umm, wait.

i know something is wrong. i don't know what it is, only that it is happening. now. i wish you could talk to me. i wish you would just tell me what problem exists. come on. tell me. what is so damn hard about sitting down, looking me in the eye and telling me what is bothering you? i mean really, what is the big "emergency" you are dealing with today? you're clearly indicating that something is amiss, but you just sit there "indicating" without divulging any further information or asking for help. let me guess, it's a problem at work. your internet won't work or Jane belittled you in front of the freelancer again. or maybe it's your recumbent bicycle. jesus christ, will you just buckle down and buy a car already, or at least a bike that people can see you riding? i swear to god, if this is another issue with the trainer at the gym i'm going to drive off a cliff. you need to tell him, once and for all, that his balls in your face do not motivate you to do more crunches. do they? wait, is that the emergency? you're warning me that you want your trainer's balls in your face more often? that you actually like the rising and falling of your head into the general direction of his genitalia? wow, i hadn't thought about that. i hadn't considered that this could be the emergency. 

i agree, that is one hell of an emergency.

ok. good.



it is one of those nights. maybe you know what i'm talking about. i guess it doesn't matter one way or the other. this is one of those nights. the lights are out, the computer is on and it is quiet.

but not really that quiet.

there is the light drone of the fan the upstairs neighbor has placed on the floor of his unit. the refrigerator has just come to life, so there is that sound. an air conditioning unit, 3 houses up the street is laboring to cool a small bedroom on a night when the windows should be open. a couple walking outside my window is discussing the quality of a Beatles cover band. it was agreed that they do a pretty good job.

there are hundreds of cars combusting down the freeway. miles away, but not the sound.

the modem lights are oscillating. they are silent, but the motion is making me think of chimes, or ice cracking on trees after a mid-january storm.

and then there is my mind, a mind that Alan Michael Parker wrote . . .

Oh, how i hate my mind,
all those memories
that have invented their own memories.

except i'm not thinking about what happened, but what might.

ok. good.


little memories

it isn't complicated. there are many things that trigger the synapses. that bring the experiences and moments of your life back into your present consciousness. many people just let them come, wash over and flow away. others hold on to them for a long time, clutch them close, caress them and even cry all over them. the best of us know just what they mean. we put the memories in their proper place and grab them when necessary. the most amazing of us actually learn from these moments and turn them into work that instructs and inspires others. i don't know what will happen yet with mine. lets hope for something. ok. good.

little memories, marching on
your little feet, working the machine
will it spin, will it soar
my little dream, working the machine

gorillaz_empire ants_featuring little dragon



i remember when it all happened, and the way that it all came together so seamlessly, how could it have not been right? i was doing my usual tour of the neighborhood, looking for that woman who shared all my interests, but knowing that only one or possibly two might actually be met.

there was an open garage so of course i walked right in, and walked right into my destiny and reason for living. sure, so there was a t-square, so she liked design or architecture, or at least some form of technical drawing. we all know how hot that is. but then my eyes kept scanning and my mind started speeding and my fingers started tapping against each other evil villain style as the whole scene went through the cornea over the retina and into the brain.

a book on ninjas, and a guide to karate shared the shelf with the best book ever written: "snakes, the keeper and the kept." a global best seller for 173 weeks, it was rumored to be on Liberace's bedside table on the night of his death, and served as the white paper for the korean armistice agreement. I think we can all see that this woman, the owner of these books, could seriously make anyone happy.

points were scored of course with the hot bike magazine and stooge poster, but it wasn't until my eye carefully spied paul stamets' famed guide to psilocybe mushrooms that i realized that love was possible between two humans.

i continued to stare at this array of all the things i loved, basically looking into the heart of the woman i knew i would cherish for the rest of my life. and even when she finally came to me and introduced herself, showering my eyes with the most powerful mace available outside of law enforcement and caressing my kneecaps with a steel bar that can only be described as the embodiment of devotion and compassion, i still didn't believe it could be true. sometimes love finds you just when you least expect it. at least, that is what they say.

that was a special day.



hi. i have this thing that i do every time i fly. i look at and listen to the flight attendants when they do their security machinations before takeoff. i call them machinations, because many times it feels just like that. the entire process often has the air of "you know how to buckle, read and breathe and put on the mask before others and top off the air in the life jacket with these phallic tubes. and i know that you know how to do all those things, which is why i fake put on the oxygen mask because i don't want those stinking elastic bands getting caught in my hair, as i'm meeting my philadelphia affair at the airport marriott when we land."

however, i still give the flight attendants my full attention. it is one of my flight rituals. we'll talk about why the tray-table latch needs to be perfectly vertical another time (let's just say it improves aerodynamics.) For me, it makes that three minutes more bearable. i'd rather stare at them and hear the same information over and over again than see them up there going through the motions to a plane full of people utterly ignoring them.

yesterday, i was looking at the 50-something male flight attendant as he gave the demonstrations. we were 5 rows from each other, but he saw me looking at him. we held a gaze several times, and i could see that he understood that i was paying attention. all around, my fellow passengers were reading, checking messages (umm, excuse me, but the forward doors are closed), chatting with seat mates or trying to open the obsolete ashtrays that have either been glued or chewing-gummed shut. the briefing ended and he slowly wrapped up this faux seatbelt, oxygen mask and folded the safety card. as he walked past me to his station at the rear of the aircraft, he reached out and patted me on the shoulder 3 times. pat pat pat.

maybe he was glad that someone gave him some respect. perhaps he thought i was a first time flyer and took in every word so as to survive our impending doom. maybe he wanted me at the airport marriott, i don't know.

we took off and he served me the sprite i asked for.



how are you

hello. it has been some time. i have missed you. there are many things that i want to say to you. i will write you a note on a postcard. then i will give that postcard over to the good graces of the United States Postal System. At that point, space and time are folded. the Spice is injected into magic tubes, Kyle Maclachlan rides a giant worm and shouts at people. those people blow up. the universe is at peace and it rains in the desert. sorry, i was thinking about Dune and david lynch. anyway, my postcard will arrive and you will know how i feel about you. perhaps you would like to have some of these postcards? ok. good.




When can we get together again?
Nevermind, I've lost you
How can I tell if I love you anymore

Nevermind, I know I do
Call you closer to my arms

You'll feel better when you're warm
Do you like it when you leave your house?
Do you like it when you're in a town?

That you love

Like one I live in
Like one I live in

It's my body's plan

I feel another

Will my love

Slow down

It's my body's plan

Make another telephone call
Think of you and me

talamak_toro y moi