no infant

as I sit on my couch this morning reading, I hear the sound of a light rain dropping onto my roof. Though brief, I stood at the window watching. At long last the skies have begun to change, and the air has shifted into the brisk seducer of scarves that she is. Yesterday, I received in the mail my “Nielsen TV ratings viewing diary” along with five crisp, new, one dollar bills. I’m not sure how they found my name, but I find this quite humorous as I’ve not owned or watched a television {aside from film rental} on purpose for over ten years. One would think that in the efforts of spending their five dollars wisely, they might first ask if I own a television, then go from there. I haven’t yet decided quite what I will write in my diary, but I rather like the possibilities.

Spoke to the wildly busy christian kiefer yesterday, primarily about how one deals emotionally and physically with the maddening blur of rearing his infant, and found that I indeed have more time than I allow myself to believe. I like the fact that nearly every time I speak to this dear friend of mine, we discuss what books we are both currently reading or have just completed. He just worked his way through some science fiction epic {the name of which I forget} and I told of “and now you can go” by vendela vida which reminded me somehow of Salinger’s “Franny and Zooey.” i wrote vendela a letter a while back, and sent her a copy of 'i am not in spain' as she discussed several things in an interview that i identified with. ie: riding her bike to hemingway's grave, middlebury college etc... i've not heard back yet, but figure i should write again to say that i enjoyed her novel. it made me think of an old friend from college named Maggie Clinton who moved to brooklyn and more or less disappeared from my skies.

oh but i have so many letters to write. mike and i are embroiled in the planning of this bike trip, and trying rather incessantly to gain sponsoship, so my mornings before work have become rigidly structured into guitar, voice, letter writing, and training. no infant though. my love to you dear christian and macie. my love to you.

the long blue line

last night, mike schwartz and i sat to discuss the great sitting we will be doing together this coming summer. i wondered a bit about whether or not i should make a big to-do about it here with great pomp and circumstance, but decided to let the discussion {and possibly the trip itself} flow less like a torrent river, and more like the glassy constitution of the great lakes. which consequently, we will view while sitting.

you see, mike called me a few weeks ago to propose the idea of a bike trip together this summer. i was secretly planning one again, but figured i'd go alone, and wasn't all that certain of anything. well dear reader, what began as a molehill, has certainly become a mountain.

the great sitting.

yes indeed, mike schwartz and i will be riding our bikes from our homes {respectively berkeley and santa rosa} to maine. it amazes me, that the thoughts of this journey bring forth nothing but joy and excitement, lust even for the experience and the liberation. in some way, or even all ways perhaps, i feel as though the trip has already begun. as time moves, i will put up snippets of the latest developments, for this one will be a different animal entirely. this one will grow wings and this one will fly.

as i sit here at my computer this early afternoon, i stare at a map of the united states that i thumbtacked to my wall this morning. on said map, i have drawn our route, and i can hardly contain my excitement when i look at the blue line, running across the northern half of the united states. at this point, patience is the real battle. patience, patience, patience.

500

i read in the chronicle, that a UCSF biologist has altered a gene {daf-2} which has thusly resulted in extending the life span of a worm {caenorhabiditis elegans} from an average of 2 weeks, to and average of 12. "the latest example of life extension the scientists conferred on their roundworms is the equivalent of humans living healthy and active lives for 500 years...although scientists have used other techniques to extend the life spans of other organisms, Kenyon said her group's most recent efforts have acheived the longest extension of average life span on record. equally important, the worms remained active and even 'frisky' she said."

and yet i wonder, what does one do about the fatigue in their legs from having ridden their bike too far, when it was too hot, and slept too little over the weekend? perhaps there just seems to be a lack of time, as is often the case. turning the clocks back always makes me feel like i've gained something, as purely psychological as it is. perhaps i need to read jitterbug perfume again. oh these lives of our with all of their choices. some people go to antarctica to study peguins, others play guitar, others plant trees in yards, others go shopping for people too rich or lazy or ? to do it themselves.

