Just Ducky

Yesterday I'm tooling down Sacramento (which turns into Humbolt) which cuts through Humbolt Park and see a mother duck and about eight little ducklings at the curb of the road, looking to waddle across a four lane street. I'm thinking of metal meeting flesh with blood and feathers everywhere. (Would one of my fierce tribe gladly mow down a family of ducks just for kicks? I shudder at the thought). I come to a screeching halt, (luckily no car behind me), put my hazard lights on, exit the car, and proceed to send the whole crew scurrying back into the park towards a little gurgling stream. I get back in my car and dodge back into a flurry of traffic. I'm now on the road thinking (ala Holden Caulfield), "who is going to look out for the ducks?" It seems like a silly, naive, question, and at the same time, I'm thinking it's the only question worth pondering. Of course, I don't rightly know the answer. I just hope that Mother Duck is on the ball. They all may live a long, ducky life, or come to a horribly gruesome end. And is it only hazard or chance that calls the tune? That would be my tentative surmise. It would be nice to think that someone, or something is looking out for them, that there's some balance or justice and that little family of ducks will make it to do what ducks do, but who can say that's the full story? There's a doubt that creeps into the frame. Anything can happen and probably will. That's the reality...this is the land of a million authors.

The Variability of a Life

The difference between hope and despair is a million little gradations or increments or variables...wind speed x solar radiance x coffee beans + oz. of soy milk + hours of sleep - memorable nightmares - hopeless news stories x emotional turmoil = sunny or dumps. Today I'm leaning sunny. It just works out that way. If it ain't one thing, it's another and another, and well, that's how you brew up an existence. So today the alchemy came out just right. It could change, cool off, curdle, whatever. But when you're on that sunny wave, it's best to just ride it until it stops or you fall off...

Burn

An unsettled, fitful sleep in an anonymous room in an anonymous part of town in Atlanta, Georgia. The only character is "corporate." I too feel anonymous. I'm less a person than a function on this trip. A long, marathon day today. How to make this less deadening? Fuel myself up on coffee and adrenaline. Turn on the sunniness. This probably is a zero-sum game. Even the sun up in the sky will eventually burn out. I think my time clock is ticking at a quicker tempo. There's only so much you can summon, finally you can't summon anymore. Better to "burn out than fade away?" I think it's basically the same damn thing.

The Betrayed

I'm living in Vonnegut's short story, (I think it's called) "Who Am I Today?" Lately, I seem to be clinging to my identity like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. I wonder why I cling so hard. I'm on the road to Atlanta today. I go places I don't really want to go to, I do things I don't really want to do. Whose life exactly am I living? Oh yes, it must be mine, there's no one else I can pass this off onto. So the struggle is to be present even where and when I don't want to be present. Maybe it's the "wanting and not wanting" that I must stifle. Maybe not. If these are the things I do, this must be what I do. Do I choose what I do, or does what I do chose me? Is there anything I must do? So, I will play the role of the happy, engaged, fully-rounded, human being. I wonder if anyone will notice I'm going through the motions? So I pretend I care about things I don't really care about. Is it any different for the others? Who exactly am I betraying here?

The Whole Thing

Here's a line: "if you knew me, like I knew me, you wouldn't want to know me." I've been middling, muddling about...lately I'm suspecting that my search for "enlightenment," misses the point. What is the point? Beats me. This idea that there are burning questions, leading to burning answers, just seems so "burned out." I've always been sort of attracted to some kind of mystical state of transcendance. But really isn't that just another attractive "dead end?" What if we need to get with the concept that this is it. I mean like really get with the idea. Live it. But not in a big way, not in some grand philosophical way, just live, let it come and go, as it is, with very little needing, wanting, grasping. What if you could let all the guilt, responsibility, angst, death-wondering go, go, go! The down-side of looking for a state of grace, is to discount the wonder of the now. I've always lived with the dichotomy - "feet on the ground/head in the clouds." Maybe that is part of the "problem." To even see such a dichotomy, to think there is a problem is a problem (if you know what I mean). What's with this desire to leave the solid earth?Better to be on it, instead of under it. So maybe forget enlightenment, instead go stand in the light. No more, no less. The whole thing.

The Aliens - Yes!

