On an elven river

Peace

Shopping trip

Today I went Christmas shopping on State Street ..like I do every year. I duck into Morninglory's and get CD’s and DVD’s for everyone (I’m so predictable) ..then over to Chaucer’s, where I pick up a book titled ‘Little Prince’ for Karla. Back out on the street, a woman is passing out business cards that say: ‘Visionary ..Specializing in Seeing Possibilities’ ..I guess that means she’s a ‘Life Coach’. I walk out on the wharf to watch the sunset ..they tell me that the sun is farthest away from the equator these days (I don’t even want to try and remember what that means) ..to me, it looks like a small drop of orange water slowly sinking into the Pacific Ocean.

Mountain view

While Laura and Karla put tile in their kitchen .. Andy (the dog) and I went for a BIG walk. We raced up the stone steps of the hiking trail ..passed Brooks College ..and Franceschi park ..Andy knows the way now. We stopped and greeted each of my friends growing in the botanical garden. Then we swooped around the mountaintop ..got a 360 degree view of the mountains and ocean ..and slipped down the backside trail underneath giant Oak trees ..into a place I like to call ‘Middle Earth’. Sometimes when I go there ..I recite ‘The Jabberwocky’ ..from ‘Alice in Wonderland’ ..as loudly as I can. It helps me relieve the tension of too much rational thinking. The other day I taught Karla, my thirteen year old Goddaughter from Mexico, the words to ‘Fish Cheer’ ..by ‘Country Joe and the Fish’ ..so now we sing that as loudly as we can. Although it’s an anti-war song from another era ..Karla likes it because it sounds goofy. However, the other day while she was reading the Spanish newspaper ‘La Opinion’ ..she looked up at me and said: "They really do send them home in a box".

Karla and Andy

Karla and I made Christmas cards today .. she did the drawings, I did the photomanips ..then she did a remarkable job of putting it all together. Next we cut Andy loose on the athletic fields to chase birds (he never catches any). Karla rides her bike everywhere we go ..she says her favorite subject at school is PE ..and I believe it. This evening, Laura, Karla and I go to Rose’s Cafe for dinner ..and, against Laura’s advice, I order albondigas soup ..it’s not their best dish, but it felt warm. Back at the house, abuelito comes by and drops off another portable basketball net. However, there’s no room for it in the driveway. Not a problem, he says: “When I was a kid, we played in the dirt” ..so we set it up in the back lot.

Sensory synesthesia

Around the end of it’s broadcast day, my brain starts mis-directing information from my senses ..and begins sending sound waves to my visual centers. Suddenly voices around me are glowing like sunshine ..music illuminates the room with shimmering hues of magenta and indigo ..I go outside where I ‘see’ a ‘birdsong’ spin around my head like a twirling dervish ..a dog barks in secret code ..and the swoosh of nearby traffic reaches my deck like waves crashing on the beach.

Note:Sensory synesthesia is a real experience shared by everyone ..it is a necessary part of reading comprehension. If you are interested in seeing another post on the subject, click here ~>Synesthesia

Road test

Whoaaaa ..I’m at the neuro lab where they have been injecting me full of mind-altering substances ..shooting burning rays of light into my eyes ..and recording my brain waves. Then, just when I’m starting to get comfortable, a lab technician, in a long white coat, opens the door, switches on the light and says “we’re through ..you’re free ..bye ..bye..” I stumble out into blinding sunlight ..magnolia blossoms loom up ..giant humming birds zoom by ..and my daydreams get mixed with the daylight. I ignore the doctor’s advice and drive myself home. About a quarter of the way there, the steering wheel swells up like a balloon and moves off-center ..the gearshift turns into licorice and stretches out of shape ..even the knob turns into styrofoam ..outside, white lines and road signs streak by like stars in hyperspace ..up ahead, the road disappears into a tiny black hole.

Eye test

I didn’t pass my eye exam today ..each letter on the chart kept changing like flashcards ..a ‘G’ became a ‘Q’ ..then a ‘C’ ..then a ‘D’ ..and I didn’t know which one to choose. So I decide to blurt out the first letter I see before it turns into another one. The doctor says I should have 20/20 vision in that eye ..something else must be wrong ..then he asks me if I’m trying as hard as I can ..like I’m some kind of test taking slacker. He sends me to the neurologist who tells me I have a ‘transmission gap’ between my eyes and brain where information gets lost ..and only part of the letter makes it through OK. When this happens, my brain has fewer clues to go by so it’s forced to do a more extensive memory search and present me with a larger list of possible candidates ..flashing them one-by-one inside my head. Fortunately this problem is confined to eye charts because, in the real world, I see letters in the context of words ..which gives my brain a lot more information to go by ..narrowing down the search considerably ..and helping me recognize letters fast enough to read fluently ..more or less ..I guess.

