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.

something

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

remember

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.

listen

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.

ok.

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.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/adamcohn249

ok.

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
Timer
Will my love
Slow down

It's my body's plan

Make another telephone call
Think of you and me

talamak_toro y moi

thoughts

i've thought about you. here, in the water, with the constant fizzing of carbon filled oxygen pumping into my crystalline chamber driving me slowly into a state or insanity, or deliciousness. that's right. i understand what is going on and i know that i am delicious. hell, i'm scrumptious, and that word isn't even used much anymore, so i'm wise and well-read also. damn. maybe you'd like to to put me in a bisque. what the hell is a bisque? yes, we all know you are very fancy and cultured, but it's cream and seafood. people in new england call it a chowder, but i guess there is someone out there right now saying, "what the fuck is a chowder?" i'm sure that one of you will smother me in butter. smother. maybe it's the hunter instinct in your species to feel as if you've killed your meal, but i've never understood the allure of food that is smothered in a sauce or with cheese. smothering means killing. raise your fork to the sky and grunt and get it over with. whatever you do, try to eat me at a local restaurant. don't cheapen our relationship by going to red lobster. you're only going there with the hopes that they'll open an olive garden next year. that is so wrong. ok. good.

reminder

a friend brought this paragraph back to me . . . from the diary. ok.

"we're all alive, but we don't know why or what for; we're all searching for happiness; we're all leading lives that are different and yet the same. we three have been raised in good families, we have the opportunity to get an education and make something of ourselves. we have many reasons to hope for great happiness, but . . . we have to earn it. and that's something you can't achieve by taking the easy way out. earning happiness means doing good and working, not speculating and being lazy. laziness may look inviting, but only work give you true satisfaction."

hello.

it has been some time since i have poured it all out on here. there are many reasons for this, and i'm not going to go into all of them now. i think the winter of 2008-2009 may have been the most miserable time in my life. i learned a lot about life, a lot about love and a lot about friendship. i spent a lot of time thinking about honesty. most of this came in the form of openness in relationships, and lessons about what happens when this is not the case.

right now, i'm in a bedroom in my parents finished basement. my two kids are asleep on a sofa bed around the corner, and i'm finishing my third glass of champagne. it's after 1pm and the cringing over Dick Clark's verbal delivery, or disgust for Ryan Seacrest's canned excitement, or urge to buy Nivea Brand Products has faded away and it is just me, my brain, the laptop and the beginning of 2010.

this beginning feels nice though.

imagine that you are walking in some impossibly pristine meadow, and it is late. it is this time, and the blue moon forecasted has actually happened and you are walking up a slow rise to the crest of a hill. to those who know what the hell i am talking about, it is Valley Forge Park pristine. at the crest, the rest of the hill, the valley, the forest and in the far distance, the city awaits. this is what is happening now. this is what is in-store for 2010. peace, calm, beauty and if wanted, the lights.

at least, this is what i want.

to those who know, to those who know me, i love you.

ok. good.

well, umm . . .

hello.

_ hello.

how are things going? i only ask because it has been some time since we have spoken, and i imagined in my mind that there were some things that may be going. that is to say, events in your life perhaps have moved to a place where they were not at the moment of our last conversation.

_ you are correct. things have happened to me since we last spoke.

and . . .?

_ i am debating whether i will tell you about them. i have serious doubts that you even remember who i am, and even more serious doubts that you remember who you are. these doubts then create additional mistrust that you will retain the information that you are asking me to impart at this moment.

so . . . hmm. i love you and can't stop thinking about you. does this help?

_ of course. i've been involved in several professions since our last meeting. i have several occupations and interests. they are, in no particular order . . .

1. a staff singer at a college radio station in north andover massachusetts. i sing station break call letters, promotions for visiting musicians, class schedule changes and announcements for ice cream socials, biology seminars and hoagie sale fundraisers.

2. mattress sale sign holder.

3. waterer of plants in corporate office park spaces.

4. constructor of white and kraft paper bags. specifically, the 25# shorty super strength beer bag.

5. Donny Osmond. just to be clear. i am not working for Donny Osmond. i am Donny Osmond. i thought that it was time that you know this.

thank you for answering my question. i feel that i have a better grasp of who you are, what you are doing and what you are capable of achieving. your response has certainly fulfilled the desire of my query "how are things going?" now i know. thank you. also, i don't really love you. i am sorry for tricking you in that way.

_you're welcome. and i know you don't love me. i just like talking about myself.

ok. good.

move on.

when i took this photo, i wasn't really sure that there was anything else to say. i am always looking for textures. i'm looking for textures that tell different stories at different distances. form is different at 2 feet and 2000 feet. remember that magazine, "world" by national geographic i think. there was a feature in the back called "what in the world?" that showed a close-up of some animal or natural phenomena, and the following issue would reveal the answer.

in some ways, this photo is the fountainhead. it is howard roark vs peter keating. it is the answer to every colonial revival house in america with fake plastic shutters next to windows with fake mullions. it is the NAPA autoparts car with a hat on top of the cab. A HAT ON TOP OF THE CAB. it is a laptop computer with music player buttons as part of the hardware.

it is wheel of fortune continuing as a game show.

ok. good.

i mean, really. really?

hello. i have a small problem with something that you did last night. the funny thing about it is, we've talked about it many times, and nothing changes. i'm tempted to ask you "how many times have we talked about operating the AN/PDR 65 while the radars are in operation?" but i know that i'll get the same answer i always get. "i don't know" or "three million times." i'm not even asking you to stop operation of the GS/FU 75, or your personal favorite, the AN/PDR 64 (i'll never understand why you have not upgraded to the AN/PDR 65 permanently, it is far superior to the 64.) yes, yes, yes, i know the 65 has one small hang-up. you can't operate it when the radars are in operation. but really, how often are the radars in operation? certainly not enough to warrant an unauthorized operation of the AN/PDR 65. a little patience is really all that is required.

