Been slipping lately, tuning into basketball, internet, television etc etc, all against my better judgment, with the result that my output is down. But what the hell, I finally managed to shut off the noise and here I am again, just me and the keyboard, the tabula rasa, the blank slate. OK it took most of the day to get here, but why recriminate? Who does that help exactly?
I've been talking on a nearly daily basis to M in Thailand. She has been calling me after her shift at work, when it's 4 in the morning over there and she can't sleep. She misses me a lot, and the feeling is mutual. For awhile there, as I posted, I was bummed at the fact that she was drinking, but I'm coming around to a different way of thinking about it. It would be so easy to just write her off as someone with an alcohol problem, (which I don't know is the case, actually). I think the 'writing off' would say more about me than about her, so I plan to withhold judgment on that particular subject (if possible... good luck with that, Rich) and just appreciate the fact of someone who loves me a lot, is crying because we're apart, and seems willing to wait for me to return and resume our love connection.
It seems like a classic 'head versus heart' dynamic, and I usually go with the head, but this time, I'd rather just hang out in the mystery for awhile, let it develop the way that it will and see where things are a month from now, a season from now, a year from now. I had nearly forgotten the theme of my sojourn in Asia, namely the idea of taking it in one moment at a time, and seeing what's what. Let it come and let it go. Seems so pure and simple and foreign here, in this media obsessed rat race of America. And when the phone rings and I see the Thailand number on the screen, my heart lifts. I really did love the time that we spent together. Am I naive? Absolutely! Do I care? Not too much.
M keeps talking about the differences between men and women and has indicated to me that it's OK for me to 'do homework' (code for 'have sex') while I'm away from her. This is a development that I haven't really experienced before, as it's never been OK with a partner in the past. And she's not saying it to garner a green light for her own 'homework assignments', but more as an acknowledgment of how men are different than women. I don't know what to make of this 'freedom', but it's very intriguing and it makes me that much more interested in her. It's a first, so it challenges something new in my brain. If we were together in Thailand, no it wouldn't be cool for me to take another lover, but with the distance, she has no problem with it. I tell her that she's free as well, but I'm guessing that if and when she acts on that freedom, I'll be less accepting than her. We shall see, as the odds seem quite high that one or both of us will test out the freedom.
Long story short, my predominant emotion at the moment is gratitude for being connected with her, even from around the world, even with the uncertainty, even with the problems. She's a special woman and I love her.
Uptight, not satisfied
I find myself in a low level pissed off state lately, easily miffed, still unspliffed. But no panacea there, it's still me, and I'm not really digging who me is. It's like I have a gray filter on the world that's not quite letting the light in, not a lot of pleasure, going through the motions, like there's a lock on the jubilation switch. And I've got expectations that there is something more, right around the corner.
(aside) As I'm writing the preceding, my mind is in hip hop mode, wanting to jam with the syllables, turn it into poetry, slam on the gas, find a little rhythm, make it into music. So perhaps this is the state to let that beast out a bit. Because I'm pissed off and wanting to hit it, get with it, express it and not stress it. And who cares anyway, I'm just one character going through the rolodex, looking for connection, section by section, word to word and if it don't get heard, doesn't make any difference, not even a pittance.
I've been waiting by the email, hoping for a visitor, is it her?, something external but nobody's knocking, nobody's talking, I need some attention, at least some invention, even dissension to shake up the tension.
Mind is racing but not getting anywhere, same old pattern, don't really matter, cause I'm gonna fight through it, always pursue it, even when it's hopeless, even when I'm jokeless, tokeless, I got to focus, still gonna dig in, pan for the shiny stuff, when is enough enough, house is a wreck, would sure fail inspection, yes sir no sir, I don't want to go, sir, stick at the keyboard, stick in the 'me' sword, cut to the center, open up and enter, see what's shaking, and what I've been forsaking.
Still no takers, no one on tele, no one on the email, no one on the celly, Maybe it's better that I never get a letter, I'm a lousy correspondent, so why be despondent, I made this bed so now I get to lie in it, sigh in it, die in it, maybe say bye bye in it. Don't get me wrong I'm not looking for the hatch, I'm not mixing up a batch, and I'm sure not ready yet, I'm not that kind of idiot, at least not at this time, just looking for the bliss time, the brother's still in his prime.