Rambling on

Andy chased a deer yesterday ..probably thought it was a really big dog or something ..Karla saw it, I didn’t ..maybe we’ll climb the steps to the top of Francesshi again today ..keep my hiking legs in shape. Laura comes home from work ..talks to clients on the phone ..sees contractors ..consults drawings ..gives instructions ..sends Karla on errands ..then, almost like magic ..dinner is served. Afterwards, while she is making more phone calls ..I browse the Internet ..google lyrics to a song Karla likes ..turns out to be by Akon and Snopp Dogg ..I review Karla’s homework ..her English reader probes for inferences and predictions while she reads ..mental processes they didn’t used to teach ..a technique pioneered by a former colleague, Tom Trabasso, in 1996.

Cold mountain journal

Arctic air blows over my deck ..making my fingers stiff and hard to write with. South of here, by the Mexican border, where it’s warmer, we're building fences. Shouldn't we be building bridges ..? I mean, Eastern philosophers say that connection is more natural than separation ..and I believe it. The wisdom of a group is greater than the sum of the individuals ..when information is free ..collaboration is key ..synergy and integration is what’s called for. My heart is stuck in a sad state these days ..it’ll pass, I know ..I think too many rude shocks and let-downs put it there ..no one really cares ..I know people have worries that are worse than mine. Rooftops, treetops and mountaintops ..math tests, beach walks, sandy feet, and salty air are just some of the things that we share ..I’m not putting fences there. Another blast of cold air ..another frozen stare ..I breath in and smile ..hold it and dissolve ..breath out and let go of the debris ..sit still and start over again. Karla says rock n roll sounds like people screaming ..hip-hop has a smoother flow ..kind of like rhythm n blues ..folk rock tells fairy tales ..fairy tales contain pieces of the heart that rational thought leaves out.

Epilogue

        American Gothic

I love the new Evanescence CD ..! I mentioned this to my neighbor Anastasia the other day and she told me that the reason I like them so much is because they are ‘mainstream’. I figure she ought to know ..her husband is the lead singer for a Goth metal band ..and they are definitely not mainstream .. or commercially successful. Anyway, it confirms my suspicion that the Goth subculture is growing. They are stepping out of their ‘niche market’ and laying siege to the rest of our psyche ..the parts that bring us places like Never Land and the Enchanted Forest. They are no longer content to dwell in the mosh pits or heavy metal shows in places like Sacramento or Modesto ..now they can be found in every major port and industrial city in the world. I remember someone saying: “..I can see the future of rock and roll ..and it is Bruce Springsteen.” Yeah ..? Well, they better look again ..I’m beginning to think it’s Ozzy Osbourne.

Karla’s birthday

I pick Karla up after school for our usual assault on the beach. I’m about to tell her to invite friends ..since it’s her birthday ..when she remembers that she already has an invitation to go to a party. It’s Fernanda’s birthday too. Nellie is going .. however, Nellie’s twin sister, Maggie, isn’t coming because she’d rather go shopping with her mother. So I take Karla and Nellie to the party ..then launch my own assault on the beach with Andy, my dog. I watch him chase birds up and down the shore ..see pelicans dive bomb for fish ..listen to a guy named ‘Tim’ tell me how his girlfriend threw him out of the house because members of their church didn’t like his tattoos. I go for a swim then drive back to Laura’s house. Laura is home from work now so we go pick up Karla ..and get a call from Nellie’s mother asking where Maggie is. Laura tells her that we don’t know because I only drove Nellie to the party ..then tells me she’s probably with her boyfriend. We go have a ‘birthday dinner’ at the Vietnamese restaurant ..pho with shrimp and fish. I listen to Karla explain the message behind the movie ‘Before and After’ ..so now I’m anxious to see it. She also wrote down the plot of a movie called ‘Fairy Tale’ ..in case I wanted to use it for one of my goth fairy stories. How thoughtful she is. She's thirteen today.

Chapter six

        I l l u m i n a t i o n

The Goth Fairy culture inhabits a world much darker than the rest of us ..however, they know how to illuminate these realms from within. For them, the outer world is a passing illusion ..it only seems real when we catch a glimpse of it and freeze the action. Life is never really motionless though ..only the mind makes it seem so. Fairy Goth children learn how to master the inner world before they learn to deal with the outer world. At an early age, they study metaphysics and cosmology. By the time they are ten, they are practicing mental telepathy and mystic transport. Their minds are tuned to waves of energy that children in other cultures have had pruned away. I sat down recently and spoke with the Fairy Goth Princess ..a remarkable young lady, in her teens, who is heiress to the throne. Unlike other children who learn their mystical skills through instruction and books ..she acquired her abilities by direct experience. She explains: “I can still hear the echoes from facing the walls of the abyss for ten years. I learned how to escape those barriers by following a trail that lead directly to my mind ..where I found a portal that allowed me join the other children playing in the fields. Now, when a child is lost or in trouble ..I can hear their pleas for help and telepathically guide them to safety. You see, we are all connected to one another through mental ‘receiving stations’ .. each member immediately shares the experiences of all the other members.” The Fairy Goth Princess explains how books, as good as they may be ..can sometimes get in the way of mystical experience: “Conflicting opinions muddy the water. The only way to see things clearly is by calming the mind and allowing the mud to settle.” She goes on to say: “No matter how much information you get from books ..whatever knowledge or supernatural power you may acquire ..when quarrels arise ..you have lost the way to illumination.”

