Fuck Torture!

Yes, dammit, I've "lost my space," to the torture debate. Sometimes a song gets in your head, and you just can't get it out. Or a co-worker pisses you off, and you rack your brain trying to figure out how to respond, or...well, you put yourself in the place of some poor dude stuck in a prison cell somewhere, with a cattle prod up his ass, or stuck to a "waterboard" to simulate drowning, or well, whatever horror you'd probably call "torture" if your mother or father, or brother or sister were subjected to it. What is it that Walt Kelly's Pogo said: "We have met the enemy, and he is us." I think it's not so much what the terrorists will do to us that we should worry about, instead, what will we do to ourselves in the face of the fear of terror? And how is it that Evangelical Christians can endorse torture? What the fuck? No more more lectures from those scum-sucking pricks! And then there's this from our noble-fucking political class, as so eloquently put by another blogger: "If the Republicans are now the Party of Torture, the Democrats are now the Party of Torture? Yeah, I guess so." No, I am not proud to be an American...I'd rather be considered a Citizen of the World...this is Authoritarian Bullshit of the worst kind. We are all Winston Smith now.

Expansiveness

I guess I'm always running to, or runnning from something. Maybe both at the same time. This morning, it was bright sunshine, shimmering water. I run on a path that snakes through the Northwestern campus. I can't really convey the beauty, the incredible expansiveness that opens out at certain points on the path. It's amazing what a less than pristine body of water, a bold, brilliant sun (hello, old friend), a big blue sky with little cloud wisps, and an open horizon can do for the soul. I could feel the expansiveness, the clarity, the smallness of being a human being overtake me. It was something folks. I actually thought, "everything is in it's place." Now that is not the usual sentiment when I'm back in the land of buildings and storm clouds. How did all of this come together? How is it that we find ourselves here on this little spinning rock? I have no answers. I just keep running.

Do the Right Thing...

Quotes from Dave Von Ronk, the Mayor of McDougal Street:

"Music is punctuated silence."

AND

"Sometimes you have to drop your principles and just do the right thing."

The Good Guys

As an aspiring "Dog Philosopher," (or maybe it should be Philosopher Dog), every day brings another confirmation of the degradation of our state. This must be what it was like in the early stages of the Stalin era, or dare I say it, Herr Hitler? You know something is seriously wrong, it's in the papers every day, another outrage, another counter-intuitive piece of information jumps out and smacks you upside the head. Do we pray for guidance? What big dog do we bow down to? Rin Tin Tin, Lassie, Snoopy?

Today we find that the National Intelligence Estimate has concluded that the Iraq war has made us less (not more) safe from terrorism. No Fucking Shit, Sherlock! And the torture bill looks like a cinch to pass through the hands of the nodded out drones in the House and Senate...I guess, at least we can't say that the leadership isn't being honest with us. We torture, we kill, (and dammit, we're proud of it, don't you know), because...well...because we are the good guys.

"Dogs Run Free...Why Can't We?" - B. Dylan

Is there one Democratic Senator willing to stand up against torture? Is this Republic so terror-crazed that we've decided terror really is the only answer?

"Cynicism was an ancient Greek philosophy, primarily concerned with virtue, whose followers were known as "The Dog Philosophers." They believed that virtue was the only necessity for happiness and that it was wholly sufficient for attaining happiness. They followed this philosophy to the extent of neglecting everything that did not further their perfection of virtue and their attainment of happiness. Thus the title cynics, from the Greek word for dog, kuon , was assigned to them because they lived like dogs; neglecting society, hygiene, family, money, etc. in order to lead wholly virtuous and happy lives."

They say every dog has it's day...maybe the only road to virtue and happiness is to emulate the Canine? Sometimes it's hard to admit to being a human being...we degrade ourselves, our planet every damn day...

Madness By Degrees

I've taken my lead from Buckethead. Sometimes madness comes gradually, by degrees, you can actually watch it unfold, and in it's step by step unfoldment, it actually makes some kind of sense.

So, I located my sock puppet (of course I have one, a relic from another show - it's an actual sock, with silver buttons for eyes, it's got a red flap for a tongue, it's got red lips, dark eyebrows, and blue and green string sprouting out like hair - it's kind of happy and friendly looking - the artistic type), and tried it on, just to see how it might feel. Fit like a glove. So, I have a conference call coming up, I'm expecting fireworks, I need to be calm, detached so I prepare myself, I get myself situated, something to drink, find a comfortable chair, have my phone at the ready, and well, maybe, oh hell, no one's looking, I'll just use the sock puppet just this once. During the call, when I speak, I make the sock puppet's mouth open and close like it's talking. I get off the phone - okay, that went well.

I have to make a trip to the dentist, getting a new tooth, don't you know, and well, maybe I'll just bring the sock puppet along for the ride. I put it in my pocket. On the El, every once in a while, I put my hand in my pocket to make sure the puppet is still there. On the trip back, (I've got a new tooth in my head!), I snake my hand into the sock puppet. I keep my hand in my pocket, but I'm wearing my sock puppet on the way home. My hand is warm, I feel just a little less lonely. I've got a friend.

I do take it off to prepare dinner. I leave it on the table. It looks up at me with those twinkling silver eyes. I know I might be projecting, I know this is sort of crazy, but it actually looks like those eyes are twinkling at me - it almost looks like love.

Drugs Don't Do What They Used To...

Word is Keith Richards has finally given up drugs. Just when the pharmacuetical industry has convinced the rest of the world that taking drugs is the answer. Keith says:

“I really think the quality’s gone down. All they do is try and take the high out of everything. I don’t like the way they’re working on the brain area instead of just through the blood system. That’s why I don’t take any of them any more. And you’re talking to a person who knows his drugs. I don’t take drugs unless I have to under great duress with my brain open. (Note: Keith fell out of a tree in Fiji and needed brain surgery.) I’ve had a couple of weeks on morphine. I did try to squeeze a little bit extra out of the night nurse. She was very accommodating."

So there you have it...from an expert. "My coat is torn and frayed...it's seen much better days." - Jagger & Richards

The Inspirers

Sometimes the Inspirers come from very unlikely places. Lately I've been listening to two dudes who have really opened my eyes. One is Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips. He's one of the Fearless Freaks of Oklahoma. Who would of thunk that a guy who worked for 12 years at Long John Silvers as a cook, would be one of the most charismatic rock and roll singers on the planet? Well it's true. The Lips are a long-running post-punk-psychedelic-rock outfit that combines a self-made, do it yourself work ethic, with a dreamy, questioning, space age consciousness. Backed by a Bonhamesque backbeat. Superb.

Next up is a guy who plays guitar like a crazed wizard. He wears a KFC bucket on his head, he's been known to speak only through a sock puppet. I don't know his back-story, but he plays guitar like a dream...I've been listening to his instrumental disc "Colma," and it contains quiet beauty, exquisite fretwork - soulful, austere...not exactly what you'd expect from a guy known only as Buckethead. I don't plan on emulating Buckethead's guitar playing, but I'm thinking a sock puppet could be just what I need in my work situation.

It's amazing where you might find inspiration...it's all out there, sometimes all you have to do is open your eyes and drop the veil...

Nice Try

James Lovelock, he of the Gaia Hypothesis (the earth is a self-regulating ecosystem), the man who predicted a hole in the ozone layer, now tells us that we're cooked. Global warming is here, it will accelerate, it's unstoppable, it's inevitable and we will begin to see cataclysmic effects within 10 years. Our ice caps will melt, our Amazonian forests will burn up. It seems the end for us will be fire. Lovelock figures there will be a mass migration towards the artic, because the rest of the planet will be too hot for human beings. Maybe 200 million survive (?), to try to remake the world - got any ideas? It will then take 1,000 years for the planet to readjust. Now, I don't know if he's right in his projections or not. I suspect he may be. So, here's my song title for the day - Nice Try Uppity Monkeys...But, No Cigar!

Ray of Light

Last week, I sat in a Starbucks just on the perimeter of Chinatown in Washington D.C. I was drinking an iced latte, and finishing up the Timothy Leary Bio by Robert Greenfield. I was on the page where Leary is close to giving up the ghost, and he's saying that we are "light-bearers." Now it just so happens that just as I was reading those words, a ray of light was breaking through the clouds, was refracted through the window of the shop, and a glimmer of light was magnified by my reading glasses. I looked down at the page I was reading and a tiny spot of light danced on the page in front of me. I had to be sitting just so or it would not be possible. My glasses had to be perched at that exact angle, the window had to be facing that exact side of the street, it had to be that exact moment at that particular time of day, etc. A million (?) factors all had to converge at once, for me to be illuminating the page with my glasses as I was reading the words "light-bearer." I did not fall to my knees. I did not praise the Lord. I did not rejoice. I noted all of this, I paused, lingered over the moment and wondered what it all meant. I remember I did say to myself..."I'm light too." I guess that is what we call an "epiphany" (a sudden comprehension, or realisation of something). Although in this case, I didn't just comprehend, I experienced, I manifested the thought. I finished the book, I walked back to my hotel. I went back to my day to day existence. But, I haven't forgotten this moment...I don't think I will...