(aside) As I'm writing the preceding, my mind is in hip hop mode, wanting to jam with the syllables, turn it into poetry, slam on the gas, find a little rhythm, make it into music. So perhaps this is the state to let that beast out a bit. Because I'm pissed off and wanting to hit it, get with it, express it and not stress it. And who cares anyway, I'm just one character going through the rolodex, looking for connection, section by section, word to word and if it don't get heard, doesn't make any difference, not even a pittance.
I've been waiting by the email, hoping for a visitor, is it her?, something external but nobody's knocking, nobody's talking, I need some attention, at least some invention, even dissension to shake up the tension.
Mind is racing but not getting anywhere, same old pattern, don't really matter, cause I'm gonna fight through it, always pursue it, even when it's hopeless, even when I'm jokeless, tokeless, I got to focus, still gonna dig in, pan for the shiny stuff, when is enough enough, house is a wreck, would sure fail inspection, yes sir no sir, I don't want to go, sir, stick at the keyboard, stick in the 'me' sword, cut to the center, open up and enter, see what's shaking, and what I've been forsaking.
Still no takers, no one on tele, no one on the email, no one on the celly, Maybe it's better that I never get a letter, I'm a lousy correspondent, so why be despondent, I made this bed so now I get to lie in it, sigh in it, die in it, maybe say bye bye in it. Don't get me wrong I'm not looking for the hatch, I'm not mixing up a batch, and I'm sure not ready yet, I'm not that kind of idiot, at least not at this time, just looking for the bliss time, the brother's still in his prime.
I'm Getting Sick of the Rain
I'm getting sick of the rain
It's becoming quite a pain
Drop drop drop
When the heck will it stop?
I'm getting sick of the rain
Getting tired of the wet
My apple cart is upset
This weather is rough
And I've had about enough
I'm getting tired of the wet
Why so much precipitation
I could use a vacation
Lord give us a break
My back yard is a lake
Why so much precipitation
They said, 'occasional showers'
It's been raining sixty hours
I wish that it were done
And we could see some sun
They said, 'occasional showers'.
Is it time to build an ark?
It's kinda cold and mighty dark
Noah had it pretty good
I know a place to get some wood
Is it time to build an ark?
I don't know what I will do
The mold is sprouting mildew
The bathroom's getting funky
The porch smells like a monkey
I don't know what I will do
Still the rain keeps pouring
It's getting kind of boring
Drop drop drop
I wish it would stop
Still the rain keeps pouring
It's becoming quite a pain
Drop drop drop
When the heck will it stop?
I'm getting sick of the rain
Getting tired of the wet
My apple cart is upset
This weather is rough
And I've had about enough
I'm getting tired of the wet
Why so much precipitation
I could use a vacation
Lord give us a break
My back yard is a lake
Why so much precipitation
They said, 'occasional showers'
It's been raining sixty hours
I wish that it were done
And we could see some sun
They said, 'occasional showers'.
Is it time to build an ark?
It's kinda cold and mighty dark
Noah had it pretty good
I know a place to get some wood
Is it time to build an ark?
I don't know what I will do
The mold is sprouting mildew
The bathroom's getting funky
The porch smells like a monkey
I don't know what I will do
Still the rain keeps pouring
It's getting kind of boring
Drop drop drop
I wish it would stop
Still the rain keeps pouring
March 15 at 6am
I've been starting to judge myself for 'navel gazing'. The whole world is up in arms and tsunamis, meltdowns and revolutions while I sit here pondering the latest permutation of my thought process. And as I write the preceding and think about it, I have a sense that it's a fait accompli and I'm gonna keep on writing about my thoughts. In other words, I don't really judge myself for it, but I could pretend to judge myself for it, thinking that I should judge myself for it, but I don't really judge myself for it. It's just a sop (I like that term, though I'm not entirely sure what it means). Let's look it up, shall we. (Thank you Google)
Sop means to soak up something with a piece of food, but also has a meaning having to do with 'yielding something to placate or soothe'. Yeah, that's what I was referring to. I have a sense that I could be judged as a totally self involved navel gazer, so one way to defend myself from the charge would be to 'allegedly' wonder about it and criticize myself for it. God damn, that's a nuanced piece of mental gymnastics, yet that is how I begin today.... navel gazing (not to judge, of course)
I had a thought recently about typos, and how some of them are just really funny, but I tend to correct them quickly and move on to what I was intending to say. Those errors are in the category of 'malapropisms', which are words mistaken for other words that have some kind of comical effect. Norm Crosby was a two bit comedian (sorry Crosby family) who built his entire career, such as it was, on using them. In my case, I have a sense that there is something funny there. That I could have some shtick or patter or a song based on that concept. I don't feel like delving into it at the moment, but maybe I'll start logging the errors into a document and then seeing what emerges, especially if there are any funny one.