See ~~> Epilogue

Chapter five

      Pathway to illumination

The Fairy Princess scales the steep canyon walls of the disenchanted forest. Along the way, her boots get wet and soggy and her legs ache. She climbs over obstacles using her hands, feet and fingernails. On the slopes of Mount Breakdown she feels a tingling sensation ..bright lights shimmer in her head ..and clusters of sadness fall away. She looks down and pays tribute to the clouds in the valley below. Members of the Goth Fairy Kingdom have a profound reverence for dark places like gorges, caves and grottos. It’s not just a fashion statement or superstitious behavior ..they actually believe that darkness is the mother of all things ..the womb where life begins. She feels exhausted but in tune with the rhythm. She knows that hard times naturally give way to good times ..like a light that shines in a dark place ..they’re co-relative. One doesn’t exist without the other.  Continue here ~~> Chapter six

Crazy Charlie

Charlie didn’t get any sleep last night. After I went to bed, I could still here him talking to himself in the dining room. This morning there’s a mountain of crumpled paper on the table and Charlie is no where to be found. I uncrumple a few of the pages and see lots of squiggly lines and arrows. I turn them upside down and sideways to see if I can find a thread of rational thought anywhere. Sure enough ..I found one. It seems to suggest a conspiracy: space aliens are in control of the U.S government and setting crude oil prices to ensure supplies for their own planet. I’m afraid that Charlie is in the hyper phase of his bipolar cycle. I drive down to the wharf looking in all the places he usually hangs out. I find him walking down the center of highway 101 ..without any clothes. I pull up beside him and yell: “Hey you crazy Gaijun, wuz happinin ..?” He says he overheated somewhere back on Haley Street. I say: “Yea ..there’s an offshore flow ..mucho caliente ..but hey, kick-ass conditions on the coast.” He gets in and I drive to Arroyo Burro beach where he won’t look so conspicuous (because it’s a nude beach). We get out and I follow his line of crazy hyper-chat down to the water ..and throw him in.

Saint Konstanz

The Vampiress of Konstanz

Halloween

Karla dressed up as ‘Tigger’ from Winnie the Pooh and went door to door trick or treating with friends from school. I had on an Arabic headdress and trench coat ..so, I guess that made me a Sheik. Afterwards, Laura, Karla and I sat on a sidewalk cafe, off State Street, and tossed candy to all the people walking by dressed in funny-looking costumes. We saw lots of people dressed like Jack Sparrow or Captain Morgan ..and heard the sound of many people going 'ahrrrrrrrrgh'. We also saw gypsies ..belly dancers ..witches ..monsters ..aliens ..zombies ..angels ..messengers of death ..skeletons ..household appliances ..marijuana farmers ..transvestites ..some boys ..some girls ..some I don’t know ..I did recognize Hunter S Thompson though ..his buddy said I was the only one who did ..but now I’m not sure that those farmers were wearing costumes.

Flashback

A spider web is finer than silk ..and a hundred times more elastic than a bungee cord. That’s because it's made up of all these interconnections ..so that activity in one part gets transmitted immediately to all the other parts ..like the fleeting connections that exist between thoughts and images ..where one memory activates another ..then another ..then another ..until I’m standing in a parking lot ..that used to be a field ..before the sonic and the walgrens ..and I hear my mother’s voice calling me for dinner ..while I feel the anticipation of swinging at another pitch ..and waiting until I hear the next call ..the one that comes before the angry call ..on another warm summer night down a suburban avenue ..without a care in the world ..when my dad paid all the bills.

Land of the living

My first mistake was preparing for a trip to Big Sur instead of staying in bed. Tuesday felt like hell ..but I took my car in for repairs anyway ..and had breakfast downtown with the idea of doing some last minute shopping. Didn’t take long for me to realize that my plan didn’t stand a chance. I made it as far as the library where I knew there was comfortable furniture to lay down on. After that, I figured walking was out of the question ..so I went by Laura’s work and borrowed her truck ..drove myself home and laid down some more. Later I picked her up and we went to get my car out of the shop. New breaks and a minor tune. Great, now my car is ready for a trip that I’m not going to make. Thursday I cancelled two weeks lodging and workshops at Esalen in a voice that was barely audible. I think they took pity on me because, one ..I sounded so bad, and two ..I was missing a Big Sur retreat. They refunded everything including a deposit which was rightfully theirs to keep. That was sure sweet of someone up there. Today I feel like I’m one step closer to the land of the living.