Time of the Snakes

I don't mean to demonize the snake. Good God, Snakes on the Plane!?! It just seems like useful shorthand. All figures of authority, "the leaders" of the world (Church, State, Corporation) seem to be SNAKES. You know, powerful, slithery, primitive, brutal, single-minded, linear, without conscience (I'm projecting now), dedicated, reationary, deadly, cold-blooded, legless.

When the leaders of the "free world" are in the halls of power debating the merits and demerits of torture, you know the Snakes have dropped all semblence of pretense...

You can't go "head to head" with the snakes...I think you must "out-think" or out-manuever them. We must design a new reality. What are our weapons: amusement, meditation, creativity, love. I think we need to figure out how to be snake-charmers...there is no land, no island where the snakes don't reside. We need golden armour...impenetrable but permeable too...we've left the land of rocks and mud and entered the realm of magic.

A Struggle, Indeed

A couple of days ago this headline ran in the Chicago Tribune and the Washington Times: "A Struggle for Civilization." I didn't read the articles, I figured they reflected a recognition that our Torturer in Chief had finally overstepped the bounds of civility. What to do with the Texas Barbarian in the White House? Of course it was a phrase the Barbarian himself had used...the truth only oozes from his head inadvertantly...

"No, no, he's outside looking in..."

Back home. In my own little space capsule. Glad to be back from D.C. Not sure if I accomplished a damn thing. I schlepped my body from place to place, life is just so much schlepping...to the airport, to the hotel, to the taxi, to the subway, to the convention center, to the restuarant, to the coffee shop, back to the hotel, back to the subway, back to the airport, to the taxi, to...well finally home.

I finished the Timothy Leary bio...what can you say about a man? He lived. Timothy was a showman, a charlatan, a madman, a stoolie, a drug wreck, a poor father and husband, a visionary, a nation of one, an asshole, a fool, a celebrity, a "stand-up philosopher," etc.

In his last interview, a skeletal husk in a wheelchair, he said the following:

"We are the light. We are the light bearers. Our purpose is to shine the light on others. I have sought the light to use the light to be in space. Light is the language of the sun and the stars where we will meet again."

Timothy Leary's last word: "Beautiful."

Ring that Bell

At 8:00 a.m. at the Four Points Sheraton on K Street in Washington D.C. the church bells ring. Or no, maybe it's a digital tape of church bells. There's a nice little sequence of music, ringing bell tones, a chiming, mettalic sound clanging out some medieval-sounding ditty.

It's my third day here, another cloudy, rainy morning. So far my visit has been a sort of gloomy excurision. I'm armed with a load of business cards, a smile and an easy manner. It hasn't really gotten me very far. I'm looking to "make something happen," and the world seems a little cool to my plan. I'm mean, do we ever really "make" anything happen? Or does the world just happen, and we happen to be in it?

I had a long sleep, in contrast to the night before when I tossed and turned. Being on double-super-secret-probation has kind of gotten to me. I mean, I know it's ridiculous, but I guess I sort of dread it too, or as Eric Burdon once said, "Oh lord, don't let me be misunderstood."

I sometimes seems to really get in trouble when I "try" to do the right thing. I am also sometimes honest to a fault. This does not go down well with some of my business collegues. I've been told I need to be more "collegial." I find that mildly hilarious. I guess I feel I don't really belong here. I'm on a mission improbable...the bells remind me that things haven't always been like this...there are other times, other realities here with us always...

The Truth

Washington D.C. does have it's charm. It was a beautiful day in D.C. yesterday. Everything went smoothly into Ronald Reagan airport (oh how clean and efficient, Ronnie would be proud!), and I took the metro (very clean too) to my hotel on K street. The place smells like money. This is where all those lobbying firms who work so hard for their clients by helping Senators & Representatives write bills, taking into account the needs of big Pharma, and Big Oil and Big Insurance, making sure that their interests are considered. Who is lobbying for Grandma? And the trees, and the birds, and the little homeless man on the corner, and well, shit, who is looking out for you and me?

Anyway, I had time to just walk around the town, and it was kind of cool, somehow I found myself in Chinatown, and it was lively and funky and sort of fun. It's amazing to be in a city all alone, not knowing a soul, living on an expense account. It's kind of strange, and lonely, and well, I actually kind of like it too.

So anyway, later in the day, I find out that all my battles at my job have now led me to "super-secret-double-probation." Yikes! I am on thin ice. I'm not even sure I'm supposed to talk about it here. Obviously, I believe I'm the offended party, I have the facts, the truth on my side, but in my political battle this does not seem to be helping me. Oh well...what are they gonna do next, revoke my library card?!

There's a picture of Honest Abe in my room. I remember we say of George Washington, "he never told a lie." Somehow in our mythology of America, telling the truth is supposed to be important. Well, then, there's the myth and then there's the reality, and then somewhere in there there's supposed to be this thing we call the truth. It's supposed to set us free...hmmm...there's freedom and then there's freedom...and well, is anyone really free?

Maybe

A travel day today, I'm going to an energy show. Heading to our nation's capital. I don't really like the place, even with all the famous buildings and monuments. It's supposed to be a great town for tourists. I've never liked playing the role. I've always mistrusted power. I know our government is supposed to be a group of public servants serving the public, but I've always suspected that these public servants always seem to serve themselves first. I've always looked at even our own government as authoritarian. It's not supposed to work that way, but there's entrenched power that serves itself first, and democracy, and responsibility and accountability seem to come later, if ever. I do think I'm visiting the center of the empire, in another time it would be like visiting Rome, or Moscow, or Berlin, or London or Constantinople. I'm looking for someone interested in energy conservation...I'm heading to the great corporate feeding trough, looking for someone who wants to do LESS in this land of plenty... am I nuts? I always end up on these strange, hopeless-seeming crusades...but hope is my currency...maybe I will have some luck, maybe things will get better, maybe people will open their eyes and actually...do the right thing...maybe.

The Super-Stellar Range

It was a dark, rainy day yesterday...I went to visit my mom, we lunched at a local diner and then went back home and watched "The English Patient," a film made in 1996. I saw it when it orignally came out, I always wanted to revisit it, it seemed like a perfect time. It's an epic, it's a classic "weepie", it was perfect for the day. What can I say, I totally submerged myself in the beauty of the images, the doomed love story (is every true love ultimatley doomed?), the excellent acting, the strangely spiritual, uplifting nobility of a story about people living a life of passion. Does the horror of war, seperation, boredom, betrayal, death only stoke the fire? Well, yes, I think it does...as one of the characters says: "the heart is an organ of fire." I also thought I heard a character use the phrase - "super-stellar range." Now that's where my heart lies.

I read a book about the film editor, Walter Murch. I was looking for the little sublties he talked about in the book, how the sound of one scene would bleed into another. You might not notice it if he hadn't pointed it out. It helps bring some kind of mystical, or magical sense to the film. There's another through-line, tying one event to another. It leads me to the thought that that's what we must do too...find the through-lines of our lives...no matter what lies ahead, what lies behind us, there is some line, some continuity, some sense or spirit that we carry with us through each scene.

Drunk

Someone said to me yesterday..."you always look drunk." Now, do I take this as a compliment? Maybe I'm intoxicated with life?!

The Man

Okay, so sometimes, or make that most of the time, or hell, maybe all the time, this blog is just me basically talking to myself. If I wasn't typing furiously on a keyboard, if I wasn't letting this out, I'd probably be walking down the street muttering this stuff to myself. Which is a great way to "get my space," but would probably make the rest of the world even more skittish around me. I hear these voices in my head, usually sounding like me, sometimes not, I guess I'm like arguing with myself, or testing out the words, or maybe I just like to hear the sounds, try to fill up the silence. So, stuff that resonates with me, ends up here, whether it's entertaining or not, enlightening or not, interesting or not, etc. I'm still reeling from a conversation I had a couple of days ago, some really cool things were passed onto me, that basically blew up some old ways I was thinking, and kind of opened up a new vista...I've always had a problem with "the man." It's been my rebel mode...fight the man, fuck the man, off the man, etc. Now this can be turned on myself, if you know what I mean. What if I am the man?! So anyway, all I really have to say today, with no adequate explanation (please bear with me): sunnyjimmy, be the man, trust the man, you da man!

The Disillusionist

Someone I know and admire told me I was like the "Disillusionist," always looking for the lie behind the smiley face. This seems oh so true to me. It's been my mode from early on in my life, (think Catholic grade school) when the big powerful adults were happy to shovel their line of shit to a group of little defenseless kids.