And that's part of the reason I write these days, to try and discover stuff that I could use for creative purposes. I know that there's something valuable in the simple process of sitting down to write, but on top of that, it's like panning for gold, or panning for good ideas. It's some kind of meditation for me in that it's quiet and my brain has a chance to ponder things, turn things inside out, have a look in and around to see what's happening internally. (nothing at the present, apparently, but who knows, something may emerge).
Now that I'm on day five of clean and sober, my mind is clearing up and I'm wanting to make a plan. (gasp) I've never really had a plan, never really had a goal, have squandered a lot of time (if you want to look at it that way, which I don't, but I will for the purposes of this sentence) flitting about, flower to flower. Some people are very 'accomplishment' oriented and I've never been one of them, but have often been envious of that ability to focus and get 'er done. I've been able to focus about an hour at a time to say, get the Times crossword done, but as far as a plotting and executing a project, I'm still a babe in the woods. And I'm not satisfied with that any more. (gasp)
I reckon that part of the angst is the fact that I'm 57 and a half years old, and while still healthy and active, I do see the handwriting on the wall, and I know that this is the time to produce. I have no economic security and neither does my son, so that's a factor too. And there's this. I'm genuinely talented, and I write songs that are very good and worthy of being marketed. OK hold on there, I hear the squealing of brakes that snap me out of that little reverie. Because when I go to the 'I'm talented card, and I could market songs card, there is a strong and loud internal reaction of fear and avoidance. I'm literally having to catch my breath right now. OK Rich, let the fear speak.
I don't want to work that hard, I don't know how to do it, I'm too lazy, I don't want to spend all my time hustling, what if I fail? I don't have a studio, I don't understand the technology, it's too hard to learn, I'm lousy at technology and easily frustrated by it. I'm a child, somebody take care of me. BINGO! I'm a fucking child, somebody take care of me.
Somebody take care of me
I'm a child it's plain to see
So let me be what I'm meant to be
Somebody take care of me
It may be sad but it's surely true
This ain't a stage that I'm going through
Peter Pan sure would understand
I want to stay here in Neverland
Yeah, there's this process that I go through periodically in which I get very negative about myself, usually along the lines of, 'Richie you're so fucking talented, you should....' and then I retreat into a supposed comfort zone of 'I won't grow up' as a way to defuse the hurt of self-hatred. Seems like I've been juggling that particular dynamic for a lifetime, and I'm juggling it still. It would be nice to transform that game into something different, if only for the novelty of playing a new game, keep things interesting for God's sake.
Sop means to soak up something with a piece of food, but also has a meaning having to do with 'yielding something to placate or soothe'. Yeah, that's what I was referring to. I have a sense that I could be judged as a totally self involved navel gazer, so one way to defend myself from the charge would be to 'allegedly' wonder about it and criticize myself for it. God damn, that's a nuanced piece of mental gymnastics, yet that is how I begin today.... navel gazing (not to judge, of course)
I had a thought recently about typos, and how some of them are just really funny, but I tend to correct them quickly and move on to what I was intending to say. Those errors are in the category of 'malapropisms', which are words mistaken for other words that have some kind of comical effect. Norm Crosby was a two bit comedian (sorry Crosby family) who built his entire career, such as it was, on using them. In my case, I have a sense that there is something funny there. That I could have some shtick or patter or a song based on that concept. I don't feel like delving into it at the moment, but maybe I'll start logging the errors into a document and then seeing what emerges, especially if there are any funny one.
And that's part of the reason I write these days, to try and discover stuff that I could use for creative purposes. I know that there's something valuable in the simple process of sitting down to write, but on top of that, it's like panning for gold, or panning for good ideas. It's some kind of meditation for me in that it's quiet and my brain has a chance to ponder things, turn things inside out, have a look in and around to see what's happening internally. (nothing at the present, apparently, but who knows, something may emerge).