Fire

orange sky at noon
fire breathing dragon of doom
solar nostrils flare
balls of fire soar
igniting the chaparral below
smoke rises
blocking the sun and moon
life on the line
can turn on a dime
but to make it stop
starve the beast
that’s the ticket
not much to eat
on a blackened mountaintop

Nano size

Nano tech bio-injector systems
can deliver pain blockers
directly at the receptor site.
Nano tech bio-switches
can turn on and off genes
that regulate immune response
which is good for things like lupus,
lymphoma and arthritis.

Mi Ahijada

Mi Ahijada

Last night we put Tia Laurita on a bus to ‘Tia Juana’ (Tijuana, Mexico) for an appointment with the adoption agency. Afterwards, mi Ahijada (my Goddaughter) Karla and I went back to the house and I helped her with her algebra homework. They begin in the seventh grade here, however, she tells me that in Mexico they actually start in the sixth grade .. but what’s really amazing is that I can still do any algebra at all ..! I tried to make it a game of ‘grouping like variables’ before ‘simplifying an expression’ ..I told her there’s less likely to be any ‘stragglers’ that way. For breakfast this morning, I served my usual english muffins with peanut butter and banana. Karla rolled hers and ate it like a tortilla. Next she went into the bathroom and pulled her long hair back into pigtails ..using fresh lemon instead of gel in the front to straighten and hold it in place. Really shows her pretty face. She tells me that she does this every morning before school. That’s why they call her ‘BIG tails’.

Sunday with Laura and Karla

Laura and I have brunch at IHOP where she tells me about her adventure bringing Karla into the United States from Mexico. The other diners probably think we’re trafficking in narcotics ..or people. Later on, we pick up Karla at her friend’s house ..put Andy in the back of the truck and go watch the sunset on the beach. Andy buries his squeaky toy in the sand but Karla finds it. In the evening, we fill up on pho at the local Vietnamese restaurant and I think to myself that Karla was born in another country, eighteen years after the war ..so Vietnam cannot possibly have the same meaning for her as it does for me ..and I tell myself that there is probably no reason it should ..other than as a passage in a history book.

Friday with Karla and Laura

I sit on the deck reading the LA Times ..and wait until the last possible moment to go to the post office and mail my mortgage payment before they make a street person out of me. On the way back, I go by Alisos where I see mi Ahijada (my Goddaughter). We go pick up Tia Laurita from work ..grab our jackets ..put Andy in the back of the truck ..and drive to the beach where Karla does cartwheels in the sand ..Andy chases birds out to sea ..and the sun goes down over the mesa. Afterwards, we go to Piattes for fish and pasta. Laura tells me that they moved Karla to a more advanced level in junior high ..which doesn’t surprise me. She also tells me that she is thinking about putting modular homes (not mobile homes) on the back lot.

Never never land

I walk aimlessly through the streets of Santa Cruz .. a sleepy little northern town nestled between giant redwood trees and the deep blue sea ..I enter Lorenzo woods and hear a mountain side of pine trees hum and sing ..the pine needles bend sun rays that burst into colored light at my visual receptor sites ..I can see the lights of a fairy camp coming from the river banks ..reminds me what a mystical space I’m in ..back on Pacific Avenue there are lots of bicycles, Birkenstocks, paisley covered halter tops and surf board shops ..even this ordinary motel room looks like the Taj Mahal to me ..and I think I see ..in the waves behind my eye lids ..where never-never land might be..

Friday with Ann

I pick her up for lunch ~ and she asks me to fix her remote ~ it only needs a battery so I put it in my pocket for later ~ I comment on the lovely Spanish courtyard outside her place ~ she says she’s not comfortable living there anymore ..all the neighbors are conspiring against her. When I ask why, she says that they’re mostly college students who depend on their parents ..however, they only take one class a semester and they party until dawn so their parents are really supporting their drinking habit. I ask if that bothers her. Yeah, she says, I’ve complained about it so many times that now I’m the one who’s being evicted. That doesn’t make any sense I say ~ she says it happens all the time ..fucking landlords. At lunch, I want to take the time to enjoy my food and listen to her story ..she’s between jobs so I ask her, if she had the opportunity ..what would she like to do the most ~ write a novel, she says ~ fiction or non-fiction, I ask ~ autobiography, she says ~ does writing come easy for you ..or do you struggle with it like me ? ~ easy, she says ~ I tell her what a gift she has ..and ask her if she keeps a journal ~ no, she says ~ so I suggest that she start a blog ~ and she says that she doesn’t want other people reading about her personal life ~ besides, she has no interest in the Internet ..it’s run by a bunch of cocksuckers (Cox cable) and is full of mistakes. She wolfs down her food and rushes me along ~ says she needs to be doing something more productive ..we leave before I am finished ~ I drop her off at her house and drive away ~ she calls to tell me that she can’t find her remote ~ I remember that I have it in my pocket ..so I tell her I’ll drive by radio shack and get a new battery ~ on the way, I take a brisk walk along State street ~ chat with my sister over the phone ~ watch the sunset ~ do some grocery shopping ~ buy a new CD at Borders ~ replace the battery at Radio Shack ~ have a fruit juice at Blenders ~ watch the full moon from the top of a parking structure ~ and return to drop off the remote ~ she invites me in and I sit down on the floor ~ we enjoy a little hashish and I ask her if she would like to hear my new CD ~ it’s not rap or hip hop is it? she asks ~ no, I say ..it’s ‘alternative country’ ..a female duo I saw on one of the late night talk shows ~ she goes on to tell me that she’s always writing Leno to tell him how great his show is ..says he needs that ..she remembers when Letterman had a morning talk show ..she liked him better then .. she’s really bummed about what happened to Stevie Ray Vaughn ..can I imagine what’d be like to die in a helicopter crash ..have I ever been to New York ? ..there’s a street called ‘Maiden Lane’ where the buildings are from the original Dutch settlement ..what’s the matter Lee, don’t you ever watch the ‘History Channel’ ? Meanwhile, I have to admit ..I’ve been listening to the mandolins and thinking about the moon outside.

