6:20am
Homebound...
An orange sunrise against leaning palms
Gilds my rear view mirror
The dear moon is awash
Amid a brushstroke of parchment cloud
And crying gulls
The Eagles bleat softly
From the wooden boxes
Scattered about the car
Roslyn hums peacefully
Against the grooved concrete
(She babysat Calvin though,
Not Suzie...)
A rainbow hangs ghostly
Over rusty oil rigs
And a light rain
Weeps on the windscreen
But I am too comfortable
To reach the wiper knob...

Unbelievable. The movie is rolling, Pops slipped into the video conference room and went to sleep, and I'm blogging. I'm not sure what, but something ought to be done about this, it's absolutely disgusting. I guess I'll putter around the store and pick up paper clips. Or maybe I'll clean monitors. Shit. And to think graveyard people get paid a dollar an hour more than day shift. This is one screwed-up place.

Now I've seen everything; (why do my posts seem to be invariably about work now?) the other graveyard guy for tonight---Pops, they call him---rented two Kung Fu movies, gathered a wealth of food and soda around him, and has settled down for a nice evening of enjoyment at Kinko's expense. I'm not sure whether to laugh or be angry. Of course, it's going to be great fun to sit here with him, but I don't know if my conscience will let me sleep after this... All the justifications I could make...but no; it's just wrong!

My co-worker is asleep for the third time tonight. If I were to combine the accomplishments of all the shifts I've worked since switching to nights here, I think I have done about half the work I did my first day in Ventura. This is absurd! I'm killing time to Gillian Welch and Old Crow, playing with Photoshop and Illustrator, and reading blogs. This is bad for the work ethic.

Hard weather, drivin’ slow
Buggies and the hats in town for the show
Oh darlin, the songs they played
All I got left of lovin’ me

-G. Welch

Well, hey, hey...hey, hey...

First night at Kinko's...even slower than in Washington, but I get to hang out with a Filipino Catholic who modifies X-Box's as a second job. Everyone knows Mark K. here, and because of that, everyone knows TAC. Sat around for about two hours watching a pissed-off, midlife-crisis school teacher play with 3-D programs on the Macs. It was cool.

The Dimrill Stair is an overgrown trail that leads from the East end of Ojai to a rocky outcropping overlooking the whole valley. It was so named in days of yore by tutor kids and a few of their accomplices long before most of us knew them. Well, I went up there today to retrieve a much beloved hat left behind along with a healthy (or perhaps not so healthy) dose of my sobriety one evening not so long distant. Winding my way through the bushes, I crossed the stream (which was running quite roughly) and a little way up the path came upon a very unique scene; the aging wooden steps stretched away among the crouching trees and foliage, and every one of them was a waterfall. The stream had apparently re-directed itself and chosen the abandoned stairs as its new bed. Affected by the quietude of the day and the gently falling water, I stood for a moment and took it in. Purpose reminded me of the long walk, and rolling up my jeans like a girl from the 60s I waded in. Funny, I have now on two occasions seen the rain falling up. Standing at the top of the ridge, tiny drops pelted me from below as the wind raced up the steep incline. Crisp, the wind on my face carved it into a grimace as rough clouds swept in low from the frowning hills. Sadly, the long finger of duty jabbed at me, and under the baleful stare, I bowed my head and started down.
Home is quite after the wild hillside. My thoughts wander to a face; close, but beyond reach for now...And the hat has happily returned.

In a darkened chapel
Hidden in the foothills of a lost forest
A single light flickers.
The ancient sign that
Reverence must be observed:
Our Savior is present.
A hushed voice whispers;
Out of the dim space
A place of forgiveness
A place of promises.
The flame now rising
Now falling; observing:
Chill the air,
But warm the heart.
In a quiet place
Beneath trees and sky
A chapel in the rain

Funny how rain makes the world seem so very small

On February 12th I passed the one year mark in blogging. A whole YEAR! That's crazy. I wanted to do something commemorative, but I guess I missed the chance. Ah, well

After all that has gone down since my last post I should have much to say...but sometimes things are too full for description; words defy the tortured fingertips and the sobriety of change sits heavy on the brain. So much...fighting an old truck towing a car much heavier than itself for 1500 miles...evening hilltops, old friends; familiar places and sensations, and new hope. And suddenly I am back in Southern California, once again for school, head still spinning from it all. Washed over as I always am by the beauty, the company, the sense of freedom, and the weight of the responsibility of living away from home. I stand, as I did years ago as a frightened and excited freshman, on a threshold; I am at a beginning, though I have barely gotten over the last ending...