Add in the lies of the government (remember my political consciousness arose during the Nixon years), and the discrete white lies within the family pod (we all just wanted to be happy), and well, that's pretty much the trifecta: Church, State and Family...what else ya got?

Oh yeah, there's the corporate world...don't even need to start the catalog of lying there, let's just say, whatever it takes to make a buck...and well, it's a life-long quest to slog through the shit to try to get to some honesty and truth...

Now, the trick is to not get too cynical, or more cynical about it all...there's forgiveness, compassion and amusement...isn't all just so funny how we spend so much of our time walking around on this planet handing each other so much bullshit!? And we know it's just shit too...anyway...even the disillusionist has some illusions he can cling to...for instance...hey it's kind of fun seeing the lie over and over and over...we're such a silly bunch of knuckleheads...makes for comedy, tragedy -- hell it's all just theater...

Zen in a Package

I found a new coffee...Zen Blend...I guess it's just packaging, little coffee beans, I pour the water in the coffee maker, I put the beans in the grinder, I grind vigourously, pour the results in the filter, push a button, and about ten minutes later my dark, Zen, liquid is ready for drinking. I add in a healthy dose of soy milk, (no fat antibiotic cows sully this brew), and presto chango, the caffiene begins to course through my body...this is sometimes how dumps transforms into sunny...

I guess this probably isn't all that good for me...the evidence from the scientists is contradictory...certainly the quanities I'm ingesting, are not recommended...what is this stuff doing to my arteries? I know it's a way of kind of jogging my metabolism. My engine starts revving...getting ready for another day of something...I suppose it's better than heroin, or crack, or methamphetimine...you must pick your vices...there's probably some kind of bill due, later down the line...but, hell, no one said this ride was gonna be free...

No Labor

Labor day...there will be no laboring today. It's a rainy day, slept in late, made a second pot of coffee. Listening to John Coltrane on the radio...he left us so much wonderful music...he died at 40. Unbelievable. Just kind of floating in genial haze today...it's OK.

Illusion

Last night the Lovely Carla and I saw "The Illusionist" featuring Edward Norton. It was a quite enjoyable film. Very much a classic story. As we left the theater, I remarked, "sometimes you just have to fool them." We both agreed this was the right message, at the right time for so much of what's happening in our lives at the moment. Sometimes it just doesn't pay to go "head to head." There's something to be said for creating an illusion, which can be used as a ruse, a distraction, to create space for the real work.

The Possible

There's something to be said for "being onto the next thing." In fact, it may be the only way to be. There's the continual creating and destroying, filling the space, and emptying it out. It's the only way to stay fresh, alive, in the moment. The hard part is to always realize that no matter what you make, it can't be carried forward, in order to create something new, the old must be left behind. Why does it always feel like starting over? That's when the possible becomes possible...

A Lot of Stabbing Going On...

Is this sunnyjimmy or jimmydumps speaking?

"There are two kinds of friends. Those who stab you in the back, and those who stab you in the front."

John Lennon once sang: "No one knows you when you're down and out, no one knows you when you're on cloud nine..."

It can get lonely at the top, lonely at the bottom. We come into the world alone, exit alone too. Man, that's a whole lot of lonely...

I think only love and compassion can make us less lonely...but these are passions that descend on their whim, not ours...

Is it Love or Confusion?

This has been a strange day...the weather in Chicago is sublime. I've been weathering storms on the work front, but there's a strange calm that has descended upon me...

I bought Dylan's new CD. A new Dylan means a good day...

Anyway is the calm some kind of Buddha posture, or just ennui? Who knows? I guess I'll just go with it...the Lovely Carla beckons...off to see the "little man" about some soy milk and chocolate.

That God-Feeling

I'm reading about Timothy Leary, the LSD guru who believed that he could transform society by introducing the population to god via a psychedilc experience...he certainly helped blow the doors open in the sixties and seventies...he also helped hasten the end of psychology (he was a psychologist himself) and the beginning of pharmacology as the answer to all our problems. "Better living through chemistry," as they say.

Today, you take a pill if you can't digest the swill you're eating. You take a pill if you feel down. You take a pill if you feel dizzy, or anxious, or constipated, or you can't leave your house because, well, because it's just too damn scary out there...

There does seem to be some kind of evolution of thinking: revelation (god) to psychology (evolution) to chemistry (drugs)...so Leary was just completing the circle back to god via chemistry...and well, you can get that "god-feeling," just by meditating, or running, or looking at a sunset, or eating chocolate, or loving someone, or being loved, or...well there's a million ways to feel a euphoria, a joy, a sense that you are connected to something larger than yourself, that you're a brother or sister to the plants and animals and stars...a feeling of health and well-being...don't need no stinking dogma, or church, or big dude on high, to get you to the right place...it's in us baby...all the colors of the rainbow are inside us...ain't it so groooovvvvyyyyy!?

The Con Game

America is a Con Game writ large. The engine of this empire is run on the greed, the dishonesty, the gullibility and the optimism of the populace. I think we actually revere the Con Man. For examples of the Con Game in action please refer to: Hollywood, Wall Street, Washington D.C. Be sure to check your wallet when dealing with the Financial Services sector, or the Insurance game.

The days of honest labor are waning. In fact, today, the honest day-laborer is mocked, ridiculed by the participants in the big Con. The promises of the Con: "you can do what's never been done, you can win what's never been won." We're told we can have it all, all the time. And we see the lucky ones who seem to live in another realm of infinite riches, big cars, flashy diamonds, endless party...

"You make the big score, and then you're free" - Billy the Kid
"We blew it." - Captain America

I've lived with the Easy Rider ethos for many, many years. One deal away from nirvana. I know it's an illusion, this irrational promise of golden riches...I've been conned, lived the con, practiced the con. All entertaiment is a con game (sometimes it pays off) - promising more than the price of a ticket.

Sometimes the Con works because you do win, or someone wins. Sometimes you do walk away from the table with a bankroll. The gold is dancing in your eyes. You know it's a temporary high, a small win, there are always future games ahead...but maybe, just maybe, you'll know when to call it quits, you'll be smart, you'll know when the time is right...and then, what's next? Oh yeah, there's another game waiting...and maybe you can try your luck one more time...you're good enough, smart enough, and damn people like you...so, they say you can't cheat an honest man, but of course you can...

They all Want to Whack You!

I watched Brian De Palma's "Carlito's Way," last night. I remember seeing it when it orginally came out in 1993. I always thought it was a well-made movie, I kind of saw it as a tamer retread of "Scarface," the joyfully, delerious, over the top coke-fest scripted by Oliver Stone. Today, I'm here to claim that "Carlito's Way," is one of the great movies of the 90's. What a beautifully filmed piece. It's odd and surreal, with incredible color and dizzying camera moves. Al Pacino (of course), can do Italian, he can do Puerto Rican. He's sort of campy, and strangely authentic at the same time. Also Sean Penn as the Jewish lawyer is an incredible treat. There are movie cliches galore, but that's part of the joy. We know this story, it plays out like all good tragedies...we see a man, so human, inexorably moving towards his doom (can he make it to Paradise before his past catches up to him?) - "everyone ends up as they are."

De Palma, an absolute master, is in total command. Pacino, as Carlito Brigante provides a voice-over narration...as a word-smith myself, I'm a sucker for voice-over. I love how the technique distances us, and pulls us in at the same time. Anyway, this morning I quote two gems from the great Carlito Brigante:

"A favor can kill you faster than a bullet."

"You get old enough, everyone has a reason to whack you."

sunnyjimmy: Yeah, two more reasons to follow that dream...wherever it leads...and damn the torpedos...

Multiplicity of Deities

The Lovely Carla and I were out and about yesterday, no great plans, we were in the mode of taking in the day, come what may. We went to the Bucktown Art Fest to visit friends and comrades. I ended up in a fiery political debate with my doppleganger, (it's a yearly ritual), who is diametrically opposed to everything I think, eat and breathe. It's kind of refreshing and exhilarating, (frustrating too) to find another fairly intelligent human being who sees everything absolutely contrariwise than I. It almost seems impossible (can there be any consensus? NOPE. I see up, he sees down, I see left, he sees right). It makes you realize there really isn't one world...only versions, infinite versions of the damn thing.

So anyway with all the discussion of terror and prayer, and Ayatollahs, and Christian Fundamentalists, and war and peace and corruption, and torture, etc. It became clear to me, that my polar-opposite was in the Christian Ayatollah Camp, ready to do battle with the Muslim Ayatollah camp...

I was not prepared to take sides in that craziness...I threw my hat in the ring with Las Vegas, Internet Porn, Rock and Roll, a world of QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS, free of ideologies...