Now that I'm on day five of clean and sober, my mind is clearing up and I'm wanting to make a plan. (gasp) I've never really had a plan, never really had a goal, have squandered a lot of time (if you want to look at it that way, which I don't, but I will for the purposes of this sentence) flitting about, flower to flower. Some people are very 'accomplishment' oriented and I've never been one of them, but have often been envious of that ability to focus and get 'er done. I've been able to focus about an hour at a time to say, get the Times crossword done, but as far as a plotting and executing a project, I'm still a babe in the woods. And I'm not satisfied with that any more. (gasp)
I reckon that part of the angst is the fact that I'm 57 and a half years old, and while still healthy and active, I do see the handwriting on the wall, and I know that this is the time to produce. I have no economic security and neither does my son, so that's a factor too. And there's this. I'm genuinely talented, and I write songs that are very good and worthy of being marketed. OK hold on there, I hear the squealing of brakes that snap me out of that little reverie. Because when I go to the 'I'm talented card, and I could market songs card, there is a strong and loud internal reaction of fear and avoidance. I'm literally having to catch my breath right now. OK Rich, let the fear speak.
I don't want to work that hard, I don't know how to do it, I'm too lazy, I don't want to spend all my time hustling, what if I fail? I don't have a studio, I don't understand the technology, it's too hard to learn, I'm lousy at technology and easily frustrated by it. I'm a child, somebody take care of me. BINGO! I'm a fucking child, somebody take care of me.
Somebody take care of me
I'm a child it's plain to see
So let me be what I'm meant to be
Somebody take care of me
It may be sad but it's surely true
This ain't a stage that I'm going through
Peter Pan sure would understand
I want to stay here in Neverland
Yeah, there's this process that I go through periodically in which I get very negative about myself, usually along the lines of, 'Richie you're so fucking talented, you should....' and then I retreat into a supposed comfort zone of 'I won't grow up' as a way to defuse the hurt of self-hatred. Seems like I've been juggling that particular dynamic for a lifetime, and I'm juggling it still. It would be nice to transform that game into something different, if only for the novelty of playing a new game, keep things interesting for God's sake.
I'm the one that I avoid
I'm the one that I avoid
I'm so unhappy, Dr Freud
All those things I went and did
Open season for the id
But now alas my ego is destroyed
My imago has been stung
What the hell, Dr Jung?
I can't take the hero's journey
When I'm strapped onto this gurney
And my song of salvation ain't been sung
I think I need a pill
Can you help me, Dr Phil?
And you can save the lecture
And your full of crap conjecture
Just write out a prescription if you will...
I don't know what to do
What say you, Dr Drew?
I don't want to go to rehab
And your answers all are prefab
Can't you please come up with something new....
If you want to know the truth
I should go see Dr Ruth
There's one way across this chasm
And that's a shattering orgasm
You'll forgive me if it sounds a bit uncouth?
I'm so unhappy, Dr Freud
All those things I went and did
Open season for the id
But now alas my ego is destroyed
My imago has been stung
What the hell, Dr Jung?
I can't take the hero's journey
When I'm strapped onto this gurney
And my song of salvation ain't been sung
I think I need a pill
Can you help me, Dr Phil?
And you can save the lecture
And your full of crap conjecture
Just write out a prescription if you will...
I don't know what to do
What say you, Dr Drew?
I don't want to go to rehab
And your answers all are prefab
Can't you please come up with something new....
If you want to know the truth
I should go see Dr Ruth
There's one way across this chasm
And that's a shattering orgasm
You'll forgive me if it sounds a bit uncouth?
Righting the Ship (Writing the Shit)
At this point, I wonder if there's any difference between the two, as I'm still struggling to convince myself that I'm glad to be here. Well, what a stupid sentence that first one was. (not to judge, of course) The very idea of struggling to convince myself of anything simply flies in the face of what I know to be true. Namely that the answer is not to convince anybody of anything, but to simply have a look inside and report what is there. And this morning, the first look is a bleak one.