500 years, sure would give us the possibility to do just about everything. i think i would like that.

the volvo

and the time arrives for me to sell my volvo. or volv, as the photo would suggest. perhaps the time arrived quite long ago, but i was simply unwilling to heed its whispered calling. the problem of course, is that i have so many memories tied to this car. it has essentially left the world of inanimate objects because of its presence in so much of my life experience. oh if only it had ears and vocal chords and the will to tell stories.

i've long had this fantasy of restoring it to some pristine form, and never owning any other car. but then in time, they will perfect the hydrogen fuel cell car, the planet will run out of oil, and i will be left with a piece of beautiful history. not that that's bad. but i ask myself, how long can one hold onto something? about a year and a half past, i drove this car for what will likely be our last voyage together. it was past midnight, in a dizzying mess of rain. i was headed down oak street in san francisco {rather steep hill} when a light turned red and i applied the brakes, to discover absolutely no resistance. as i rocketed down the hill running red lights and yelling out of my window {horn doesn't work; driver side window will not roll up} i wondered just why i was in this car. my mind darted back to watching those kids get hit by the car going 60, around amsterdam and 103rd in new york. i recalled the sound their bodies made as the car struck them, and hurled them up into the dark winter sky. the streets wet with their blood, and the air filled with a mother's screaming. how such things can haunt ones' dreams.

but i made it home that night from oak st. {yes, i foolishly drove the entire way} and left the car to rest in front of my house. one last memory, drenched in adrenaline and giant heaps of luck. the window down, my face cold from rain.

from 'repertoire'

"i have at my command
queen-bees in boxes
and you'll see how, one by one,
they smooth out the honey,
dressing up as apples,
climbing the cherry trees,
quivering in the smoke.

for you i'm keeping these wild loves
who will have the spring,
who are strangers to weeping.

hide yourself in the clock
in the belfry while they pass,
girls bright as amaranth,
the last girls of the snow,
the lost ones, the lucky ones,
the ones crowned in yellow,
the infinitely mysterious;
and some, gentle and loving,
will perform their limpid dance,
while others pass on fire,
swift as meteors.

tell me which ones you want for now;
later is too late."

~pablo neruda

a drug for all things please.

yesterday i read in the new york times, an article about the design of new workplaces. the article was focused around one building in particular owned by sprint, which was being lauded for its innovation regarding the encouragement of physical activity. the stairwells had been designed with giant windows all along the sides, while the elevators were hydrolic {thus quite slow} which the designers felt would help to increase people's desire to walk rather than ride. there were also a few ping pong tables in the lunch room. jesus christ. the article was written with a positve angle. another company {i can't remember which, nor can i find the article this morning} was offering prescriptions free of charge to their employees, for weight loss drugs.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

i cannot even begin to stomach the absurdity of this situation. how pathetic can people be? and then i read this morning in adbusters, that stanford scientists have found that a drug called citalopram {better known as the antidepressant celexa} can "nix the need for a shopping fix." "of the 24 patients in the study, only one of whom is male, 15 reported their condition after treatment as 'much improved' or 'very much improved.' three dropped out due to side effects. "patients said to me, 'i go to the shopping mall with my friends and i don't buy anything,' said dr. lorrin koran, the lead author of the study. 'i can't believe it and they can't believe it. they've been doing this for decades and now their urge to shop is gone."

i would laugh and laugh were this not so deeply indicative of the direction our modern world is taking. i think the doctors should prescribe jim harrison novles, good food, endless nights of music, trips to southern spain and wherever else, and a mandatory walking of the pacific crest trail in its entirety.

one cannot do much shopping, when walking through the woods.

and liquid

and the gorgeous skies continue. october and may seem to bring such a flurry of color to the endless roof above us. and tonight i will drive into san francisco as the colors spin their webs, to play a show. it has been quite some time since i've found myself in that world of the stage. it feels bittersweet, as i will likely play it alone. i recall the last show i played alone quite well. it was at luna's cafe in sacramento, over a year past i believe. the room was crowded and i felt weightless. and liquid. i broke a string as i often do, and played a bunch of old songs i hadn't played in years. who knows what i will call forth tonight. oh, this making of art can be such a beast. simultaneously beautiful and ugly, heavy and light. inorganic and organic, like computers and bears. so i drag out the live guitar and change the strings. warm my hands and voice. it's all for love in the end. all for love.

keeping the skull

the leaves have begun their slow changing and falling to ground. the twisted trees look sleepy and calm and stoic in their motionless ways, and their creaking haunts even the sunlit skies. only eucalyptus could do such a thing. as i ride through tilden park, i stop occassionally to fill my pockets with these leaves, then bring them home and stuff them between the pages of books. sometimes, our lives give us precisely what we wish for, and other times they do not. what are these 'lives' of ours after all? friday i went to ikea looking for a cost effective solution to my window shade problem. no. no no no no no. if there are antonyms in a thesaurus somewhere for sunset, one of them should be ikea. such a strange effect that place has on me psychologically. instantly upon entering, i feel completely, hopelessly overwhelmed and i wish deeply to leave, while simultaneously feeling as though i must buy many many things. so i left empty handed, feeling as though i had seen a bad movie in the middle of the day, only to be met with the scorching light of sun.