Which leads me to...today I'm reading about Eliot Minz, who used to be a publicist for John Lennon. Eliot now works for Paris Hilton. According to Eliot, Lennon was a voice of a generation, and he believes that Paris is too. "Young people don't believe in politicians, they don't believe in their leaders. They look to celebrities to lead them." Now I don't know if looking to celebrities to lead us will bring us to a more just society, a higher minimum wage, more education and health care for the young and old, peace and prosperity...but maybe following the exploits of Paris Hilton is it's own little utopia.

What a strange continuum...but ya know, the more I think of it, it makes some kind of strange sense...from Lennon to Paris. "He (Eliot) really gets me, the whole Paris thing. He knows it's all a game." - P. Hilton

I'd rather play with the godless heathens of this mad pop culture world than the death-embracing world of the apocalyptic Ayatollahs of judgement and morality, and pin-headed-one-god-religions. Pagans of consumer culture live in a land of a multiplicity of deities...Lennon and Paris...long live multiplicity!

The Sphinx Speaks

"Let's face it, you're either serious about what you're doing or you're not serious about what you're doing. And you can't mix the two. And life is short." - B. Dylan

Mercury

I love running. I'm a dedicated runner. It's something I'll probably do until I can't. This morning I was feeling so good, it was like my shoes (Pearl Izumis) had wings on them...kind of like that old gas station sign...if you run long enough you'll find that there's always someone faster than you, (which is humbling - "damn it's like I'm stuck in mud!") or slower than you (which is validating - "man, I still got it!"), and sometimes it happens on the same morning (which is humbling and validating at the same time! "I'm fast, but not the fastest, I'm slow, but not the slowest."). And you realize it's the same for all the other runners too...although somewhere there must be someone who is the fastest, and someone who is the slowest, at least at that particular time and place, although, since my morning jaunt isn't a race, (although once in awhile a runner will go out of their way to challenge another - "death on the highway" don't ya know!), everyone is starting from a different place, and going to a different place too, there is no real way to say what's what and who's who - we are all on our unique journey, with our own unique goal. The guy or gal keeping that blistering pace may be going around the block, that twisted old paralytic-looking dude one of Samuel Becketts long-suffering survivors, may be doing a marathon. So who's really impressing whom? Some mornings I fly with the Angels, with no effort, some mornings it's like I'm pulling a ball and chain...some mornings I'm ready to dance with the clouds, some mornings my only mantra is: "just don't hurt yourself!"

One Shot (thanks to Marshall Mathers)

One shot, a spunky little spermatoza,
a fat and shiny human egg,
they meet up for the big rodeo
what they're making, they don't know

Once they get going
it's all about dividing
and multiplying,
and turning into other things

They no longer exist
as seperate entities
they can't explain it,
but they are one

So they float in space
and exit the void
and enter a world
they never made

And then it's a real
strange ride
with nowhere to hide
and the changes
keep coming

a trajectory
like a shooting star

shoot up high
peak in the sky
there's a slow
decline, or a big
bang, or a meek
retreat

and then they
split up again
into tiny little
microscopic pieces
finally invisible
tiny energies
kind of melting
into the infinite sea

make it real
make it real
make it real real

Biographies

I like reading biographies. They have become my favorite read, partly because if they are well-written, you can learn much about particular times and places, as well as the human game of living - you learn about the life, and the context of living a life. Now some of this is just selective editing, any book is subject to skepticism I suppose. Do most lives really have a theme, or is that really a device used by the author to make the life and the book more compelling? Like so much else a biography is a work of art (artifice) just like much of what we make of the world.

Some of my favorite subjects have included: Jean Genet, Howard Hughes, Richard Nixon, Neil Young, Jack Kerouac, William Blake, Vince Lombardi, Bob Dylan, Dean Martin, Nicholas Ray, Robert Oppenheimer, Led Zeppelin, Sam Fuller, Thomas Merton, Bing Crosby, Phil Lesh, Terry Southern, Sonny Liston, Christopher Marlowe, Billy Strayhorn, William Shakespeare, Andre Breton, Muhammad Ali, Elvis Presley, Robert Irwin, Jerry Lee Lewis, Jean Cocteau, Michel Foucalt, Johnny Lydon, Jean Paul Satre...

Right now I'm reading a biography of Timothy Leary. It's a real kick. Here's a line from Kerouac to Leary as they discuss how the good Doctor is going to transform society (I think it's clear that he did so, whether for good or bad is anybody's call):

Kerouac: "Coach Leary, walking on water wasn't built in a day."

Now that makes little ole sunnyjimmy just want to sit up and laugh...and laugh...and laugh!

Three Days

Ben Franklin (Poor Richard) tells us, "early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise."

Well, Ben, I'm not sure about health, wealth or wisdom, but there's certainly something to be said for the "well-rested" man...

The early bird may catch the worm, but birds and men cannot live on worms alone...

Sleep deprivation is a good way to break a human being; add in three days of debauchery (too much sweat, way too many cold beers, lots of laughter and a little stumbling), and you've got a good idea of what the Abbie Fest really meant to ole sunnyjimmy...

How can I feel good if I don't feel bad? How can I be up if I'm not down? We live in a bi-polar world, right? There's the north and south, and as one of Bukowski's titles once posited - there's the "South of No North."

It was probably all too much, or just enough, or too little, too late, or anyway it was something...hell it was loads of fun too, although as I've been known to say, "fun isn't what it's cracked up to be." Now I'm on a new kick...clean living...let's see how long that lasts...

Post Abbie Post

I think I'd need to get Herman Melville to do a post-Abbie writeup that would do it justice...let's just say, it is a Great White Whale of a festival of staged entertainment. I really rode that whale this time...almost went down with the beast (too many little green soldiers - the Heinekein variety - don't ya know?), but hung in there from beginning to end: the march, the grand and noble opening ceremonies, the highs and lows of comedy and tragedy and everything in between, the ups and downs of live performance, and finally the chilling laying away of the earthly remains of our martyred hero. Ah, yes, though we bury him, he does live, yes, Abbie lives...

Abbie Diary

My Abbie Hoffman Died for Your Sins Festival Diary...

Friday August 18: A rough-cut show, out of tune and unsatisfying...
Saturday August 19: A rollicking, supremely exhilarating experience...

This is the beauty of live performance...you can go from one end of the spectrum to the other in a blink of an eye.

What a great, inspiring event...a carnival of creativity...

Biff Rose: It isn't a small world, it's a big world...

And brother, sometimes it is great to be alive and in it...

"I am So Out of Tune...with You." - Wilco

Wallace Shawn once said something like: 'nothing is ever what you think it will be..." I think that's true. Last night was a good example. I was really looking forward to our performance at the Abbie Fest, but it didn't exactly play out as I envisioned. My trusty guitar, it's my Excalibur, let me down somehow (was it the humidity?). I had tuned it a half hour before performance time, but when it came time to hit that first ringing cord, some strange, off-key sound rang out across the stage. It seemed like I was strangling a snake...it kind of set the tone for the night. OFF-KEY. This is the beauty of live performance...you never know what's coming next. You have to ride the wave, and try to catch another more to your liking...we salvaged the show, the other actors picked up the energy, the bass and drums filled the holes...but man, that was unlikely, unexpected and oh so gnarly! I wonder what's coming next?!

Levitating the Pentagon

I took the day off...it's the kickoff of the "Abbie Hoffman Died for Your Sins Fest," tonight. My little theater group has performed there 7 or 8 years running (it's somewhat foggy in my noggin). It's a cool Chicago theatrical institution, hosted by one of my heroes, Rich Cotovsky overseeing the proceedings in his guise as Abbie; a celebration of the the splendiferous, rag-tag, bare knuckles and broad shoulders version of the dramatic arts. There ain't no bullshit to be found in Rich or his approach to the work.

What I like about the fest: it's a snapshot of what's happening now...from the sublime to the shit, and everything in between. My group is to be found somewhere in that mix...we've probably hit both ends of the spectrum somewhere along the line.

I'm feeling good about our new piece; it combines our usual mix of odd and twisted, cut and paste scenes, with original music, backed by a little three-piece r&r combo. There's a kick to acting, playing guitar and...oh mercy, singing in public...there have been moments when I can see we have something that could really be a breakthrough for our little group.

It's all transitory and tentative...seeking perfection, but knowing that it's a place like Eldorado...it beckons, out in the mist...promising riches beyond imagination...does it really exist or not?

Well, what the fuck...it's "put up or shut up" time...

Enjoy Every Sandwich

I came across a YouTube this morning, a clip of Jakob Dylan and the Wallflowers (plus Warren Zevon's son), playing the Zevon penned tune, "Lawyers, Guns and Money," on David Lettermen...it's a cut from a tribute album to Zevon called "Enjoy Every Sandwich."

Yes, indeed...watching the clip, one is struck by how much a young Jakob resembles a famous young Bob... carrying on a certain tradition, doing it in a similiar vein, or at least a familiar vein, (it's in the DNA), but also unmistakably and irrevocably a different vein too, somehow everything is transformed in every particular...and damn, isn't that how the world goes...?