I've been wrestling with the sunny/dumps dichotomy. Looking for the gold in the depths of the goo. I cheered myself up with this fantasy of having the flying saucers finally coming down on us in full force. Wouldn't it be so mind-blowingly cool if the UFO's landed and the space creatures, the alien life-forms introduced themselves to us? Like they landed on the White House lawn and held a global press conference and announced that the game was up, human beings had screwed up the planet so badly, that they were now coming down to rearrange things. They would meet with the intelligent and peaceful life forms on the planet (the Whales, Dolphins and Elephants) to decide the best way forward. There would be many humans that would need to account for their creepy and corrupt ways. It would just blow the conservative/liberal, secular/religious divide completely to smithereens! It would be confirmation that as the Firesign Theater used to say, "everything you (we) know is wrong." What a great clearing of the decks that would be! And if they decided we were expendable, beyond redemption, oh well...no, wait, in my fantasy, they'd take pity on us, and help us make something of ourselves, we'd clean up the mess we've made, we'd join hands in a gesture of brotherhood, animals to humans, humans to humans, humans to alien life-forms, sentient beings to sentient beings...some of us would join up with the space creatures and go exploring the outer edges of the universe just for kicks!

Good to be Home

I spent the last few days in our nation's capital. I couldn't help thinking as I spied the Pentagon out the taxicab window that I was passing the real Temple of Doom. I am definitely disconnected from this large, uncontainable Empire. If Keats is correct, "truth is beauty," and "beauty is truth," I know there's no beauty or truth to be found in our temples of power. Here, today, the sun is shining, the birds are singing. Here is where the beauty and truth resides. It's good to be home.

Yes, It's True

A portly, grizzled old guy, wearing a dusty old t-shirt, long, curly grey hair sprouting out from under a dirty old baseball cap, playing chess at a bench in Laguna Beach, says to another portly character, sitting on the other side of the table: "That's why you just shouldn't judge a person on how they look, you know, like first impression... they might just surprise you..."

The Looking

I was driving down the Coast Highway (east or west, I don't rightly remember), listening to the Smiths, thinking about all that I've missed..."time is a freight train, it moves too fast," (as per Mr. Dylan), life seems to be a process of remembering and forgetting. I know I lived through the 80's, (plus the 90's and the 00's), but so much is a blur, some key events sort of stand out, but so much, the day to day process of living, is buried deep. You figure it's been recorded somewhere, but most of the time, it's just not available. For some reason, the west coast brings me back to a previous version of myself, when I was 19, I hitchhiked from Chicago to San Diego. I don't know what I was looking for, I was just on the move, when I got to the ocean, I basically just turned back, but, it looms as some kind of significant time of my life. Going back there now, many years later, kind of re-connects me with that confused kid, wandering the highways and byways. I'm still confused, kind of in awe of the world around me, but I'm wearing a few more lines and scars. Again, I basically just turned back, returned to the heartland, sort of changed, sort of the same. I sit here thinking there was some kind of rebirth. Maybe I reconnected some kind of fuse, something I lost along the way. I can't really pinpoint it, but listening to the Smiths now, sort of leads me back to another part of myself that's been in the shadows. I don't know what I'm looking for...maybe I'm just here to do the looking...

No Shadows

To be human is to be a social animal. We live in a hierarchical society. We are brothers and sisters to each other and to the other sentinent beings on the planet. At the same time, we live inside our heads alone with our own set of thoughts, hopes, dreams, desires, worries, etc. It can be a strange and lonely place locked inside your own head. There are times, inner and outer life seem to be integrated and whole, (not often), and there are times when they are completely seperate and in conflict (more often). I lived on the periphery of the action yesterday, watching the passing scene, lost inside my head, sort of like a lone wolf, observing from the shadows (eventhough, on Laguna Beach there were no shadows). The only people I spoke to were the ones I paid, (the waitress, the counter clerk, the coffee server). I was the observer and the customer. This was comfortable mode of being for me. I floated along, not grasping, taking it all in. I watched the sun set over the water, a long, slow descent. The day done and gone.