now reading sundog. jim harrison says that the 'ultimate track any creature leaves on earth is its skull.' wow. and today, night arrives gently, like an injured bird sitting alone at the edge of a limb. resting its weary, hollow bird-bones, and keeping its skull. hold on dear bird, hold on.

from 'emerging'

"and all at once, that's it; we no longer know
what it's all about, but we are deep inside it,
and now we will never see with the same eyes
as once we did when we were children playing.
now these eyes are closed to us,
now our hands emerge from different arms.

and therefore when you sleep, you are alone in your dreaming,
and running freely through the corridors
of one dream only, which belongs to you.
oh never let them come to steal our dreams,
never let them entwine us in our bed.
let us hold on to the shadows
to see if, from our own obscurity,
we emerge and grope along the walls,
lie in wait for the light to capture it,
till, once and for all time,
it becomes our own, the sun of every day."

~Pablo Neruda

lumbering

i sit in the kitchen eating dinner and listening to new york times columnist and princeton economics professor paul krugman speak about the grave state of america. his intelligence, and scope of understanding are staggering. i am reminded of reading "johnny got his gun," the anti war novel written by dalton trumbo late at night during high school. i would find myself so terribly disturbed that i had to walk beneath the sky, to keep alive the thumping heart of my optimism. and so i will type, then walk while listening to music. the smiths. and today begins to unwind with the night. some days are the color of blood. the thickness even. the timing and synchronicity of our existence moves like syrup through our skies, inflating the sun. i ran into an old friend today at a stoplight, whom i wouldn't have seen had so many elements of my day been different. but then my life would be different if my life was different. i suppose one should simply revel in such things rather than question them. and she seemed so electric and full of life, and how contagious that can be. radiant. an encouraging thing to be reminded that life does indeed move on, people grow and fall more in love with this process as the seasons change. how is it that autumn always feels so nostalgic? robillard even looks pensive. so as we lumber into october i grow more and more fond of the colder nights and gray skies. oh rain where are you? where oh where oh where?

"bang bang your dead, hole in your head"

good god we live in a strange world. i concluded with great certainty last night {not that i hadn't come to this conclusion before} that we must be the most impertinent of animals. yes indeed. as i sit on my couch this evening reading the last of "the road home," i get on line to look at photos of airdales, to greater clarify my image of them, as they are prevalent in the book. somehow, the first place google lists is here. who am i to judge what people spend their time doing? click on the photo links.

no more claws!

last night i drove home with the heater on for the first time in quite a while, thinking about emerson joseph mattson kiefer. what does one say, when such a dear friend and his wife have a child? all else seems to fall pale in the wake of such things. christian called me on his way home in the car, stating that his wife was in labor, and wanted a beverage from jamba juice. we spoke about the beatles, and what a great band they were, though i've not listened to them all that much. later that evening, when i listened to his message, i was struck by the great calm and presence in his voice. it was the voice of such a deep certainty. yes, all other things may fall into question, but the clarity of having a child must be absolutely inescapable and somehow timeless. it was the voice of a new father. if there is such a thing as a perfect moment, then that is it. and what a beautiful name. i chuckle at the fact that he was born on the same day as william faulkner. and so i drove, thinking about the magnitude of a new life. i have always enjoyed driving with the heat on and windows down, for it is such a specific feeling, that can only be experienced in the technology of our modern world. yes indeed, some of these incomprehensible inventions are truly beautiful. jefferson, awash in the cold air, only to be warmed and soothed instantly by the rush of warmth that swirls so gently. alas, this fog that rolls in off our bay is such a wondrous gift. and today again the air looks cold. the sun has fallen into the arms of grayness, and the clouds smile their sinister smile and blow their clandestine wind. and today, i am thinking about arnold. good god. what can i say? he seems to be leading the polls currently, and what i previously thought to be quite humorous, is quickly becomming a dire matter. then again, i found george w. bush to be rather funny at the debates as well. he was the court jester to me, the fool in the funny hat. this time, it is the fool with the big muscles. move on has some great info if you're interested.

meanwhile, i read sy safransky and sigh that familiar sigh that i am such an immeasurably small part of this world. "i went to an antiwar demonstration yesterday. too many leftists sound as if they've audited courses at the Rush Limbaugh School of Oversimplification. hatred is hatred. a leftist demonizing the president is no different than bush inveighing against "the evil ones." but i'm glad i went, just as i'm glad to be sitting here peacefully this morning with my cat in my lap. of course, if a mouse suddenly darted across the floor, how abruptly this peaceful moment would end. could i do anything to keep my cat from pouncing? would it make a difference if a hundred thousand mice had demonstrated yesterday, chanting, no more claws?" ~Sy