Zevon was one of those rockers who supposedly burned the candle at both ends and in the middle too...but he did leave an impressive collection of songs...(easy to forget, and easy to remember how often I found myself spinning the vinyl, dropping the needle on Zevon's albums, listening to his wry lyrical take, backed by a solid rock band, spiced by L.A. swagger, Raymond Chandleresque, with a shot of HST bravado, and sense of impending doom )...I remember a New Year's Eve show that still ranks up there with the "best ever," maybe because I was young and reckless, and Warren was up there on-stage wielding his guitar like a rock and roll gunslinger, and at the time, (sometimes now too) he seemed to be reflecting something inside me with his rollicking r&r, mock-troubadour, brilliantly smartass music...what a strange alchemy...

"Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School"

So the Zevon legacy lives, the Dylan line continues, Jack Paar morphs into Johnny Carson, Carson morphs into David Lettermen...yes, and every sandwich does count in some way, right? There is a continuity, a sameness about the form (just like r&r, just like life) - two slices of bread, and something (could be just about anything) in between. What you put in there is up to you, although there is ultimately a finite number of choices...but, by some magical formula that adheres in the real world - no two sandwiches are the same... (it's this bread, this slice of bologna, this particular pickle - at this moment - and no other), to paraphrase (or dance around) another famous phrase... since you can't devour the same sandwich twice, make the most of the one you have on your plate at the moment...enjoy...now.

Gems from the Science Times

1. "You don't see what you're seeing until you see it, but when you do see it, it lets you see many other things."

sunnyjimmy: Yes, this is my credo! It almost sounds like the mission statement from my Theater group...

2. "To a topologist, a sphere, a cigar and a rabbit's head are all the same because they can be deformed into one another."

sunnyjimmy: Kind of reminds me of that mystical idea that if you can look at the world with clear eyes you will see the ONE.

3. "Astronomers are still arguing about the overall shape of the universe, wondering if it's topology resembles a sphere, a bagel or something even more complicated."

sunnyjimmy: I'd go with bagel...I mean, of course, it would be an EVERYTHING BAGEL!

The Path

Someone told me I'm on a "path of perfection." Not exactly sure what that means, but I like the sound of it, although, if there is such a thing, the path is a long and winding one with brambles, obstacles, dead ends, and false trails...

And then there's this:

Lovely Carla: Everytime I look at you, you make me sad.
sunnyjimmy: It will only get worse.
Lovely Carla: I know.

Yes...

Steve Zissou, (think red cap and speedo): "What an adventure..."

We are Family

Hey this was in the Washington Post, so it must be true right? (Well, remember all their great reporting before the Iraq War? So maybe not...)

Anyway, accurate or not, there's an assertion that many of us are "descended from royalty." So you say, Big Fucking Deal! Remember all those pasty, consumptive, tight-asses...and on the other end of the spectrum, remember we're also descended from crazed, and uppity monkeys...

But then there's this line: "Humphrys estimates that Muhammad, the founder of Islam, appears on the family tree of every person in the Western world."

Now that kind of puts our recent politico-religious turmoil in a new light doesn't it? Think of Muhammad as that crazy uncle in the attic, with all those wifes, ranting on about paradise and virgins and whatnot... Kind of makes the world seem smaller for some reason...we can look at our "enemies" as estranged cousins or something...it's all just one big family feud...I guess I would be more excited about finding out that Muhammad Ali, (float like a butterfly, sting like a bee) was my "dutch uncle," but that's just me...

UPDATE: Wikpedia says - "Dutch uncle" is a term for a person who issues frank and severe comments and criticism to educate, encourage or admonish someone, often with benevolent intent, as an elder relative or uncle would.

So I guess what I was saying was I wish Muhammad Ali would give me some severe and frank "encouragement."

Ali: So sunnyjimmy keep your left up, don't drop your elbow, and go on the attack...otherwise you're just another pasty, whiny, titty boy!

Asleep

Jim Jarmusch: "80% of the fucking planet is asleep..."

I don't think it's hard to tell who is awake and who is sleeping...

...although...

Could we be dreaming of being awake, when we're sleeping, or dreaming that we're sleeping, when we're awake?

Are we the butterfly dreaming of being a caterpillar, or a caterpillar dreaming of being a butterfly? The Buddha sits under a Bodhi tree sleeping off a drunk...do visions of debauch cloud his perfect vision?


"I guess Nobody gets you now..." - Dead Man.

Vision Statement

We are all on our own unique journey...it's easy to say, "follow your heart," or "do what you love." Easy to say, less easy sometimes, to do. But "do," we must (or maybe not)...

The first challenge is to find your heart...find what you love...sometimes it's a moving target, sometimes we are our own worst enemy...sometimes we just aren't up to the challenge...sometimes (maybe a lifetime) we just don't know who, what, where, when or why...we just muddle through, or live someone's else's vision of what we "should," do...

Also, "following our heart," does not necessarily mean "easy street," in fact it probably has nothing to do with ease...

Sometimes we still have to do things we don't want to do...it's part of the following your heart thing, even if you sometimes have to listen to your head, or your gut, or your landlord...

We need to work...we need to apply ourselves, we need to challenge ourselves, we need to push ourselves into uncomfortable scenes to find out who we are, to find out what's really important...some of us just don't want to do it...maybe sometimes it's easier to be bored, to be lazy, to not care, to not try, to not do...

You know what? To put it sort of bluntly: fuck that...

The Battle

What to do when the knives are out? Find the humour, act with grace? Easier said than done, but yes, I think that is the path to follow. When to stand and fight, when to stand down? Well, it's not a science, there are no clear-cut lines, it is an art just as much of what makes up our lives is an art...

I'm not good with authority...my first reaction upon any declaration from on high is to resist (what's that Rage Against the Machine line? - "Fuck you, I'm not doing what you tell me to..." - not exactly Keats or Shelley, but I'm definitely down with the sentiment), although sometimes it doesn't really pay to resist, or there are some things not worth resisting, things not worth expending the energy on. Some would counsel "no resistance," - a supreme passivity could be seen as a strength, but again this is not in my natural make-up...

So, I was in the middle of a battle yesterday, I was the odd man out, not so foreign to me, and I watched myself as the battle (3 against 1) unfolded. I held my ground, no backing down, but I did not let the knives of aggression strike me down. I found it all a little amusing...the others brought some heat to the fight, I was cool, parried every thrust...left smiling and somewhat happy...(probably infuriated my opponents even more)...oh well...when you're feeling sunny, no one else's dark clouds can obscure the light...

Creative Dichotomy

Two songwriters, two approaches to the work:

Tom Petty: Every song has already been written, you just have to tune yourself in to the cosmic radio station.

Joe Strummer: Bollocks! You have to beat it (every song) out of your brain.

Enchanting...

This makes me smile:

Paul Kantner (from 1970, Blows Against the Empire): "Sign me up as a diplomat, my only office is the park."

We still need someone to speak for the trees, the grasses, the little hopping bunnies...

Yamataka Eye (vocalist for the Japanese band The Boredoms): "I had seen the sun rise. I started thinking about my position in relation to the sun. I also thought that the sun made a sound. I didn't hear the sun make a sound, but I had an idea of what the sound would be like."

Eye represented this sound as a wordless chanting pattern repeated over and over.

Accident (There are no accidents?)

Sunny Jimmy: I'm an accident waiting to happen.
Lovely Carla: No, you're an accident that already happened.

UPDATE: Which sets me off on a rambling speculation (is this what TPM calls "naval gazing?") What exactly is an accident?

According to Wikpedia: "An accident is something going wrong unexpectedly. Physical examples include an unintended collision (including a person or object unintendedly falling), getting injured by touching something sharp, hot, electrically live, ingesting poisons, or getting injured by not properly landing when jumping. Non-physical examples include babies being born."

Do we live in a world of probabilities? Inevitabilities? Actualities (what happens is what happens?!). Are the things that happen the only things that could have happened? Are words like would, could and should just idle chatter?

Are these just useless questions with no definitive answers?

"Something going wrong unexpectedly," sounds like much of what we call human interaction...babies being born are accidents? Tell that to the sperm and the egg!

The Players

One of the life-changing books I've read, (I've mentioned it in previous posts), is "Impro," by Keith Johnstone, it's primarily about acting, comedy, improvisation, but it's also about creativity, and how we all have access to a fantastic creative realm, if we can drop the "blocks," the "walls," that inevitably go up in the course of our education and our lives...

I do believe we can all "have it," we can tap into this realm of creativity to live fulfilling lives, we can transform ourselves and the world...sometimes when things are clicking, when a group of people get together in some kind of creative collaboration, it is "magical," it is powerful, it is life-affirming...

It's also just a small thing, playing music in the kitchen on a hot summer night. Three voices echoing out over the linoleum, a guitar played by a player, but at the same time the player is played too...