The Church of the Sky and Sand

Dear Reader, where have you been? No really, where have I been? I haven't been here, in this space, I've been on hiatus, or no, it really was a death, a long sleepy death since January. But for some reason, I have been reborn, rebirthed. I woke up Sunny today, on the Left Coast, a block from the Pacific Ocean. Yesterday I sat on the beach and attended a service at the Church of the Sky and Surf. A group of dolphins came swimming just off the shore, they were riding inside these big waves, leaping and twisting like beautiful, spooky, ballerinas with fins. For a few minutes the bustling beach life - volleyball players, beautiful women in bikinis, lovers, mothers and fathers, all stopped to watch these strange, magical creatures, frolicking in the water. I sat on a bench, in the late afternoon sun, sat in hushed silence, watching too. Well, I must say dear reader, I wept. I can't really tell you why, (something about the insubstantiality of life, the fleeting moments rushing out beyond our fingertips, the sad and beautiful changing world), the tears just kind of rolled down my grizzled cheeks, just another crazy old guy on a bench, but I guess it was the silence, the hushedness of the moment, that kind of caught me in it's snare. All these people, beach people, knew that something strange and beautiul was happening, (these people were in awe and wonder, about dolphins in the water!), it was a moment to watch and savor, because it would soon be gone. And then it was, the dolphins headed back out into the deep, and beach life came back to normalcy, everyone went back to their own private little worlds. I went back to my own private musings. Yes, I was reborn in the Church of Sky and Sand. There ain't no creed preached at this humble little church, only the sights and sounds of life resound in this chamber. There's beauty and mystery all around. All you have to do is open your eyes and see.

Goodbye Dumps, Goodbye Sunny

Well, I guess this is it partner...I'm gonna kill this little blog. It probably means more to me than you. Somehow, I've come to feel that Dumps and Sunny have kind of canceled each other out. I've kept at this quite diligently just trying to say what I have to say on the fly, in the moment. I'm thinking I need a different outlet or new form. I'm gonna keep writing, it's in my blood. I'm still intent on working on "the next thing," whether it's gonna be a novel, play, short story, poem or song. 2005 was a difficult year for me. My father, one of my true mentors and friends died. This event has changed me in ways I didn't/couldn't imagine. Also, my little theater group went off to Edinburgh Scotland to participate in the Fringe Fest. This was the culmination of a lot of hard work in so many ways for so many people. I had no pre-conceived expectations but it was while we were "over the pond," that I got the terrible, crushing news about my father. It's all true, there are levels of pain and loss you never knew you had. It was back in August when a numbing silence overcame me. I flew back for the memorial service, leaving the show and the cast in the lurch. It was a dream turned into instant, irreversible nightmare.

Maybe the dream wasn't really a dream?! I realized in Edinburgh, that our little theater company was overmatched. To make a splash over there requires money, promotion, buzz. That's not what we've been about. Black Forest has been the most marginal of marginal propositions. A little avant garde experiment, dedicated to original creative work. Nothing more or less. This does not lead to large enthusiastic, audiences. It is not a money-making opportunity. It is a delicate little vehicle that travels a very circumsribed territory. So, anyway, it's a new year, and I think now is the time for reassessments, for re-visioning. So, eventhough this space has been a record of my daily musings this too seems to have run it's course. I'm deciding to "blow up" the dumps/sunny dichotomy. Wonder what I'll find when the smoke clears? If you've been a reader - dedicated, inadvertant, etc. Thanks for spending some time here, I hope it was mildly diverting. Maybe we'll meet somewhere else in the blogosphere or beyond.

Heaven & Hell

A new day, a new year. Sipping Black Cat expresso, listening to a mix of Norah Jones, John Lennon and Neil Young. Living the life of leisure. Yesterday, had a great massage: in a world that usually rubs me the wrong way, I bought some time with a woman to rub me the right way - now that's one of the wonders of capitalism! Also, hung out with some friends - if hell is other people as per Mr. Sartre, heaven is other people too. It's sometimes amazing to find kindred souls, fellow-travellers, from very different places who can understand each other, make each other laugh, ponder and wonder. So today let's park the good times and bad, and look forward to a new clean slate...hmmm...I wonder, does it really work that way?

