Notes

Today it’s sunny and I’m sitting in the library at Hollins. My iTrip has caused me some grief from the first day. Initially, it worked, then seemed to reset itself and stop working. This morning, I’ve managed to get it up and running again. On the way out here I had my favorites playlist cranked up and was loving life.

God, it’s so nice and sunny. What a nice change. And it’s a good day for comics. Astonishing X-Men. Legion of Super-Heroes. Seven Soldiers. I finished up the first volume of Supreme Power and for my birthday ordered Doom Patrol.

Winter has been quite slow and I’ve stayed indoors most of the time reading or writing, listening to music or watching TV. C. has been sick most of the time and I’ve been battling and struggling with the whole asthma thing. I’ve also been doing some freelance graphic design – light print work type stuff, business card designs. Once we move into a bigger area and life is fluid again, I should be able to determine what I want to do job-wise.

I’m re-submerging myself into the poetry scene and the late night act of wordsmithery. One lamp lit. It’s a certain mind state. Brought on by I don’t know what. I do know that it’s a separate mind state altogether—most probably brought on in a solitary state of deep concentration. The good times, the bad times, they come on their own accord. There’s nothing any of us can do about it. Then I think what bullshit! We add and subtract the negative/positive thoughts and magically our reality appears.

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Reading Ultimate Fantastic Four, and this, in a way, is prepping me for the movie coming out. But really, I’m just enjoying comics more and more. I’ve watched a bunch of movies the past couple of days and now I just wanna kick back with pages to turn in a comfortable chair with a blanket up over me.

So an experiment goes awry and they get all tweaked. Sounds very familiar. Sounds very close to home. Sounds like some Friday nights, or Saturday nights, or a car accident, the kind that changes your life forever, that you walk away from, or don’t; you float invisibly through the atmosphere no longer affected by the cold. After some time, you tire of this wandering and start to go desperately mad.

Either that or you’re a mad scientist type, and shit blows up. Next think you know, your new name is Stretch, and you, well, elongate in all sorts of directions. It’s a strange world. World on top of world. Procreate.

Strieber says, “People can stomach UFOs, but they don’t wanna hear me with the aliens up your ass… They [the Greys] can get very up close and personal.”

One can only imagine.

Our friends gave us the perfect gift – these special cat nip bubbles for Rudra and Kalika to enjoy. Strange bubbles that don’t really pop. After 45 minutes they’re still there, sitting on the hardwood floor. Rudra goes up, attacks, eats them, and looks up at me like he’s smoked some crack. Some pretty good crack. And Kalika, of course she’s scared shitless of each and every bubble. They fall down on her and stick to her fur. I saw this coming even from a previous life.

Notepad:

  • Don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.
  • Girl on Amerikkka’s Next Top Model collapses, falling backwards in the middle of judging. Thud. The way her eyes rolled back, it freaked me out. Anyway, Noelle for Prez.
  • Deadwood and Carnivale remain the best shows on TV.
  • In comics, Grant Morrison’s Seven Soldiers series has taken off and is bewildering readers worldwide.

    Theron has sent me the The Legion of Super-Heroes series. I think it’s my favorite right now. Also, just finished up reading Runaways by Brian K. Vaughan (of Y: The Last Man fame). Eighteen issues completes the first arc. Incredible. Very clear storytelling here.

  • Podcasting is my new big internet infatuation.
  • We are most likely moving to Houston this May.
  • Dreamt I was in a plane crash. The wing hit the bridge and we went down and into the river.
  • Note: it’s not about lucid dreaming, as in you go into the dream and control everything. Better to find out what that dream has to teach you, instead of manipulating it and bending it all to your will.
  • Writing: I have not been writing all that much. I still maintain a great interest and awe and respect for it, but I guess my mind has been elsewhere. Trying to write like you used to is to put an unrealistic expectation on yourself. How can I write from the person I am today?