I ate a double scoop of ice cream last night which I bought from the Dairy Mart. And the woman there 'did me a favor' by loading up the bowl with way more than two scoops worth. Wow, what a deal for a couple of bucks! Trouble is this morning my head feels awful, I'm congested and seemingly in need of some kind of anti-histamine as the 'treat' didn't really agree with me. So I'm sitting here bleary faced at 7:22am with a hopeful curative of ice coffee (with sugar) and the initiative to try and put some thoughts down and seeing what happens.
I definitely feel lonely, especially for the kind of 'companionship' that I experienced with M in Thailand. A guy could get used to having a lot of great sex, but then when it's gone, there's a major piece missing, and I feel quite out of balance, careening around looking for the next fix. And I'm sure that's an attractive image, as people have a sense of who is unbalanced or lonely or needy and those are the ones to avoid. At least those are the ones that I avoid. So by extension, I guess I'm the one that I avoid. (transitive property of 'pathetic')
I'm the one that I avoid
I'm so unhappy, Dr Freud
All those things that I did
Open season for the id
But now my ego is destroyed
And with that ridiculous attempt at humor, a phlegmatic, wheezy laugh comes up from the depths and I crack myself up, opening up the first shaft of light this morning. And if I were to apply my creative mind to it, I could imagine a song about a self-indulgent guy doing self analysis and throwing out a lot of psychobabble jargon for the punch lines. Usually I'm not attracted to those one-trick-pony songs, but maybe there is something there. And God knows I like to make fun of stuff.
Stepping back for a second, it's as if there is a well of funny, creative, juicy material that is simply waiting to be harvested, if only I could get out of my own way. But that's not really accurate either, because you have to be in the way to get out of the way. In other words, the humor is in the fact that we are so lame and self-involved and imperfect. It's that cliche of 'humor being born out of misery', and like most cliches, there's probably something to it.
So you can't get out of the way (unless you die, and even then, who knows). I'm reminded of a great teaching that I learned in Jerusalem as a 24 year old. There was this fantastic rabbi from Montreal, I believe, who gave a talk about Yom Kippur. Why do we fast on Yom Kippur? was the topic. He related that most people think that by depriving your body of food and water, you can get more 'spiritual' more holy. He said that was ridiculous. When you don't eat or drink, your body gets hungry, it's wanting food, your stomach is growling and calling for sustenance. 'This is the point' he was teaching. We live in this incredible body and by depriving it, we get to appreciate it and know it and that's where the spirit is, not in some disembodied theory of holiness, but 'right here in the kishkes' (that's the 'guts' for any of you goyim) that's non-jews for any of you shiksas. That's non-Jewish women, the kind who will break your mother's heart if you marry one for any of you.... OK enough, you made the point! (another slightly less congested laugh has escaped my lungs)
Where was I? Oh yeah. You can't 'get out of the way' per se. You are the way. (Get out!) No seriously, you are the way, buey. See that word 'buey'. It's not a typo. It's a super common word that the Mexican's use for 'dude'. It's pronounced 'way', the b is silent, or at least lost in the pursing of the lips to make the 'W' sound. Buey is literally a castrated animal like an ox or steer, and it also can refer to a cuckolded guy, whose wife has run off with someone else. But they use if for 'dude', and if you hear it in conversation, you know that you're hearing a Mexican. No other country uses the word. I've heard these young guys talk to each other, and every other word will be 'buey' or 'no mames, buey' (Don't suck, dude)
Why am I mentioning this? Because I tried to make up a joke when I was in Vietnam, and since my faithful readers wouldn't know the word 'buey' I had to pre-explain it. (not that it's even a good joke.... it's stupid in fact) What did the Mexican say when he tried to find the road to Hue. 'What's the way to Hue, buey?' like I said, it's a terrible 'joke'. But hey, now you know the word buey, OK.
No way, buey. OK enough. It's like when I was in Israel and being obnoxious, imagine that, and my Israeli friend said, 'Enough, Richard'. Except the Hebrew word for enough is 'Dai' (pronounced 'die'). So he goes 'Dai, Richard' and I clutch my heart and do a death scene from a shoot-em-up cowboy movie, while he's looking on confused. (Oh yeah, I'm a barrel of laughs).
Or when my Spanish girlfriend wanted me to come with her and she said, 'Richard,ven' (my middle name is Ben). So I said, 'como supiste?' (how did you know?) And she's looking at me like 'what the fuck are you talking about' And here comes the hook.... No wait, I'm not done yet... I have a few more jokes.... (more laughs, at least for me), and after all folks, this blog is for me. That should be fairly obvious by now, yes?