Chapter four

W o n d e r l a n d

The fairy princess runs with the other children through the grassy hillsides of the disenchanted forest. She shows them how to spin around and around until the sky and ground trade places ..and they fall down laughing. They pick capers for their mother’s goat’s head soup ..run with dandelions petals streaming behind them ..catch tadpoles and have muck fights in the swamp ..she tells them not to drink the mung water ..or eat the purple berries. She tries to ward off words of hostility and protect them from self-loathing. She wants them to remember that, for a bright shining moment, there was a wonderland called childhood.

Continues here ~~> Chapter five

Sun Tsu

I don’t believe we can fight terrorism by using tactics of conventional warfare. Blowing up insurgent strongholds in Iraq doesn’t seem to work. Terrorism just re-forms somewhere else. That’s the nature of networks ..they’re resilient to this type of attack. Their greatest strength is mobility. Damage in one location is easily overcome by re-routing messages somewhere else. All you need is a cellphone. I prefer the strategies of Sun Tzu. A better way to defeat this type of enemy is though deception and misinformation. That’s where networks are most vulnerable ..they’re anonymous. It’s hard to tell who’s really at the other end. I mean, look how easy it is for Dateline NBC to trap sexual predators over the Internet. I say we set up hundreds, perhaps thousands of decoy cells around the world ..staff them with realistic sounding recruiters ..then use their own methods to lure them in. When a terrorist arrives at the door ..Stone Phillips steps out from behind the curtain to greet them.

Scripts

Most of my carefully chosen words ..and well-intended speeches ..generally fall apart as soon as the first line is uttered. I figure it’s because other people are not reading from the same script as me ..they have their own. My neighbor, Richelle, is a single mother going through hell right now trying to raise her sixteen year old daughter, Aria. Simple exchanges like, “How’d it go today?” ..can turn into shouting matches that end up with mom fleeing from the house and sitting across my patio table from me ..badly shaken. This time, I thought I’d be prepared. I remember Richelle once telling me that there’s a car in the garage waiting for Aria ..however, she’s having trouble getting her driver’s license. So, I ask : “What’s the biggest issue facing Aria right now ..I mean, is there any one thing that you can think of that usually starts these fights ?” Now, I fully expect to hear something about the car and driver’s license ..pretty hot topics for a growing teen I figure ..and I’m prepared to speak to these issues. Instead, Richelle starts reciting lines that sound like they’re ripped right out of the pages of a psychotherapy session. She says Aria is dealing with issues of self-worth and approval ..things she’s not getting from her father right now ..because he’s never there. She goes on to tell me about how girls her age look up to their father as a role model for dealing with authority figures and interpersonal relationships ..the biggest issue she’s dealing with right now is abandonment ! And I’m like .. OK, I guess I can throw out my script about cars.

Go ask Alice

It seems like someone pushed me through the looking glass ..my waking hours begin sometime around midnight ..and late night talk shows have become daytime TV ..which I watch over toast and coffee. Swimming trunks and tevas are casual attire for me now ..and there’s always salt water in my hair and sand on my feet when I walk down the street. My favorite drink is lunch. The marijuana co-op has replaced Costco as my primary shopping destination. Familiar streets don’t go the same way that they used to ..and I often have trouble finding my way home. I don’t recognize anybody at the Zen center ..and now I can’t find it anymore either. Sunrise occurs at sunset ..and white powder covers the lawn every morning. My mind is constantly playing tricks on me ..thoughts come and go like rabbits jumping out of a hat and scurrying down a hole. Cosmic rays are getting mixed up with my brain waves and producing crazy images that I often mistake for everyday occurances. I swear I can hear what other people are thinking about me. Normal conversation slips by me so fast that I don’t catch relative clauses ..and confuse words beginning with the letters ‘wh’ ..which greatly reduces my chances for meaningful communication ..and increases the frequency at which my dates and relationships lead nowhere. I’m so busy thinking of something to say that I don’t often hear what other people are talking about. I’m working on that though. Now I’m so busy telling myself to listen when someone else is talking that I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Mr. Infinity