anyway, moving on. i hope you are well, and that we'll see you at thanksgiving this year. grandmother will be baking up a storm as usual. ok. good.

and . . . action

i was riding the train to boston from newburyport massachusetts. on a friday night. i barely made it in time and forgot to bring anything to read. the blackberry was on 2 bars of battery life and i needed to make some calls later. so i put it in my pocket and stared out at the tail end of the day that was receding behind the trees made evil due to lack of leaves. the conductor sat diagonally from me with a copy of the Herald and pen for the crossword. he kept getting up to call the stations and i desperately wanted to fill in some answers. rowley, ipswich passed, and i was getting bored. we came to hamilton and everything changed.

a woman got on and sat where the conductor had previously been. she was about 45 or 50 years old, looking a bit tired and haggard. she wore some obscure brand of athletic jumpsuit that had half-gloves at the end of the sleeves. it was navy blue with neon green stripes and accents. she wore beat canvas tretorn sneakers with a pink logo. her auburn hair was tied in the back of her head in some sort of victorian bun. what happened next was nothing less than mezmerizing.

it was another 30 minutes to boston. in that time, she literally put on her face. we've all heard that phrase "i need to put my face on." or "face that she keeps in the jar by the door, who is it for?" this woman unrolled a tool kit of mascara, eyeliners, powders, wrinkle creams and lipsticks went to town on her face for 30 minutes. she attacked it. in between applications she sent text messages, took phone calls and adjusted her sports bra. she explained to her friend that "steve" had called at the last minute and asked her to the celtics game. this woman threw on a body-tight track suit, beat up tretorns and ran out the door to meet steve, knowing full well she would have 30 minutes to apply her mask before reaching north station and the famed boston garden. there, she would meet steve, who would spend the next 2-3 hours staring at 10 men run the court, while the woman in the mask sat next to him.

i really became attached to this woman, and her process. i started out stealing looks at her via the reflection in my window, but near the end, i was flat-out staring at her. i don't think she ever even saw me, her eyes boring into her hand-mirror the entire time. holding it at different angles and making conversational expressions into it. i believe she covered every known emotion with her face to make sure that her makeup would withstand any reaction. and it did.

we reached north station and i walked out of the train behind her. i really wanted to tap her on the shoulder and wish her good luck. good luck with steve. knock him dead.

but i didn't. ok.

perception

i heard a fascinating conversation on NPR a few days ago regarding the need for religion. the main point stated that religion was created to explain things humans couldn't understand. we now understand more, so the need for religion to provide explanations has expired. of course, this does not address faith. you can still have that, if you like. ok.

call me

hello. my name is 1977, and i miss you. it has been some time since we have spoken. perhaps you have forgotten me, or at least forgotten my number. maybe you've moved on to another year, one that has different numbers, larger numbers or prime numbers. 1753, there is a good year, with prime numbers, ahhh, 1753. sorry, i digress. anyway, 1977 here is saying that i would love to hear from you. just use this handy device to look up my number. i think it is still in there. ok.

happy birthday

this may be the most perfect combination of items i have ever had the chance to witness. as you can see, it is a mangled birthday cake sitting on what looks like a puddle of urine, and a pile of dog shit. think about the messages being sent here. an image of sweetness and fun times and laughter and presents and the surprise on the office manager's face when we presented the last cake in the market basket bakery case to her, combined with a pile of dog shit. a pile. i love the way that this is described. it isn't a mound or a collection. it isn't just "dog shit." it's too small to be a heap and too large to be "a touch." it is a pile. a pile of dog shit.

so, here we are. happy birthday to anyone who wants a half-eaten birthday cake sitting in a puddle of urine next to a pile of dog shit.

wait a minute. i just had a thought. what if this cake was for a dog. a dog's birthday. this cake was presented to a dog in honor of it's birthday. and what did that dog do? it was so excited it squatted down and began devouring that cake. and in that excitement, the dog took a piss and laid down that pile.

i think i like this vision better. this is what happened.

ok. good.

when we are afraid

a few weeks ago, i was in columbus OH. near columbus, in Dayton, is the Museum of the United States Air Force. I did not know this, but was glad to find it out, as i had 2 kids to entertain for the day and this sort of thing is something they would enjoy. the museum is comprised of 3 massive hangars that contain military aircraft from 1918 to the present. a lot of scary material was on display, neutron and atom bombs, ballistic missles, and every type of fighter jet, bomber and combat craft created by the military powers of the world. the technology and the ingenuity and the overall design excellence was impressive, but as we continued to make our way through the hundreds of aircraft on display, one thought dominated me.

this is what happens when we are afraid. the motivational power of fear created some of the most advanced design and technology ever conceived. this is how humans work though. we don't bring our own bag to the grocery store because we are hopeful of getting a 5 cent credit, but i'm sure we'd bring them if we were afraid of getting charged 20 cents per bag. these theories about the power of fear are nothing new in psychological circles, but being in the presence of those planes, i felt their force. ok. good.

the situation

this might just sum it all up. ok. good. 

if you are interested . . .

there some things that people say. some of those things are so formulaic that they have lost their meaning. there are some things that people want to say, but just don't understand how easy it should be to do so. i made posters of those things and here are a few pictures. not shown is the version that says "hi. let's be friends. ok." the ink is same as "hi. how are you doing. good." the posters are 26 x 40" and are silk-screened. not hand-pulled however, so the ink is less thick but has a cleaner finish. if you want one, they are $50. that includes USPS shipping in the US. you can email me at adamcohn249@gmail.com and we'll do a paypal thing. that is about as advanced as my ecom strategy is at this point. thanks for your interest. ok. good.