On my last day of work I am late. About fifteen minutes---well, more like ten. I walk in to find the entire back end of the store in a shambles. The assistant manager apparently lost his mind since I saw him this morning and re-arranged/threw out/changed or eliminated EVERYTHING from the counter to the back of the building. I had seen it coming, but I had no idea...I wish my fellow operators good luck in the resultant chaos; but as for me, (I know I have said on other nights that I had nothing to do, but...), I am blogging. I was busy then. I have been wandering the store, washing counters, taking out trash, and staring vacantly at the wall since about 1:00am. It's now 5. Of all our absurdly expensive machines one [was] grinding away happily in its little corner, and the other one had an aneurysm. I feel just a wee bit superfluous so I think I'll sit outside and smoke my pipe.

I

Got

My

Hot

Pot

!

The Cowboy Junkies are an interesting mix of Gillian Welch and the Cranberries, with a little 1995 alternative sound thrown in. There're good. Especially for late-night solo sessions. I swear, as soon as the opportunity arises I'm getting off graveyard and never working it again. Days and nights bleed together, sleep is always light and distant, you are never really awake or asleep. Not quite conducive to order and all that...

These cold mornings are breathtaking sometimes. A deep and overwhelming silence surrounds my uncle's house when I return from work in the morning---everyone is still asleep, even the birds. The silence is so complete, that standing in front of his old farmhouse with its peeling paint and sagging roof, I seem to be alone in a world of ghosts. It is chilly, still and grey; heavy clouds brood overhead and everything is dead. The expectancy for Spring has begun to creep into the air, the branches, and the brown grass, but for the moment, all still sleeps. There is an odd sense of urgency all around---a calling that fills one with the desire to set out across the hills and streams...almost a searching. A motivation that whispers: now is the time...

I've decided I need a hot pot for the trip down...how else can I keep my Mate full and hot?

It's a quarter to Midnight at Kinkos, and I am bumming around, ---SHIT, A CUSTOMER--- Ah, they're gone. As I was saying, I am bumming around making pointless copies while blasting the Polyphonic Spree on my MP3 Player which is connected to the work computer's speakers (The Elevator Music switch has been found and shut OFF). Y'all really do have to listen to these guys:



They're like nothing you've heard before.

And now it's 12:23am, (I've been trying to be good and keep the machines running, you see); mind is wandering, mood shuffling listlessly, wanting the day, missing the day...still, the night is somewhat facinating---and I could never blog on the job during the day; shame on me!

By the way, Dz, where have you run off to now?! Vancouver, it sounds like...

If one reclined at the rim of the world
Gazing o'er the order there
Perched upon high where lazy smoke curled
perceiving a realm full fair

I wonder what would be his joy
Seeing how all flows from fateful Calvary
And though with all reason he might employ
The depth of the sky he cannot see

Finally coming down from there
This quiet one may think
Only Goodness to be fair
Though he daily skirts the brink

And when at last his toes do slide
He, slipping from the height;
Fear and shame can no longer hide
As loss consumes his sight

Abandoned not at that deathly place
Though he chose the very step
Which brought him to the dusty line
He sees the mighty Face

In Manhatten's desert twilight
In a death of afternoon
We stepped hand in hand down Broadway
Like the first men on the moon

-Pouges

The fine tradition of Mate in the morning has been revived! I have been drinking far too much coffee lately, and I nearly forgot how wonderful this Argentinean Tea (or whatever it is) is. Reading about Nickola Tesla, playing with my new 2.5" slick, self-powered External Hard Drive, and contemplating redesigning my blog. It time for a multitude of changes. Now, if only I had some pipe tobacco...

I went to bed at 4:open, got up at 5:45am. My eyes hurt, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, and I feel distinctly unwell. Getting up, getting out, hopeful about the day, then a frustrated woman says about her family: "Never take a job you can't resign from" as she slams things around. And her kids look on. What the FUCK!!! Why are people so miserable inside? Sometimes I look around and wonder if all hope has really died. One tries to order things in life, tries to be consistent and disciplined, but everything is working against you. And even sleep is no haven because you dream the girl you love just married a fool and left you adrift in confusion...you watch from the misty distance and call out, but she simply shrugs. But that was just a dream, and you climb out of bed and comb your hair, read about your friends and smile wryly because you are feeling that edge of anger you so greatly despise in others creeping into your unsettled soul.