I’m driving 90 mph north on Hwy 101 ..not another car in sight until a red Infinity whizzes by me from out of nowhere. Makes me feel like I’m hardly moving at all. I think infinity ~~> eternity ..there’s a message there somewhere ..what, I don't know. Maybe it's a message from eternity ..telling me that my progress is too slow ..I accelerate to 100 mph. The air is suddenly filled with the scent of manure coming from a nearby farm ..smells like, ummm ..shit, I don't know. Could be a message from the goddess of fertility ..that’s it ..Aphrodite is telling me to get busy .. images of Alicia fill my head ..I tell myself to keep my eyes on the road .. the sky ahead turns blood orange ..sunset mixing with smoke from a forest fire east of here ..110 mph ..Evanescence launches into a hair raising hymn ..120 mph ..tears streak across my face and vaporize. A cosmic panorama opens up in front of me ..there’s nobody here except me and Mr. Infinity.

Angel of Avalon

Dance in the dark of night ..sing to the morning light ..I hear the horse’s thunder ..down in the valley below ..I’m waiting for the angels of Avalon ..waiting for the eastern glow .. the night is long ..the beads of time pass slow .. tired eyes look for sunrise .. waiting for the eastern glow ..at last the sun is shining ..the clouds of blue roll by .. I hear the angels of Avalon ..singing in the valley below.

Photo of ~> Lynn

Chapter three

          R e t u r n  of  the  P r i n c e s s

The fairy princess walks through the disenchanted forest on her way back to a home that she has not seen in over ten years ..not since the tender age of six ..when she was thrown into the abyss. She passes by the sulfur ponds where the goth fairies fish ..and around the slough, where they grow toadstools for their brew. A talking mynah byrd sees her coming and flies ahead to alert her parents ..the new village leaders. A buzz spreads quickly through the community. Everyone dresses up in their best leather ..with emerald green and blood red crucifixes ..looking like stained glass you would see in a church. The petite princess suddenly sees this enormous procession coming over the hill ..chanting a song called ‘my immortal’ in multi-part harmony. It sounds ethereal. As they swarm around her, she feels terrified ..not knowing what to do or say .. she just lets her body sway to the sound of the singing. This gesture sends the fairies into a frenzy ..cheering and laughing wildly. They envelope her fighting for hugs and kisses and lead her down the hill to a waiting reception. She takes a seat at the head of a banquet table lit by torches and decorated with black roses, poppies and amyl nitrates. To celebrate ..they pit-roast giant boar ..drink elderberry wine and hold a rave in her honor. Everyone gathers around to hear her story. The wicked stepsisters disappear and are never seen nor heard in the disenchanted forest again.    Continue here ~~> Chapter four

Mind waves

It is becoming more and more apparent that most of my everyday experiences are re-enactments of things from the past. Events that appear to be happening on the outside are actually coming from the inside. Voices on the street are echoes from high school, saying things like: what’s the matter with him ..his hair’s too long ..what a loser. When I’ve been out partying all night ..I still hear my mother’s voice, cold as ice, saying: have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately ..what will the neighbors think. Any kind of financial setback ..and I hear my father's voice telling me to act more responsibly ..making me feel like a child who hasn't quite caught on. When I get stuck in traffic ..I panic ..re-enacting feelings of childhood helplessness. When I approach an attractive woman, I hear the echoes of little Suzy from the third grade going: ‘euwww ..get away’. Just looking at a woman makes my ex-wife appear ..driving by the place we first met brings me to tears ..the place we were married ..more tears. A police siren ..and I hear my Miranda rights. A new movie .. and symptoms of my dysfunctional family appear (I recently saw ‘Little Miss Sunshine’). Science tells us that these everyday experiences are the product of ‘sensory events’ interacting with ‘episodes in memory’. They say that interpretation occurs awfully fast ..beginning somewhere around 250 milliseconds into the sensory event (that’s a quarter of a second). I don't stand a chance of seeing things the way they really are ..it's like I'm looking into mirrors all the time. No wonder I keep going around in circles.

Space cadet

Have you seen the stars tonight ..would you like to go out on the deck and look at them with me ..have you seen the stars tonight ..would you like to go out for a stroll and keep me company ..did you know ..we could go ..any place you can think of ..we can be ..have you seen the stars tonight ..would you like to lay under Andromeda and look at them with me ..did you know we could flow ..we are free to come and go ..like gypsies between starlight villages .. we are wanderers ..children destined to explore.

