if sometimes carefully sidestepped.

"One more dime to show for my day
One more dollar and I'm on my way
When I reach those hills, boys, I'll never roam
'Cause one more dollar and I'm going home"

-Gillian Welch

Another late morning, getting off work over two hours after I'm scheduled off, groggily checking e-mail and blogs. It's a good life...dank mist at five in the morning as I sit outside in a desk chair and take ten...strange bumps and popping sounds hidden among the machines in the middle of the night, making me wonder if I am really alone...And best of all, the knowledge that I will be hitting the road again soon, that I'll be coming home.

I woke from my back-seat nap last night to the sound of gentle rain on the roof. The regular drumming against the metal car was beautiful and comforting in the nighttime fog of fatigue. I watched the droplets trickle haltingly down the glass and thought of other days when the sound of rain was heavy in my ears. Once again I have been witness to the problems that arise from people's intense insecurity...rain in a way symbolizes loneliness and isolation; and those who cannot stand alone in the rain and smile are missing a great thing indeed...

Hello

'"Oh my poor little feet,
I wonder who will put on
your shoes and stockings
for you now my dears? I'm
sure I Sha'n't be
able! I shall be a great
deal too far off to trouble
myself about you: you must
manage the best way you can---
but I must be kind to them,"
thought Alice, "or perhaps
they won't walk the way I want
to go!"'

Just how much CRACK, I wonder, did Mr. Carroll take while writing this book...?

The pleasant taste of morning coffee lingers in my mouth as Allison Krauss croons softly from the corner of my desk. Being the first time I have slept much or relaxed for about a week and a half, I am filled contentment and laziness. I think I will sit here for quite a while...

Why wait? Pencils must scratch when powerful movements plumb the secluded depths...

Gorecki wrenches my soul as I watch under the marching gray power lines, the familiar odor of Jester reminding me of James and Steve and TAC House evenings; sitting and watching through the open window that lets in the fresh winter air on this road I used to drive every day one forgotten summer, Evil Dr. Bloatus lying asleep in the truck bed behind me where he could not be seen or bothered or ticketed. Or perhaps it is not so forgotten. Looking out, I think I could wander over that forsaken field for the rest of my life; toward the sleeping mountains, under the lead sky, nursing with me the lead in my breast---a lead unbidden, unwanted; irrelevant---but familiar like the morning mist. Why must beauty be coupled with longing and pain? The truest and noblest things are always thus; so we hide amidst that which seems to be our own, conquered and frightened by this vasty expanse, so very clearly beyond the feeble, grasping fingers of the mind...

Grappling with fatigue, foggy sleep veils my eyes. Dulled is the intellect, sweeping me along the paths it chooses. As a lost soldier once said: I 'pensivate' in the prow of this crashing ship.

It's distressing to think of how seldom we look up...

After nearly a week of internet deprivation I return to the blogging world. Funny, I can't think of anything to write. I think I will put up a real post in a bit, but not right now...

Read the White Company, by A. Conan Doyle

It has been snowing all night. A dry, dusty snow that falls quick and straight, piling up against things like beach sand instead of floating down calmly and gently sticking. It started sometime between 7:00 and 9:00pm (I was napping) and has not stopped yet. It is, at present, 7 degrees; a bit of a step up from yesterday at -10. Because of getting blown and swept everywhere by the night wind, there is only about 5 or 6 inches actually on the ground, but I suspect a lot more as the day wears on and things get a little warmer. Interesting how in the cold one's world moves almost completely indoors and outside becomes a place of bleak pain. I try to go out for walks, but alas! I don't have enough fat to keep the slush pumping through my shivering veins. Ah, well; I'll be in warm weather soon, and anyway things are rather pretty through these windows at the moment.

P.S. The ice finally broke out of the springs and I have rear suspension again! Halleluiah!

Ah, I mourn for you Sebastian, so long lost to the beauty we shared. What began as a playful and innocent courtship ended in helpless, tragic fornication. I watched you, dear friend, under the tree that golden summer day, full of hope and careless joy; but time and choice have carried off the sweet Turkish smoke that rose from your lips, and with it the afternoon fountain and evening wine; flowers no longer bloom under my window; Aloysius offers no advice. My heart cries out for more hopeful times: spidery-limbed Julia and Waste Land bellowing Antoine...
And as, with Charles, my romance with Brideshead draws to close I find I cannot keep the salt drops from my eyes.