Sometimes we make the music, and sometimes the music makes us...that's when you know it's working, when you're not sure where one ends and one begins...

Levellers

I'm posting from the coffee shop down the street from my hideout. Chillin with the A/C...sipping an iced drink...the place is packed, we are all refugees from the heat. The weather, like death, is a great leveller...everyone feels the extremes, it sort of unites us. The weather, like death, also reminds us of how little we really can control in our lives. So much of what we do is react to events in the world. So, in this way, we really are products of our times. I have always been, "death haunted," not so much fearing it, as acknowledging it as a reality in my moment to moment existence, at the same time I've always been oblivious to age, not really thinking of my own (too young, too old), and at the same time not really feeling comfortable in my skin...it's always been a moment to moment uneasiness with "the way things are." I have some good memories, some bad too, but ultimately my life seems like a series of dreams that have passed through me...as I've also passed through them...death and weather...I (we) pass through them too...

Feed the Monkey

The Lovely Carla yesterday: "whatever it takes to feed the monkey." Indeed...

So, lately my favorite band is an outfit from L.A., now defunct, Rage Against the Machine (nothing like truth in advertising!). Not that I missed them the first time around, but lately, I've been spinning "The Battle for Los Angeles," over and over, and the pure, bone-crushing drums, the throbbing bass, Tom Morello's unique, avant garde approach to the electric guitar and Zach De La Rocha's raps on oppression and resistance, really ring the monkey's bell...thanks to the wonderous YouTube (instant fame three minutes at a crack!), you can view RATM in all their raucous glory (Morello and De La Rocha are human pogo sticks!), so anyway, my order from Amazon just arrived, a biography of Timothy Leary, and two more RATM discs...

Rage indeed...the world scene demands it...at the same time, it's all so damn ridiculous and heart-breaking, as Bill Montgomery over at Whiskey Bar puts it: "Welcome to the 'new' Middle East -- the geopolitical equivalent of the 'new' Coke. The recipe may be different, but it still tastes like blood." Yes, no sense in taking sides in a fight between lunatics...only adds to the madness...

I know a group like Hezbollah would probably be happy to have my head on a stick, but as I like to say, "one man's terrorist, is another's freedom fighter." It depends on which man or woman you happen to be...so what's a pilgrim to do? An accurate reading of the world scene seems to demand cynicism, sarcasm...how not to succumb? Rage...but, no it isn't enough...action? Anything one man chooses seems so miniscule, so ineffectual...become philosophical? Kind of a "cop out?" Leary once said, "tune in, turn on, drop out." But so much of the drug revolution proved to be a bran-numbing dead end...the beast actually thrives on a drug addled, consumer-crazed, populace...is it enough to note that we are in the belly of the beast, but we are not the beast? No, prrobably not...there's rage, but no refuge...where is the love???

Does Anyone Remember Laughter...?

What to do on a hot, muggy Chicago evening? Go to the movies! The Lovely Carla and I went to the Gene Siskel Film Center (the classiest movie theater experience in the City) last night and time-tripped back to 1957, to watch Frank Tashlin's satiric masterpiece, "Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?" What a great, funny, insightful, ridiculous, glorious film. Perfect. It stars (improbably) Tony Randall, who tackles the role of his career. Strangely the Siskel center was packed, (usually the Lovely C. and I find ourselves with the theater virtually to ourselves, maybe a film student or two, a guy with a beret, a bag lady, and a few disheveled lonesters), and the audience ate the movie up like a tasty box of salty, butter-laden popcorn. A spot-on comedy where the laughs come in raucous bunches. It's timeless and a product of it's time, (it's about the Ad business on Madison Av. in New York, a distant land, circa the Eisenhower era, when the American Empire was at it's pinnacle of materialistic, consumer mad, success-obsessed, glory.) Jayne Mansfield playing a character based on Marilyn Monroe is a revelation, in all her busty, lusty, curvaceous splendor. Anyway, the movie is about the absurdly capricious road to success (Ad Execs lusting after the golden key to the executive washroom!). It also shows us that the material, ad-based, pop culture machine that was really revving up in the 50's and is now in it's apotheosis stage, is all a ridiculous, hollow hoax (Oh we do so love our gadgets!). Who's picture of success are we willing to give our lives up for? What to make of it all? Laugh your ass off as Tony Randall prances around his office lair! Did I mention Groucho Marx makes a cameo! We're even left with an uplifting moral to the story: "success is the art of being happy." Thank you Frank Tashlin...

Cuckoo Cloud Land

I'm a major Philip Dick fan, he of the many simultaneous, alternate realities...I came across a phrase this morning (in the context of the Middle East conflagration) and it seems appropriate for a few of the realities I find myself in at the moment...Cuckoo Cloud Land...

See the Reptile Jump!

"Horror, like comedy, has always been something of a reptilian-brain endeavor, unusual among the arts insofar as it is successful only when it is able to produce a single, audible emotional effect - a scream or a laugh - that is primal, cathartic and difficult to understand." - J. Hodgeman

I guess this is what we'd call appealing to the baser instincts...

Now what if you had a government, or many governments employing this same reptilian-brain pleasing technique...? Oh yeah, that might explain an awful lot of what we read in our newspapers, see on our TV screens...we can be so damn smart, except when we're so damn reptilian...

Makes Life Fun

Every morning I surf the blogs, heavy on politics, on Sundays I also usually buy a NY Times. Yesterday I was a little reluctant. If I buy it, I'm compelled to read it, and lately the news has been weighing heavy on the psyche...but I bought a copy anyway, thinking it's my responsibility to see what's up with the world, at least according to the MSM...

After, paging through the Week in Review (really the whole week, and everything important too?), I jumped to the Arts section to find "The Return of the Dolls, What's Left of Them." Excellent news, the New York Dolls (at least two of the survivors) are back with a new album...

I actually saw the legendary New York Dolls back in 1974 or '75 on tour with Aerosmith (new band out of Boston) and Mott the Hoople (I think Ian Hunter's shades were affixed to his face with superglue). It was my first exposure to the actual embodiment of the concept "transvestite," I remember David Johanssen clomping around in these unruly high heels, rocking out like combination of Little Richard, Mick Jagger and Carol Burnett...

Anyway, for every "bad" news story, I'm searching for a "good" one. This article is a good one. The Dolls have a new song, "Dance Like a Monkey" - "evolution is so obsolete, got to stomp your hands and clap your feet." And just why does David keep at it? "I mean, I have my ideas about music and rock and roll and all that kind of stuff...I don't know if it's actually necessary for the species, but it sure makes life fun."

That's good enough for me too...

Death Spiral

It is amazing to see how quickly and easily people (singly and in groups) will resort to violence to solve any problem...many times it seems it is the first resort, not the last (do people really enjoy death and destruction?). It seems that it is easier to kill your enemies (which considering the birth explosion inevitably, multiplies the enemies), than to actually (heaven forbid!), talk to them. This seems to betray a hatred for life...life is sometimes complicated, there seems to be many realities all competing with each other, which makes the world messy and sometimes unfulfilling...so by killing, eliminating alternate views, I guess there are those who think this will make the world a simpler, and more fulfilling place. The Killing Ground...it really does seem so damn misguided...Yoko Ono: "do not attack, do not defend"...(sounds impossible?)...how about "love thine enemies?" Love may be the anwser, but what the hell is the question?

Words

I must admit, I have a very strange job...communication is my currency...some days I'm on the phone constantly talking to people coast to coast. Add in all the e-mailing I do, and you could probably draw invisible lines all over this continent representing the little thought trails that emanate out from my caffiene-saturated, supremely-befuddled consciousness...

Sometimes, it's amazing what a well-placed word can do...bring a hot situation to a cool resolution, send money streaking from one bank account to another...open someone's head to a new concept - energy efficiency...(whoa! who would of thunk it?!)...

Other times, it's amazing how little I seem to accomplish...leaving messages in someone's voicemail...messages never to be answered, maybe quickly deleted as if they never existed in the first place...sending e-mails out into a cruel, uncaring world, messages in bottles floating off into a roiling sea of indifference...my words floating out into the world, no substance, finding no purchase, no home...

Same job, different days...I can do this all from my little home office...and then those days where nothing comes back my way, no response, no echo, I feel like I could fall off the face of the earth and no-one would notice...this is my life...strange...it all comes down to words...sometimes I can conjure up something with my words, sometimes I can't...there's no telling from one day to the next...odd that, don't you think?

Feels Like Forever

You've got to love nature, our mother, for she is a changable phenomenon, she is unpredictable, although there are certain patterns and cycles that serve as signposts along the way. It's been ungodly hot lately. I'm not one to complain about the weather, the weather just is, it's beyond our control, it's just something we must contend with, and there are other things that we can control (or at least it seems so) and it's best to concentrate on the things we can do when we can do them. Or something like that...