So for the record, I'm one hour into this writing assignment, and I feel a hundred percent better than when I began. And why is that? Likely because I have indulged the part of my brain that likes to mess around with words, tell a few tales, drink a little coffee and laugh. I can live with that. Now if I could manage to clean the house, pay a few bills and make a plan, so much the better, but I'll just be grateful for small things now.
I ate a double scoop of ice cream last night which I bought from the Dairy Mart. And the woman there 'did me a favor' by loading up the bowl with way more than two scoops worth. Wow, what a deal for a couple of bucks! Trouble is this morning my head feels awful, I'm congested and seemingly in need of some kind of anti-histamine as the 'treat' didn't really agree with me. So I'm sitting here bleary faced at 7:22am with a hopeful curative of ice coffee (with sugar) and the initiative to try and put some thoughts down and seeing what happens.
I definitely feel lonely, especially for the kind of 'companionship' that I experienced with M in Thailand. A guy could get used to having a lot of great sex, but then when it's gone, there's a major piece missing, and I feel quite out of balance, careening around looking for the next fix. And I'm sure that's an attractive image, as people have a sense of who is unbalanced or lonely or needy and those are the ones to avoid. At least those are the ones that I avoid. So by extension, I guess I'm the one that I avoid. (transitive property of 'pathetic')
I'm the one that I avoid
I'm so unhappy, Dr Freud
All those things that I did
Open season for the id
But now my ego is destroyed
And with that ridiculous attempt at humor, a phlegmatic, wheezy laugh comes up from the depths and I crack myself up, opening up the first shaft of light this morning. And if I were to apply my creative mind to it, I could imagine a song about a self-indulgent guy doing self analysis and throwing out a lot of psychobabble jargon for the punch lines. Usually I'm not attracted to those one-trick-pony songs, but maybe there is something there. And God knows I like to make fun of stuff.
Stepping back for a second, it's as if there is a well of funny, creative, juicy material that is simply waiting to be harvested, if only I could get out of my own way. But that's not really accurate either, because you have to be in the way to get out of the way. In other words, the humor is in the fact that we are so lame and self-involved and imperfect. It's that cliche of 'humor being born out of misery', and like most cliches, there's probably something to it.
So you can't get out of the way (unless you die, and even then, who knows). I'm reminded of a great teaching that I learned in Jerusalem as a 24 year old. There was this fantastic rabbi from Montreal, I believe, who gave a talk about Yom Kippur. Why do we fast on Yom Kippur? was the topic. He related that most people think that by depriving your body of food and water, you can get more 'spiritual' more holy. He said that was ridiculous. When you don't eat or drink, your body gets hungry, it's wanting food, your stomach is growling and calling for sustenance. 'This is the point' he was teaching. We live in this incredible body and by depriving it, we get to appreciate it and know it and that's where the spirit is, not in some disembodied theory of holiness, but 'right here in the kishkes' (that's the 'guts' for any of you goyim) that's non-jews for any of you shiksas. That's non-Jewish women, the kind who will break your mother's heart if you marry one for any of you.... OK enough, you made the point! (another slightly less congested laugh has escaped my lungs)
Where was I? Oh yeah. You can't 'get out of the way' per se. You are the way. (Get out!) No seriously, you are the way, buey. See that word 'buey'. It's not a typo. It's a super common word that the Mexican's use for 'dude'. It's pronounced 'way', the b is silent, or at least lost in the pursing of the lips to make the 'W' sound. Buey is literally a castrated animal like an ox or steer, and it also can refer to a cuckolded guy, whose wife has run off with someone else. But they use if for 'dude', and if you hear it in conversation, you know that you're hearing a Mexican. No other country uses the word. I've heard these young guys talk to each other, and every other word will be 'buey' or 'no mames, buey' (Don't suck, dude)
Why am I mentioning this? Because I tried to make up a joke when I was in Vietnam, and since my faithful readers wouldn't know the word 'buey' I had to pre-explain it. (not that it's even a good joke.... it's stupid in fact) What did the Mexican say when he tried to find the road to Hue. 'What's the way to Hue, buey?' like I said, it's a terrible 'joke'. But hey, now you know the word buey, OK.