It's 5:55 in the morning and I'm supposed to be working. The store cameras all have their prying eyes directed straight at me too, but there is nothing to do. I even took out the garbage. And wiped down the counters. And did parts of the jobs they told me not to do. (Just the easy parts, so they wouldn't get mad.) So now I'm sitting here, staring vaguely at my computer screen, and drinking coffee. A cigarette would be an interesting diversion; too bad I can't leave the store. Ah! Is this a customer?

Why this elated agony?
Why such sorrowful joy?
Music will forever cause tears to flow.
Is it simply youth and emotion
Or something that delves far deeper into this pierced soul?
Man:
A being with his feet rooted in the soil of this tired earth,
His head lost in the sky,
Forever scanning the clouds.
For beauty?
Nay; belonging.

Sitting in this quiet church I contemplate the Stations.
Outside snow is gently falling:
Falling on the dirty cars, the silent Sunday streets, and my shivering heart.
Many say that happiness is a choice---
I say contentment is a choice,
Sometimes amounting to little more than acceptance
Happiness is a momentary state;
One of many states---
Most of which are to be rejoiced in.
The full scope of our humanity is worth knowing,
If sometimes vicariously.

There is a stirring in the Sacristy
Funny how I hate so much to see the silence go.
Stained-glass glows richly all around me,
Though outside the air is heavy and grey.
Light gleams softly
On the massive sculpted Stations of the Cross on the nearby walls.
A familiar desire to be alone follows in the weary footsteps of my tears.
I shudder; both at the cold, and at the music
That haunts my thoughts.
Interestingly,
The present brooding has no bearing on fortune's recent treatment.
No;
Things are well indeed.
I am neither pensive nor bothered;
Merely wandering a path of joy and sorrow,
Love and sighs;
Too full to speak with this nameless drink; this wine rare and measureless.

Playing softly now,
The organ warms up for Mass.
People on all sides,
Kneeling
Bowing heads
Or raising eyes to heaven;
If only You, Lord, love us,
All will be bearable.
Soon thoughts of barren twigs
And crusted sidewalks will give way
And I will leave my winter pain
For the agony of the Cross.

And that, dear Blogsphere, is all you will get for now

Good Morning

The comfort of the trickling morning pot
Of dark rich coffee, pretty and hot
Mingling with the smell of toast
Thick and buttery, warm from it's roast
Gilded by a rare winter sun rising
Over the frozen rim of our mountainous ring
Lying somber at the edge of sight
The earth raises it's head from a perilous night...
And now, warm like a dear old friend
I pour her down my throat again
To gurgle in my still empty frame
New life to rise from late-night pain

I am coming back to California!

I have been accepted to Brooks Institute of Photography in Santa Barbara for their Visual Communications program. Classes start in March, so I will be down a bit before then. See you all then!

Thoughts while listening to Evanescence on a foresty mountain road at night

The tortured sound of rending steel mingles with the anguished screaming of an empty, clutching soul as brutal chords rape the guitar strings. Overwhelming misery echoing in that hollow voice fills the small space inside the car. For a moment I am one with the pain and passion begins to rage. WHY? The ancient question, the ever-present starting point for self-pity that quickly leads to anger and abandonment. The needle of my speedometer dances around a careless 90mph, though the rocky cliffs on either hand are icy and heavy with snow. And those trees---those dark, evil things with their solemn branches stare coldly at me and see far too much. But I don't care. Nobody else does anyway, so why should I? There is nothing but agony and hatred and the desire the beat something to oblivion. Anything; even death, seems acceptable right now. Then, suddenly, the CD is over and the air calm once again. Sighing, I ease up on the accelerator. Soon more pleasant thoughts, and later, calm beautiful music guide me on through the rest of the night and the frustrated feelings are fled.

Only one thing in my limited life experience has the breadth of scope, the depth of emotion and the debilitating power that comes with caring for another. Odd how the brain can shut off the capacity for eating, sleeping, all sense of order. This can happen with anyone: a brother or sister that you miss; an old friend; or the bright new face of a (somewhat) faded companion...combined with sweeping passionate music and a sky that goes on forever, it is no wonder that we weep...