Creepy feelings

I’m sitting outside ..sipping tea ..watching the sun go down ..and feeling no sense of accomplishment at all. I can hear the sound of skate boards going clickity clack down the sidewalk ..feels comforting ..don’t know why. I think it’s because I grew up with that sound ..so it brings back childhood memories. A voice in the back of my head keeps telling me I should be doing more to prepare myself for something ..what, I don’t know ..it won’t be more specific ..but it interferes with my sense of wellbeing. It’s a vague sense of foreboding ..like there are a thousand and one things creeping around ..conspiring to get together one day and form a great big ball of karma that’ll come rolling down the hill toward me. It feels just dreadful. I put down my tea to take a closer look and see if there’s any merit to these creepy feelings. I know there’s a stack of professional correspondence I haven’t gotten around to ..not to mention personal correspondence ..there’s a trip to Northern California coming up ..a lawsuit ..deferred maintenance ..computer upgrades ..shakey finances ..erratic Zen practices ..and a bunch of laundry piling up. Not much, really ..unless I look at what’s behind door called ‘deferred maintenance’. Zen practice tells me to be mindful of what’s happening right here in front of me ..so, I’m watching the sunset ..enjoying my tea ..listening to new music (Michelle Shocked and Tori Amos) ..and ignoring what’s behind door called ‘deferred maintenance’. I'm practicing Zen. OK, and I’m also making a conscious attempt to expand the boundaries of my imagination ..like dithering in photoshop .. writing silly stories ..and reading gothic eighteenth century literature. Time consuming ..? Yes ..but hey, I’m not starving yet.

Driving home

We’re heading back from the Bay area ..driving at white-knuckle speed over Highway One through Big Sur ..at midnight. We’re exhausted ..but we missed holiday traffic ..so I guess it was worth it. Besides, the moon on the water looks phosphorescent ..helps me see good enough to drive dangerously. Brian looks over at me and goes: “What d'ya mean the Motor Inn is no longer in business ..it’s an historic landmark for Chris’ sake ..man, I could sure go for an overnight pit stop.” I’m like “What about the Apple Farm in SLO (San Luis Obispo) ..” He says “Nah, that’s touristy fluff ..rancho-relaxo, I suppose you’ll be wantin’ a room by the water wheel too.” I say “Hey, they serve local wines on the house.” ..and he goes: “You mean like Boones farm apple wine ..?” and I say “No ..you’re thinking of Booney Doon winery ..and besides, this is Pinot Noir country.” “What about burgundy ..?” “Well, they got merlot ..same thing ..isn’t it ?” “Hey Compadre ..let’s just skip this shit and go to Jalama beach.” I say: “Sure, it’s kind of a crapshoot though, hard to say whether they’ll have any sites available.” He goes “Can’t we just pull over somewhere and sleep on the beach ..?” and I go “Suppose we could do that ..but if you want some amenities ..like warmth, I think our best bet is a flea bag in Morro Bay ..listen, lets do that and I’ll buy us calamari for lunch today.” “Deal ..!”

Chapter two

        The road home

The fairy princess turns sixteen and goes: “This abyss sucks!” She decides it’s time to find a way out and rejoin the world. She goes to a place where she remembers seeing explorers rappel down a vertical shaft ..but it’s too steep. She goes to a place where an underground stream comes to the surface .. gathers speed ..then disappears. She remembers watching the explorers disappear there too. She decides to swim the underground river to daylight. She slides in and lets the current take her away ..shooting her through a tube worn smooth by the water ..then out an opening where she freefalls into a large pool of water. It’s still dark but she realizes she’s outside when she looks up and sees stars. She swims to the side and walks barefoot on the road into town. Figuring it’s time for a change ..she goes into a vintage clothing store and finds something more stylish. Out on the street she asks for directions to the disenchanted forest. One guy tells her she’s crazy ..another guy tells her to take bus number 47 ..the blue line. It lets her off at a gate in front of the forest ..where she enters ..walks down a thousand ancient steps ..and sits down by the side of a path waiting for someone to pass by and help her find her way home ..her skin still glowing like a neon light. Continue here ~~>  Chapter three

Chapter one

There was once a fairy princess who was so small that hardly anybody noticed her at all. At the tender young age of six, her wicked stepsisters threw her into an abyss ..and left her there for good. She wanders the tunnels and corridors for years with no one to talk to except her own inner voices. She grows up to be a melancholy waif ..playing by herself among the rocks and pools. Her skin grows pale and translucent. Her hair grows fiery red ..to help her see in the dark. Her ears grow accustomed to hearing the faintest vibrations ..and her eyes become sensitive to the subtlest variation in light. She learns to speak her own dialect of Elfin. One day she finds a path that leads inward toward the gardens of her mind ..where she can run through fields of lilies ..join hands with other children and dance around and around in circles until she falls down laughing. When she gets tired, she lays her head in her mother’s lap and sleeps. She occasionally hears other people roaming through the tunnels. She does not welcome their attention so she dissolves into mist ..gets inhaled with the air ..and travels through their blood stream ..floating in a blood cell. That’s where she discovers the wisdom of the body. Somehow she also learns the language of love.