Anyway, this is all a round about way of saying, hey, it's raining outside! And it feels so right. Black clouds and thunder, I wandered out to get a paper and the big drops of rain joyously pelted me with their sloppy wetness. I got soaked from stem to stern and I luxuriated in it. I'm now sitting in a coffee shop, sipping an iced drink, listening to some latin jazz, connected to the web via free wifi, typing into my little laptop like I have something to say...

Sometimes I write just because I can...maybe that's reason enough...and it feels like it's always been cloudy, the rain has always been falling, my shirt has always been wet and clinging to my skin...it seems like always but it will all change soon, and then something else will feel like forever...

Fripperies: A Guitarist Speaks

O.K. it's not the Buddha's sevenfold path, (sunny jimmy says: kill your god, adopt a dog), but I found this little write up quite stimulating. This about the practice of craft, from old King Crimson guitarist R. Fripp. I'm thinking you can apply it to the craft of anything, living included:

1. Act from principle
2. Begin where you are
3. Define your aim simply, clearly and briefly
4. Establish the possible, and move gradually to the impossible
5. Honor necessity
6. Honor sufficiency
7. Offer no violence
8. Suffer cheerfully
9. Work, but not solemnly
10. Without commitment, all the rules change

Demon

Not so damn enlightened this morning...the heat kind of puts an edge on everything...more madness from the radio waves...what's up with the human race? Are we just stupid? If you are a pessimist, you will be rewarded every day with an embarassment of riches, if you are an optimist, you have to work a little harder to find any gold...

If you're working in the creative sphere, everything is fodder for your black arts...the Lovely Carla tells me she is convinced there is a devil in me...(he comes out into open in full force after a few drinks)...I know what she means, there's a madness in me...a strange gleam in my eye that even puts me off...but of course, it's the little demon who I turn to for creative inspiration...cynicism, sarcasm, black humor - these are all great tools...the creative realm is where I can let my demon loose, sunny and dark get to cavort together to unleash a crazed alchemy...

This is kind of a revelation for me...(I mean, I've been working this way for years, just never really, explicitly laid it down for myself like this)...it's the play of light and dark that make it all worthwhile...

Divided

I was at a dinner last night with the Lovely Carla and one of our spiritual mentors...someone who has been instrumental in opening up the meditative landscape to us...it was a delightful night, at a little Pan-Asian restuarant on Broadway, near Belmont. The city was alive with sound and light, people and action. We live in an incredible place at an incredible time...

We talked of the madness of the world, the beauty and potential too...my favorite line of thought from the night: we live on multiple levels always, for instance: we are the dreamer in bed, we are the actor in the dream, we are watching ourselves in the dream acting. This is very much a line of thinking I've been obsessesed with over the years. This dream logic can be applied to our waking state, we are alive, we are an actor in the "real world," we are watching ourselves as we act...we are divided...

Within these divisions we struggle to live a life of integrity, wholeness, health, growth...creativity...at the same time, we are seeking a clear-eyed view of the reality around us, and much of what we see is darkness, death, pain and suffering... how best to live in this strange world of good and evil?

A Blessing and A Curse

The last few days have been really hot and humid in Chicago...I used to love the heat, but over the years my melting point seems to have become easier to breach...still, I've been running in this heat, it's a great way to remind one of the primacy of the body, nothing like sweating, huffing and puffing to prove to oneself that you are still alive...and to prove there are limits to what a body can and can't do...(like I really need to prove it!).

After a head-spinning, ecstatically exhausting jaunt on the lakefront I sat in my cool kitchen, chomping on a cheese sandwich, and listened to Patterson Hood of the Drive By Truckers singing how, "it's gonna be a world of hurt..." he goes on to explain that "to love, is to feel pain..." I guess I'm with Patterson on this one (lately I've been getting my best philosophical insights from the rock and rollers)...but of course, he ends his song with the line, "it's great to be alive..." Ain't it the truth!

And there you have it, the exquisite contradictions of our meager little lives...the only life worth living is a life of love, to love is to feel pain, it's gonna be a world of hurt...and (the kicker)... IT'S GREAT TO BE ALIVE!

Less

So much of the world seems to be aflame with rage, hatred, racism...whatever outrage you can imagine, will at some time be visited upon one human being by another human being...makes you wonder about human beings...it's amazing and absurd what people will kill and die for: their version of god, their little plot of land, their particular version of a flag, ancient grudges, perceived slights, blood oaths, you name it, all of this and more will be used as justification for pain and death and suffering. You can't ignore it, you can't let it destroy you, you can't pretend that you're above it all (this is sunny's preserve)...in the face of the atrocities all we can do is point to other realities: beauty, love, compassion, humility...in some ways it's such a meager list, but it's all we have to try to pull ourselves together. I've got no answers, I'm trying to do my part to not make the world a harder place than it already is...utimately we are beings equipped with both the love and the hatred, if there is good in the world it resides in us, if there is evil in the world it resides in us, we can live with both, we can try to restrain ourselves, we can see ourselves in the other; those looking back at us with eyes filled with pain and fear, the powerful and the weak...we can strive to be more, or less, the world is so full of the less...

Greatest Movement...

Rembrandt is 400 years old today...of course, many of those years his body has just been mouldering in the grave, but Rembrandt the artist has been in our collective consciousness oh these many years, because some of his paintings have made a deep impression on many peoples of many cultures...I'm not the greatest student of art, but I know what I like, or what moves me, and Rembrandt's touch is unmistakable, no one quite captures what he captures...(kind of like Keith Richards in that regard).

As I get older, and just a reminder, all of us are getting older (alas, we're all on the same merry go round), at least in the physical realm, (a case can be made, and I'm ready to go with it hook, line and sinker, that we are more than our bodies, we have something, or are something, that transcends the physicality of our bodies - consciousness itself seems to be a good example - although what happens to that consciousness when our bodies melt into the ground is anybody's guess) but maybe it's that case that some of us can grow younger as we grow older, in some kind of spiritual sense - Dylan's phrase: "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."

What's really striking about Rembrandt, besides his unworldy attention to, and exquisite rendering of light, is his honesty in depicting the disintegration of the flesh. He is known to have used the phrase: "the greatest and most natural movement." No one exactly knows what he meant, but look at one of his canvasses, especially his series of self-portraits, and watch the trajectory of a life, a man from young to old, and I think we get a strong hint of what he was going for. There is no sin in growing old, in fact, in many ways, it only happens to the lucky ones. See the daily newspaper for a chronicle of the unlucky.

If we can face the truth of age with clear-sighted honesty, maybe we can see beauty in the decay, a nobility in the lines and creases, a story in the scars and folds of a face collapsing upon itself. It is natural, it is only the greatest movement...

Can't Make Up My Mind...

Sometimes we are just passing the time, and sometimes the time is just passing us. Either way there seems to be some forward movement, or maybe it's circular, or maybe it's all an illusion...

Dancing!

I must admit I've had some gnarly times lately, where the world is all hard edges and bristly quills. When the bad times predominate, there's a point where you begin to think that's how it will always be, you don't see any light at the end of the tunnel, hell you don't even see a tunnel, just darkness.

Well, I'm happy to report that the last few days have turned in a new direction. Yesterday the thought that came to me..."sometimes the day carresses you." Yes, it was a carressing kind of day. It was like all the tumblers clicked into place and suddenly I had the key to open any lock.

It's been like that for a few days consecutively...what you forget sometimes and what I was reminded of, it's best just to do, to act, to be, don't "try" to say something, just say it...do it, etc. It's a simple thing, but sometimes not the easiest thing to do...it's like we're in this extended tango with the universe, sometimes our feet just move to the tune without hesitation, sometimes we're clunky and flat-footed; the key...JUST KEEP DANCING!

A Snack

I went to this power breakfast yesterday with movers and shakers in the energy industry. Now little sunny is not a mover or shaker, no just a hold on tighter and hope not to fall off-er, and everything went fine, no visions of apocalypse. It's strange we spend a lot of time thinking about what will be, and then, what is, turns out to be so different. What a waste of psychic energy. I showed up, paid attention, told the truth, wasn't attached to outcome. It seemed to go well. I was kind of on a high the rest of the day, thinking that maybe my luck has changed for the better. I've been getting advice from many unlikely sources things like: listen to god, let things come and go, have a love affair with your life, be a man. I decided not to be so recalcitrant, no resistance, just take everything in and let it pass, kind of like a good meal...hmmm, here's a delightful little universe...put it on a cracker, add a little seasoning, yum, yum...tasty and so nutritious!