No way, buey. OK enough. It's like when I was in Israel and being obnoxious, imagine that, and my Israeli friend said, 'Enough, Richard'. Except the Hebrew word for enough is 'Dai' (pronounced 'die'). So he goes 'Dai, Richard' and I clutch my heart and do a death scene from a shoot-em-up cowboy movie, while he's looking on confused. (Oh yeah, I'm a barrel of laughs).
Or when my Spanish girlfriend wanted me to come with her and she said, 'Richard,ven' (my middle name is Ben). So I said, 'como supiste?' (how did you know?) And she's looking at me like 'what the fuck are you talking about' And here comes the hook.... No wait, I'm not done yet... I have a few more jokes.... (more laughs, at least for me), and after all folks, this blog is for me. That should be fairly obvious by now, yes?
So for the record, I'm one hour into this writing assignment, and I feel a hundred percent better than when I began. And why is that? Likely because I have indulged the part of my brain that likes to mess around with words, tell a few tales, drink a little coffee and laugh. I can live with that. Now if I could manage to clean the house, pay a few bills and make a plan, so much the better, but I'll just be grateful for small things now.
Moving on...
It's interesting how simple words or phrases can trigger ideas; maybe this is more pronounced with me, a person who tends to process in words and letters, rather than say pictures or feelings. But just writing the title 'moving on' immediately flipped my brain into that old Stevie Wonder song, 'A Place in the Sun'. And along with the flipped switch, there came a little spark of 'there's something there', when my brain went in that direction. And I guess that's what the writing is turning into for me, a way to bring past and present together, almost like a Kurt Vonnegut theme from Slaughterhouse Five, or was it Cat's Cradle, in which the past, present and future were indistinguishable from one another. It was, it is, and it will be.
All that (and more) from simply writing the words 'moving on'. When I was just starting to play guitar at age 20 and 21, one of the first songs that I learned and sang over and over and over again was 'A Place in the Sun'
Like a long lonely stream, I keep running toward my dream
Moving on moving on moving on
Like a branch on a tree, I keep reaching to be free
Moving on moving on moving on
There's a place in the sun where there's hope for everyone
Where my poor, restless heart wants to run
There's a place in the sun and before my time is done
Gonna find me a place in the sun
Like this tired, troubled earth, I've been rolling since my birth
Moving on moving on moving on
Like an old dust road, I get weary from the load
Moving on moving on moving on
===================================================================================
There are people to this day, who will say to me, 'What's that song you used to sing back then'? as it became identified very closely with me, likely cause I sang it so many times. And the reason I sang it at 21 was because I loved it when I was 13 years old in 1966 when it made it to number 9 on the pop charts.(thank you Google) The song and the sentiment resonated in me at that time, and I suppose it was a natural outcome for me to revisit it when I could sing and play it years later, and now many years later, I write a two word phrase, not even thinking about it, and there I am, traveling through time.
The notion of 'moving on' probably sums up my life as well as any two words could. That seems to be my strategy of relationship; stick around while it's good and exciting, then it's time for moving on. I'm pretty experienced at 'good bye', much less so at 'let's work this out'.
The current incarnation of 'moving on' is an attempt to get out of the feeling sad and lonely about having said goodbye to M, and finding myself waking up each morning and immediately adding 14 hours to the time so as to calculate what M is doing and where she's at. Let's see, it's 7am here, it's 9pm there and she's at the CU Corner as the regulars are starting to show up. It's definitely been a difficult transition back to Eugene for me, and one of its incarnations has been the realization that damn, I'm just not attracted to the women here. It's fucked up. I look around, even in dance class, and it's no no no no no maybe no. Granted there are pockets of beauty and attractiveness everywhere, but on the whole, this place is depressing on a physical level. And I don't want to have to look at 30 year old women to feel attracted. It makes me wonder about moving out of this area.
Rich, you're very shallow, why can't you be like everyone else and accept the fact that you're getting old, and if you don't want to be a lonely old man, you'd better find someone and make it work out. (let somebody love you before it's too late). And furthermore, why do you often find a way to move on from your friendships, let them slide, fail to correspond, put them in the rear view?