I am a spark
in bed
unable
to sleep
this
raisin bran
tastes bland
everything is
bad for
your teeth
your teeth are
bad for your
teeth
dishes
pile
high
I like
to climb
and
defy
add
on some
years
and she
grays
my hair
my eyes
have become
bad for
my eyes

I do not
want
to cheat
myself
with bitterness
like baggy parodies
that are goth kids
and
fail to enjoy
or experience
with depth ever
again

I contain
more insanity
in pockets with
holes in them
than they can
muster over flustered
séances

they keep
asking away
until
I can no longer
give
but they
don’t quit
well I
have
gradually
faded away

there is
this
energy
desperation
spastic perspiration
a hyper sensitivity
this urge
to pray or say or
transmit to
the unknown
I am here and
I know you
see me

I don’t know
which
action
would be
true to form

in other words
I don’t know what
to do

going through
a lot of
empty motions
losing touch
with my
emotions
– hibernation –
in this
desperation
I am
at a loss
for words
in other words
I am
at a loss
and words
can’t be more
than words

The Catcher In The Rye should be read at least once a year. That’s my statement for the day. Or that every reader/writer should choose to read one or two beneficial books annually like that, as sort of a way to go back to your roots. Strunk and White: The Elements of Style also comes to mind.

I fumbled with my iPod for two hours, trying to pry open its case to put in a new battery. A friend came to the rescue and got the thing open, installed the battery, closed it back up in about ten minutes. Fucking beautiful.

Oh, another dream. These two little rascals from the neighborhood came in and started shaking up the place. This was a convenient store and I was trying to buy a few things. The next thing I knew, one of them had my skateboard from childhood and was out the door. I followed him out onto the porch and proceeded to battle with him. After a few minutes, my dream was interrupted by my cell phone going off. Ten minutes later I attempt to go back in, and I succeed. I go back to the part where the two kids are running around the aisles in a circle. This time, completely lucid, I rise up into the air and land on top of the shelves looking down at them. They are getting screamed at by me and the management, but they won’t stop. With my mind I start to problem solve, and then form three blue boxes around them so that they are trapped up against the aisle. They continue scrambling around just like before. Nothing is getting to them. They change into pure, erratic energy, as if lightening is trapped in a confined space. If you don’t calm down, you will suffer consequences, I tell them. No change. Then I make the floor drop out and the energy is released into space.

Dreamt I went to India. Was in this village, but staying at a rich man’s house that had Wi-Fi. One of the first things I did was go out and climb this mountain. At first, I was actually driving up it. It was incredibly steep. Then all of a sudden I was climbing up it with my body. A boulder came rolling down from the top and bounced over me. Once I got to the top, I readied myself to climb right back down. After sleeping there I prepared to jump on my LJ and say I’m in India.

I also contemplated going to the morning program, perhaps to chant on beads, but didn’t want to get sucked into that whole guilt trip that I had overslept and must really work on becoming more of a regular and all that. I was incredibly happy to be in a very different place in the world. Again.

There was a man I met who communicated almost always in song. He was a beautiful person. His singing could be heard from quite a distance and everyone loved being around him.

Back in the States, my wife and I visited a house in some neighborhood that was for sale. We’ll try to talk him into renting it. Already people were there who were pretty sure they were going to buy it, but were asking us which room we’re going to take. “Well, we’ll have to talk to the man first…” Made me think of the time we stayed in a group house in Mt. Pleasant, in DC. Good times mixed with the bad.

Seems like every time I have a dream now, it’s always connected to an aspect of my childhood. My parents will be there in some capacity or I’ll be in school. I wonder what that is. Could it have something to do with moving soon? In the day time I can confidently say that I’m done with those years, that I in fact see it all as a different life. My dream state is telling me different. I have baggage, frustration, anger—issues.

