I am now a real office worker . . .

because I purchased this.

existential loneliness at the dryer

most of the time i am okay with my single status. I definitely have those moments where i feel this melancolic haze about what things could be like, but i've been maturing and realizing that my life is as good as it will ever be, so dwelling on how things could be better is a waste of time.

but then i have these ridiculous moments where i don't want to feel so alone. pulling my laundry out of the dryer today, it hit. what do i expect? someone to clean the lint out of the lint trap with me, each of us holding a plastic edge, while my other hand reaches out to wipe away the sheet of linty fibers.

i realize fully that this is ridiculous.

most classicly, it's the waking up each morning that i find the toughest. i have no problem coming home to an empty bed, but waking up inside of one is more frightening. i roll over each morning to a vacant slot with an unused pillow next to it. the delight and/or regularity of having someone there is something i have never really been able to get used to.

so much so that I have much difficulty in the past sleeping next to someone. i get insomnia, that usually fuels my love sickness, and makes me loopy as can be.

George oppen talks about the moment of awakening quite extensively in his poetry. it is the moment that light hits our eyes that we realized that we exist. we see something that proves that we are expereincing, that we are alive. maybe what i long for is to see a mirror image, a male image that reminds me that I exist. that i am not just a floating entity. Is this what true love is able to prove to us? That we exist, quite simply, alongside of each other. Proximity becomes comforting, even though we experience alone. Why is romantic love different?

I don't mean this in a way that being with a man would as the cliche goes "fill the void" inside of me, but I do desire to feel presence of a certain masculine variety. Presence, being present . . . engagement.

I watched a man on the bus yesterday methodically change his text message to someone that I presume was a girlfriend. He slowly made the message he was sending to her less and less engaged. It went from something like "let's meet here at this time" to "lemme know" (let me was spelled just like that) . . . text messaging is the best thing that ever happened to boys.

the desire for presence is such a female desire, and the desire for casual freedom such a masculine one. i resent feeling like such a cliche.

motion

i'm in one of those places again where everything seems up in the air. i have no idea what will happen next. i don't know what I want out of my life. i don't know what i want to be. I believe this is commonly referred to these days as "the quarter life crisis." i am excited by the thought of the opportunities ahead of me for self improvement.

on a similar note, my opinions are more clear cut these days. i assume i am on the path to a higher level of self assurance.

going with the flow is simultaneously not acceptable, and my only option. i guess what i mean is that i am open to whatever fate has to offer me, but i am aware of the fact that I am in control when i believe that it is taking me somewhere i don't want to go.

These names only mean something to you

Vocabulary.
my vocabulary against your vocabulary. everytime i have to communicate with someone, (and sometimes even with myself), I run up against this conflict.

Each person seems to have their own set of meaning that they are woking within.

a new computer

a new haircut

I've been trying to clean and minimize these days. It feels wonderful. A few weeks ago I recycled some old cassette tapes, this week I have a bag full of books that I'm going to donate. I put stray paperwork in it's filed home, and spare blankets in their place in the basement. Less weight, more clarity, I hope. The comic books are on the agenda, and there's a bag of old shoes sitting at home to go out too.

Like the roasted body of an animal, you and I, we consumed each delicate bite. We picked off all the meaty morsels, and chewed them over. We revisited the flavors of the passion we shared. I picked, you picked, we both chewed on the fat, fed ourselves on the meat.

The carcass is left, the flavor is still in my mouth, and sadly darling, there is no more to eat.

I still want to chew off your shoulder. I want to give you my arms and my calves.

The fading sets in even further, but I remember fondly . . .

Your Catfish Friend
by Richard Brautigan

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."

Dear Anonymous Commenter to My Blog

Hello,

I have turned my comments back on. I trust that you will not abuse the feature. I understand your good intentions, but I was displeased that you used my real name in my blog. I do not want it posted.

I was unsettled by the nature of your comments, especially after the second poem you left for me (both poems I have removed from the blog). Your sentiments were of an overly reverant nature. Your fascination with me is largely constructed. You do not know me as a person.

I have no idea who you are. I have read the posts you made to your blog, the blog that you linked to in one of your posts, and have now deleted.

If you would like to commment on my blog, please be transparent about your identity.

Best,

A Thursday in the ER . . .

I saw my doctor last thursday morning. I had to drink tons of water and wait forty minutes to give him a sample. He wrote me a prescription, and sent me to the ER.

By the time my sister drove me to the emergency room, I was in serious pain. My bladder was visibly distended. The previous two days, urination had required ample time, the sound of a faucet running, and some reading material, usually the back of a hairspray bottle to distract me and relax me enough to let it flow. It was hard to walk into the ER.