Because there's a place in the sun where there's hope for everyone? And it's a place like heaven where the women are Asian, the food is delicious, the sun is shining, the kids are happy and the music is flowing. As opposed to this rainy, gray, put-upon place where people just seem glum and frustrated. I see them at the post office when I waltz in to pick up my mail, a depressing crew of automatons waiting on line with not a smile on a face, as if life is to be suffered through, and then you die.
I'm going where the sun keeps shining through the pouring rain
Going where the weather suits my clothes
Banking off of the northeast wind, sailing on a summer breeze
Skipping over the ocean like a stone
(Yeah, I liked that song too, and sang it a bunch)
Well I got to split and go to the Sunday morning dance jam, but perhaps first a stop at the Jiffy Market to knock out the Sunday crossword puzzle. Yeah this writing thing is worthwhile and all, but the NY Times mental calisthenics await. And I do want to dance and feel my body move. But I shall return to this theme of moving on, as I found myself tied up a bit around the theme, which means there is something to uncover if I've got the nerve...
All that (and more) from simply writing the words 'moving on'. When I was just starting to play guitar at age 20 and 21, one of the first songs that I learned and sang over and over and over again was 'A Place in the Sun'
Like a long lonely stream, I keep running toward my dream
Moving on moving on moving on
Like a branch on a tree, I keep reaching to be free
Moving on moving on moving on
There's a place in the sun where there's hope for everyone
Where my poor, restless heart wants to run
There's a place in the sun and before my time is done
Gonna find me a place in the sun
Like this tired, troubled earth, I've been rolling since my birth
Moving on moving on moving on
Like an old dust road, I get weary from the load
Moving on moving on moving on
===================================================================================
There are people to this day, who will say to me, 'What's that song you used to sing back then'? as it became identified very closely with me, likely cause I sang it so many times. And the reason I sang it at 21 was because I loved it when I was 13 years old in 1966 when it made it to number 9 on the pop charts.(thank you Google) The song and the sentiment resonated in me at that time, and I suppose it was a natural outcome for me to revisit it when I could sing and play it years later, and now many years later, I write a two word phrase, not even thinking about it, and there I am, traveling through time.
The notion of 'moving on' probably sums up my life as well as any two words could. That seems to be my strategy of relationship; stick around while it's good and exciting, then it's time for moving on. I'm pretty experienced at 'good bye', much less so at 'let's work this out'.
The current incarnation of 'moving on' is an attempt to get out of the feeling sad and lonely about having said goodbye to M, and finding myself waking up each morning and immediately adding 14 hours to the time so as to calculate what M is doing and where she's at. Let's see, it's 7am here, it's 9pm there and she's at the CU Corner as the regulars are starting to show up. It's definitely been a difficult transition back to Eugene for me, and one of its incarnations has been the realization that damn, I'm just not attracted to the women here. It's fucked up. I look around, even in dance class, and it's no no no no no maybe no. Granted there are pockets of beauty and attractiveness everywhere, but on the whole, this place is depressing on a physical level. And I don't want to have to look at 30 year old women to feel attracted. It makes me wonder about moving out of this area.
Rich, you're very shallow, why can't you be like everyone else and accept the fact that you're getting old, and if you don't want to be a lonely old man, you'd better find someone and make it work out. (let somebody love you before it's too late). And furthermore, why do you often find a way to move on from your friendships, let them slide, fail to correspond, put them in the rear view?
Because there's a place in the sun where there's hope for everyone? And it's a place like heaven where the women are Asian, the food is delicious, the sun is shining, the kids are happy and the music is flowing. As opposed to this rainy, gray, put-upon place where people just seem glum and frustrated. I see them at the post office when I waltz in to pick up my mail, a depressing crew of automatons waiting on line with not a smile on a face, as if life is to be suffered through, and then you die.
I'm going where the sun keeps shining through the pouring rain
Going where the weather suits my clothes
Banking off of the northeast wind, sailing on a summer breeze
Skipping over the ocean like a stone
(Yeah, I liked that song too, and sang it a bunch)
Well I got to split and go to the Sunday morning dance jam, but perhaps first a stop at the Jiffy Market to knock out the Sunday crossword puzzle. Yeah this writing thing is worthwhile and all, but the NY Times mental calisthenics await. And I do want to dance and feel my body move. But I shall return to this theme of moving on, as I found myself tied up a bit around the theme, which means there is something to uncover if I've got the nerve...
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