The Cooties

I'm vacationing this week, but events have conspired against lazy, summer, bliss and I find myself up before the crack of dawn preparing for a strange, off the cuff, sunny-orchestrated, power breakfast with two dinosaurs from the energy business. This in the shadow of Ken Lay's untimely exit. What the hell am I doing? I've been on a bad streak lately, having difficulties in my communication space, so to say. It seems I'm making enemies left and right and all I'm doing is walking the walk. It seems the world is tilted in one direction and I'm full tilt in the other. On the one hand, I'm thinking I'm stepping into a possible combustible situation, one that I choreographed, (I've got no one to blame but me), on the other, I'm kind of interested to see if the sparks fly, the walls crack, and the sidewalks really do open to the flaming gates of hell. What a tangled web we weave...

Stages

With Merton as the model, I think I would have made a hell of a good hermit. I think of a life as a series of stages:

1. evolution
2. revolution
3. dissolution
4. resolution
5. absolution

I'm thinking I'm in the "resolution" phase...of course all of this is arbitrary and subject to revision...

Orbit

On the other hand, since it will be 5 years before we start having sex with robots, maybe it's best that damn meteor misses us...plus, the weather report expects lots of sunshine and warmth...here's hoping we stay in orbit for awhile...no telling what else is in store for us down the line...

Meteor

Do we now have to worry about a 3 mile wide meteor hitting the earth and knocking us out of orbit? Add it to the list of dire and cataclysmic events that loom over us. Has it always been so? Is the end near? Do I hear the rumbling of hooves in the distance? Is it the charging sound of the Four Horses of the Apocalypse...? Well, dare I say it...let it come down...I don't say this fatalistically...no, instead, I say it with a slight bemusement. The universe ends and begins every day, each and every time we close and open our eyes...but what if it really was the Big One? The really Big One? What a show it would be...!

Happy & Gay

I didn't go to the Gay Pride Parade yesterday, but I let my psychedelic freak rainbow fly high in solidarity. I had a perfect day, a day of unbridled hedonism (ah yes, the pleasure principle). If it wasn't for Sister Mary Aquanata (my third grade teacher - but really can I put all the blame in her black-robed lap?), I think I would have been a great Pagan. I did my best to drop my Catholic inheritance: profound GUILT! So I had a long and happy run along the lakefront. I took a long carefree soak in the bathtub reading the NY Times from front to back, I played my guitar, I had a great meal, I drank two ice-cold beers (2006 Illinois Inaugural Fat Tire!), I watched one of my favorite movies (R. Altman's The Long Goodbye). It was exquisite. No doubts, no pain, no guilt, complete satisfying pleasure!

Yes, happy and gay! My father, in his later years, after he outlived many of his contemporaries, used to quote that line: "living well is the best revenge." I don't think he meant it as revenge against anyone in particular (he wasn't a revengeful man), but instead it was a general claim against the doomsters, the nay-sayers, the backstabbers, the hypocritical moralists, etc. Of course for him living well meant a great bike ride on a summer day, a trip to the old fishing hole, a lazy baseball game on the tube, a day spent painting on a canvas...

So yes, let's all let our rainbow colors fly high. Be loud, be proud. We are human beings first...let's not forget or regret. There's beauty in all of us, let us all live well...

Satisfy

It comes back to the simple things: a good meal, a great sleep, a cold beer, a good tune, a focused rehearsal, a meeting of creative souls, a crackling power trio, a committed group of actors working on a theater piece. You don't get something from nothing. It's always something from something. This is the universe we live in. Sometimes it is sweet.

A Soy Bath

I walked a little old lady across the street this morning. Somehow I was at the right place, at the right time to do a good deed. A good act that made me feel good. If only it was always so simple. Usually things start getting complicated real quick. Sometimes it's hard to define what's good, what's bad, or maybe what you thought was good, leads to something bad, or the other way around. There's supposedly this Karma Train that rewards the good and the bad, but sometimes it's hard to find any evidence of the tracks...

So, I do my good deed, and go get a coffee, I'm walking down this alley, I've got my cell phone in one hand, and iced latte in the other - talk about the modern condition, I'm thinking to myself, "you're juggling two things at once here, don't drop your drink!" My phone is on the fritz, it's not working correctly, the ear piece thingy works only intermittently, I'm futzing with the thing, I bobble my drink and it falls to ground in one big splash; my phone is drenched in iced, venti, soy latte. So, I chalk it up to my own incompetance. I get home, sponge the phone down, and find now that it's working perfectly. Could a soy bath be the miracle cure for touchy cell phones? I don't have a definitive answer, just the concrete evidence. Does this have anything to do with string theory, divine providence, the rules of karma, or the Bavarian Illuminati?

Summer

Summer's here and time is right for chillin. Not exactly classic rock, but closer to the state of the sunny nation. Notch another summer on our belts. There's only so many, (is the number written somewhere?) for each of us, and you can't do much more than be in it, and know that you're in it, as you're in it. This isn't another post musing on the insubstantiality of a life, although, of course, that theme is ever present, but instead it's just a marker laid down to say, "check it out!" Remember that other song that tells us summer is the time when the "living is easy?" It should always be so.

A Wire

I'm walking down the alley this morning, going to get my rocket fuel and I spy 3 little sparrows sitting up on the telephone wire. That Leonard Cohen lyric springs into my head, and I'm singing like a mad fool: "like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried, in my way, to be free." A great surge of joy radiates throught my body. It's the first day of summer, it's a hot, humid, stormy day in Chicago. I am feeling waves of euphoria (this is before my latte). Not sure what's up. Sometimes sitting on a telephone wire, watching the scene is everything. I have tried to be free, and happy, and intelligent and all the things I think a cool guy should try to be and do. Then again, kicking down an alley, with no pain, no fear might just be that little glimmer of eternity that makes it all seem right.

Sex with Robots

I saw this headline this morning: "We'll be having sex with Robots in 5 years." Hmmm. Here's hoping it will be voluntary...

Citizen of the World

Although, we are given a certain set of equipment at birth (these eyes, these hands, etc.), it seems we are as changable as the weather, or at least on an emotional level, (which admittedly might be totally irrelevant to the ways of the world), we are as insubstantial as the clouds blowing across the sky, or the trees dancing in the wind, or the vapor rising from the sewer grate. There's the national weather report, and then there is the internal Dumps/Sunny Report which sometimes coincides with the national (or at least regional trend) and sometimes not. It's harder to be sunny in the midst of the muddy gloom, or to be dumpy in the glorious sunshine, but at the same time, it's not impossible, in fact it's a common occurance. Which leads one to surmise that not only are we changeable, but we are also, flighty, inconsistent and sometimes just plain stubborn. Today, it is glorious, summer, sunshine, and the internal report seems to match up quite nicely with the grander trend. I'm Citizen of the World today. There are no cares. It's a pleasure to be inhaling and exhaling. The sun is shining down like a benevolent god, the summer breeze is riding on my shoulder like a shy friend keeping me company, the birds are singing, the trees are swaying, everything seems in it's place - perfect, uncompromising, undemanding. All I have to do is show up. Pay attention. Seems infinitely doable.

Creative Maelstrom

I plunged back into the creative maelstrom yesterday, and it was like reconnecting with that one special drug that lights up your synapses and makes the world seem like a friendly animal that wants to be your bosom buddy. Or something like that. My little theater group has embarked upon another little blast of madness, this time a playlet and loosely connected collection of songs that at least in my head could turn out to be a glorious little folly of sound and fury.

There is some kind of kick to be had working out on a stage (any open space), pretending to be some other character, mouthing lines that wouldn't normally pass these parched lips. Nothing like setting aside some creative space, with no concerns beyond putting on a good show. Combine that certain acting challenge with a rambunctious musical sidecar and, well brother, you are approaching that mythical territory called nirvana.

Part of the maddening pleasure is in the realization that there is no perfect performance, only approximations, valiant attempts, furtive stabs at the target. So you can never be satiated, never be filled to the brim, never lose that fire, it is an unrequited love, the gift that keeps on giving. Not a bad way to occupy a life.

Experiment

Well, there's no perfect human being. Failure is built into the system. Nature keeps churning out new faces. People are so damn unreliable. You can't trust any of them. They all burn out, fade away, give up the ghost, leave the scene. They come and go. There is no "perfect," that's one of the lessons along the way, there are only endless approximations. Kind of an interesting experiment. Looks to be an experiment gone off the rails (or no, an experiment with no fixed point, an experiment for the fuck of it!). I think we call this evolution, or really it's natural selection. The current situation dictates who suceeds (briefly), who fails (it's all relative - everything fails finally, or maybe we need to redefine failure to say that there is no failure only degrees of success?!). The situation changes, everything changes. The race continues, the rules are flexible, fungible, the race continues. Change is an in-built feature too. Very interesting. Kind of cool. Very strange. Not so good (or bad) for any one individual. Not so good (or bad) for a generation, a species. So each of us play a part. Like a clueless actor we may wonder, "what's my motivation," but even as we ask the question, a smile breaks across our radar screen...yes, well, all we can do is act...there is no alternative.

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?