They gave me my robe, and showed me the hospital room where I would be waiting for my doctor. It was more like an operating room with a huge light over my head. I had peed once on my way in, and the pain returned. It was excruciating.

I talked to at least 3 doctors reviewing my story, my theories of what was causing my affliction. They told me it wasn't a normal bladder infection, that I should be going a lot, not retaining.

They did a bladder scan: 967 ml. It was obvious I needed to be drained.

They took my blood, and I waited. It was cold and I was feeling overwhelmed. The nurse returned, and put in a foley catheter. I didn't notice an immediate release in pressure, but within 5 minutes, my only discomfort was the presence of the catheter. I drained steadily for quite awhile. I hade 1500 ml inside me, more than a liter!! That's more than a carafe of wine.

They sent me home with a leg bag, and instructions to see a uroligist. Thank goodness my sister was there with me. Not the way I expected things to be. I thought I was going to get prescribed antibiotics at the first doctor's office, and go to work, go to yoga in the evening, but I was at home with a catheter.

Lucky Breaks

So I won a television from Lucky Magazine. It's a 20" LCD screen. At first I thought it was spam, but curiosity got the better of me. I did remember entering for it. . . and it was real. Arrived on my doorstep last week. A pretty nice tv too.

I had no idea what to do with it. I have a small room, and it would require me to buy a dvd player. I also already have a tv/dvd set up, one of those all in one combo units. I decided to give it to my parents. They can use as a big computer monitor. My dad will be proud of my gold bar syndrome . . . runs in the family.

busride from hell

oh my god, what a day.

i hightailed it to south station to get on an earlier bus, and they put me on a bus leaving in 15 minutes. I rolled my luggage over and quickly bought some water and gum.

On the way, I had to get out off the t train a stop early because my transfer station didn't have an elevator down to the platform. I went above ground and walked.

Back to the fung wah bus. I get on at 1:30. We begin the ride to New York.

The cell phone reception in connecticutt is awful. The bus is cold, and I curl up to sleep. While I sleep, the sun comes out and melts the cookie I put in my pocket. The bus stopped at a mcdonald's to let us pee, and i look down to see what looks like a poop stain on my hand. i looked down further to see the chocolate from my melted cookie overflowing out of my hoodie. ewww.

back on the bus. we are in traffic for nearly 3 hours getting into manhattan.

got off on the lower east side at 8:30. Missed my chance to reprint my e-ticket, and missed the connecting bus that i was supposed to get onto philly at 8pm. I walk the wrong way down canal st.

i've got a lot on my mind.

the chinatown bus station is crazy. things are poorly labeled, people are yelling at me to get on their bus.

i accidentally almost got on a bus to dc.

thank god i asked. i hit my head putting my luggage into the cargo on the right bus.

Once i'm on my philly bus, there was a beeping up front, so i moved to the back, and when the bus was moving, it sounded like clattering floorboards. I feared for my life. i had visions of the frame shifting while we were on the highway.

the people in front of me have their ipods on loud. i can hear their music "it's raining men, halleleujah"

whoa. close to midnight i arrived in philly. . .

There are always more rocks to smoke on

I smoked a cigarette naked on a rock 8700 ft above sea level. In light of this, everything is okay . . .

California was in front of me, and Nevada behind me.

The high-altitude winds blew through my crotch when I took off my pants, cooling the sweat from the hike up to the peak.

A raised column of rock made the perfect seat for my tush. I had a hard time getting my cigarette lit, but once it was I sucked in the smoke as if it was the air my life depended upon.

I stretched my arms up, and the sun crawled towards late afternoon.

This was a non-sexual moment, pure in its intentions. Just a moment to be in tune with my mind, with the scene before me.

Cigarettes

I have this sort of odd obsession with pictures of people smoking. The photos are always so meditative, so ethereal, so lovely. I don't care about it perpetuating a negative habit. I have a flickr feed on my browser homepage that shows me different photos each morning. This is my favorite from today.

Candles flickered on every round table throughout the bar. The man at the piano swung his long hair backward, and emphatically played John Lennon's "Imagine," in an almost ragtime fashion. He began to sing. Cars passed regularly in the background, subtle white noise. Dusk settled.

hidden photo

i dropped my library book the other day, and a hidden photo fell out onto the corner of stanyan and frederick. It's a photo of an older dark haired man with a pot belly in a pair of carharts. He's sitting in a truck against a southwest seat cover. The photo is taken by the person in the driver's seat. He is looking at the photographer in the corner of his eye.

I will scan it later.

Mein Holga

Green Paper Package

I received a long awaited package today, but when I saw how it had been packaged, the wait was entirely worth it.

Scissors for Lefty

My new favorite local band.