Most recently, I was on a school bus. I think we were heading home, but I’m not sure. In dreams, it’s a mix. Yes, that old element of say, a school bus, is there, but something new could be thrown in like—you’re on that bus headed for the equator or the sun or Taco Bell.

I’m waking up so mixed up. I remember my dreams usually three hours later. And it’s so important. Just as important as anything else.

“I’m thinking of taking my family and getting out of this country soon… It’s cold and it’s mean-spirited and I don’t like it here any more.” -Alan Moore (V Is For Vendetta)

My grandmother is a trip. Today we had a strange conversation about gay marriages. Surprisingly, my mother backed me up on this when I said, “People need to stay out of other people’s business. That especially includes the government.” I reminded her how she told me years ago that if I ever had a black girlfriend, I wouldn’t be her grandson any more. “Really? I said that?” Yeah. “Well, that sounds like something I would say, because that’s pretty much how I feel about it now.”

Later: “I suppose if it came down to that, I wouldn’t really be able to go through with it.”

Strange dreams lately, teaching me things about myself. I have this little book on dreaming that I run through before I go to sleep. By entering that mind state, I’m more able to remember my dreams when I wake up, and sometimes even act independently while within them (lucid dreaming). Dreamt I was with my grandparents, who were moving, and while they were outside talking to the neighbors, I was taking this man’s cookie dough from a bowl and very mischievously rolling up little balls and putting them on the tray. I was going to have my own cookies! Then me and some friends had band practice. We were sounding good, except for me, but I was on bass. So who cares?

Wake up wheezing. This gets the usual water treatment and Ricola cough drop. Last night I finished reading The Watchmen. All the way to the end it was very worth it. I am half awake with these early morning Sunday sentences. A drugged, dizzy feeling. Some are like I absolutely cannot survive without my coffee. Tehe. I feel this way towards Ricolas, the cough suppressant kind.

I’m going to miss not going back to The Watchmen daily. It’s that same sort of sadness when coming to the end of any good book. It’s like you know you’ll read it again, but it might be some time before you do. As the story progresses, nuclear tension increases and the characters wonder just how much time they have left.

What books do I wanna read/re-read before the next fallout?

P.S. I will not miss the wheezing after it goes. No, sir.

Internet and cable outage due to traffic accident. These are library words. Attach file, customer proof, change of colors, enlarged phone number, brought-in gutter. A careful eye, an old way. The ability that falls back into place. Adjustment, tinkering. Coming and going. Some readers here are mouthing out the sentences, or tutoring. This area suffers greatly from illiteracy. I value my own comprehension of things, and try to increase it.

your time

It feels good to know the score, even if the odds are against you. I mean, today I was working on a freelance project… Even though I knew the money was not stellar, that act of creating, moving about in my own room, and with the music on, knowing I would get paid for these movements, that it added towards sustenance, it was something. On some show they killed some snakes on some island and used some of the meat to try and lure some sharks, but it was really nothing, nothing but snakes looking gnarly without their heads and the blood on their frayed necks. Made me sad.

It’s hard living. Hard killing. Hard eating what you’ve killed. You gotta sharpen your skills in this world or it will skillfully disembowel you. You gotta have your wits about you. You say, “I wanna die. I wanna die right now…” overwhelmed, well, the panes may start to come down, and before you know it, you’ll be replaced. Before your time.

it’s hard knowing
your time

paint me
into
a different
light

she said
I’m
tired of
fighting

my bed
is on
this
lone
island

you read this
pathetic
palm tree
and want
to offer
something
while
I’m weeping

to disturb
a course
you must be intense

Camping. A crazy mumbled song that comes humming out. Attract the attention of cats so that they step softly onto the bed and turn in circles, then lie down. In the afternoon, I threw the heavy blanket up over me and was instantly in a tent. Inside, I felt the twinge of tiny acupuncturist needle pricks. I felt my deeper cells. 45 minutes went by. The pains in the body become companions. In the mind, they are ghosts, still so hard to make friends with.