The Weirdo Club

I was thinking (again) about death (who doesn't?) and how weird and final it seems. But then I started thinking about all the other weird things that make up our existence, for instance: being born, having a body (this nose, these ears, this penis), being a kid, a teenager, an adult, the need for sleep, sex, companionship, money, a job, a home, a meal. It's all so weird, isn't it? And it's amazing how we learn to accept it all, kind of like "well, of course, that's the way the world is," and it's true, it is the way the world is, but it's still very strange, very weird. So, when you go with this line of thinking, death doesn't seem all that much weirder than anything else. Plus we see death and birth everyday. It's an everyday occurance, so what's so weird about it? Well it is weird, if you think about it, really think about it, but after awhile you just have to let it go, kind of ride with the weirdness, or put it out of your mind entirely. I think we humans become really good at putting things out of our minds, much of our time is spent lulling ourselves to sleep. We sleep through the weirdness and that's ok, until the weirdness kind of ups and slaps you in the kisser. So, it's probably better to ride the weirdness, incorporate it...just be weird. And really if you think about it, who's gonna really know?

Rambling Blues

Richard Wright: "The blues, contrary to popular conceptions are not always concerned with love, razors, dice and death."

Sunny Jimmy: "But if you think about it, that just about covers the landscape."

The Voice

I had a "William Blake" moment last night. Remember dear William, visited by Angels and other various personages (Milton)? Well, anyway, I was sleeping like a little baby, my brain was filled with strange and interesting psychic phenomena, when out of the blue, this voice comes to me, backed with just the right amount of reverb for maximum effect, this voice declares: "I am the one."

Wow. This morning, feeling well-rested (a new man, really), I realize this is my moment of revelation (at the same time, I'm wondering, was it a prophecy, a sign of dis-ease, a trick of the night, or a just a random burst of static?). Of course, for me, everything is always laced with ambiguity, uncertainty, befuddlement. I realize I have no idea who or what said these words to me. So, someone, or some thing, declared it's primacy to me, (who am I to doubt?), but I'm in the dark about the ultimate source.

The usual suspects come to mind, but none of them seem to be a more likely candidate than any other. So, I'm left with the voice and the message. Now what's a humble pilgrim supposed to do with that?

G Minor

How do you put into words, what can't be put into words? Or how do you come to terms with the idea that what you do put into words somehow always misses the mark? I've been writing in my little notebook, and there is so much that I can't put down on paper. What's there in black and white is kind of the wisp, or residue of something larger, that I can't really formulate. So, in a way, it seems I'm leaving clues to another subject, a subject I can't really approach. How do you make a play out of that? Or a poem, novel or song? Lately my fingers on a fretboard, seeking out chords and notes, seems to be a better vehicle for what I'm trying to express. The guitar has become an easier voice for a language that is less explicit, less defined. G Minor. Now that damn chord kind of gets to the heart of the matter.

Dark Forces

I indulged in a little controlled, intentional poisoning, (too much red wine), at a cocktail party on Christmas Day. Why would I do such a thing? Beats me. I travelled to the deep fog of unreason, to the land of dark oblivion. I survived it. I was reminded why I now avoid such a trip. The good isn't as good, as the bad is bad. There are dark forces inside and outside. I think writing and singing about such forces is cleansing; living them, not so. Sometimes you can't even trust yourself.

A Ball

The Lovely Carla reminded me this morning that we are living on a ball that's spinning around in space. So this idea of grounding yourself, kind of takes on a different shade of meaning. If you think of our human situation, in "objective terms," it all appears kind of baffling and amazing.

Cheap Thrills

This year, more than ever, all the best Christmas stories, even the funny ones, are sad. Makes me wonder if it's the "observed," or the "observer." Yesterday, I went to Mass with my mother and sister, it seemed like the right thing to do, but when we got there, the church was overflowing, there was a children's chorus, and a nativity scene was being performed. The overly-enthusiastic Filipino priest brought in a little plastic baby in swaddling clothes and as he trailed the procession of wise men and barnyard animals, he held it high over his head for the adoring crowd to see. Talk about cheap theatrics. Where's the spinning pie tins when you need them?

I ended up bolting out of there. Not really in disgust, more of a bored impatience...I wondered if maybe all this love and attention being heaped upon some distant, mythological holy kid was instead spread around a little to each and every one of us, we could all make the world a little better place. Maybe a little less divine love, and a little more human love is in order? Anyway, I walked home alone, feeling a little less than groovy, kicking down the cobblestones, except of course there were no cobblestones to kick. Merry Christmas.