Continue here ~~> Chapter two

Crazy Charlie (part four)

Charlie learns that the people here live on the river year-around and have established a self-governing community. They have a council and a constitution. The springs are located on Indian Holy Land ..so the first article says to treat the land with respect. The second says respect the sovereignty of others ..don’t steal ..contribute in some way and you are welcome to stay. “As you can see ..” says one of the members “..not much is hidden ..we learn to live without ‘blind spots’ ..all sentient beings are welcome ..there are places for tents downstream; we don’t use them but the campers do ..we help them find a proper site ..warn them about snakes ..tell them where they can find good water ..and in return; we don’t hesitate to ask them for whatever they can afford to offer in the way of food and medicine. Over there is the ‘Canyon of Refuge’ where people practice solitude ..or where someone can hide for years if necessary.” Charlie burns his clothes .. pours olive oil over his body ..and lies in the hot springs ..sometimes until three in the morning ..watching stars as big as baseballs ..and listening to people discuss the constellations. He works on the trash brigade ..contributes money during supply runs ..eats rice and lentils .. practices Tai Chi in the river ..enjoys listening to a guy who can carry on several conversations ..about several subjects ..on many levels ..all at once. He processes information about living in the wild .. revises all his notions of beauty .. and falls in love over and over again. After a few months, he looks like a dark version of Nick Nolte with sun bleached hair. One day he helps a group of teenagers find a cool place to camp ..then asks them if they have any medications they can spare. They hand him a little orange pill ..Charlie balances it on his forefinger while they warn him not to take it all at once ..it’s a three-way dose. When they’re finished, Charlie looks at them kindly ..then pops it into his mouth all at once saying: “Thanks, but don’t worry ..it won’t kill me.” They each take a step backwards. Later that day, they watch him walking back and forth in the river with a bandana on his head ..eyes closed ..chanting a mantra ..and banging on a canteen like it was a tambourine.

• In memory of Bradley James McCall (1950 to 1970)
  
• In gratitude to the inhabitants and guests of Deep Creek
  ..your stewardship of the land is stellar.

Crazy Charlie (part three)

Charlie follows the river trail downstream. In several places, he crosses the river ..holding his belonging over his head. The river curves around a bend in the canyon where the water slows ..forming a large clear pool ..the canyon opens up ..and the walls recede into a pristine valley ..bordered by mountains lush with sycamore and pine trees. Sandy beaches line the shores of the lazy river. Rock formations tower several stories high above the water ..with natural hot springs flowing from one pool to another. Charlie thinks he has died and gone to heaven. He sees a group of people sitting in a circle on the beach and walks through the river toward them. He suddenly realizes that none of them are wearing any clothes ..with the exception of a few guys wearing bandanas wrapped around their head. He feels a little awkward, stomping through the water in his army surplus boots. Everyone is deeply bronzed with no tan lines. Some of the men have long grey beards. The women walk with the grace of a Giselle ..and look wild. At first, Charlie feels a little spooked and approaches apprehensively ..but he hears laughter ..and senses harmony ..except for the group of women huddled together on some nearby rocks with X’s carved on their forehead. OK, he’s spooked again. One of the men in the circle rises ..walks into the river ..bows and says: “Namaste ..let me help you with your things ..I believe you are here for more than just the afternoon, am I right? Someone says you fell out of the sky like a meteor .. well, that’s one way to get here ..but there are easier ways ..we’ll show you later ..what matters now is that you are here.

continued ..

IHOP adventure

The cleaning lady wakes me in the morning ..yelling: “Get up ..my daughter’s flyin’ in from Texas today ‘n you’re my last customer.” So now I’m sitting at IHOP eating German pancakes ..remembering the first time I ate at IHOP ..because it was like the first time someone orbited the Earth ..and I’m wondering if all planets are round and orbity ..or if some are irregular and streaky ..like an asteroid ..when suddenly the table explodes with the sound of a hand slamming: BAM BAM BAM ..and someone yelling: “Buenos tardes amigo ..que paso?” ..and I’m thinking ..am I tardy? ..and he’s going: “Wassup dude ..” and I’m like “Scarfing pancakes, brah” ..he sits down and goes: “That’s not a pancake, man .. that’s a crepe ..pancakes come in stacks” ..and I say: “Guess you never seen a silver dollar pancake either ..let’s see if they got those on the menu” ..and he goes: “Nah, ya’ only get those in Vegas” and I’m like: “Dude, you’re thinking about a silver dollar breakfast” and he goes: “That’s no breakfast ..a steak and a bottle of wine ..now that’s breakfast ..they got that here?” “S’pose so ..they’re also known as Cholesterol City”. He asks the waitress ..but she says they don’t serve alcoholic beverages ..and I say too bad, guess they can’t serve you any beverages ..no one gets the stupid joke ..he looks at me like I’m an idiot ..then asks the waitress how in the world they can serve crepes without French wine ..the two go together like tequila and limes ..and I’m like: “Dude, you’re thinking about baguettes” ..he looks at me like I’m an idiot ..the waitress is looking at us like we’re both idiots ..I’m thinking ‘five easy pieces’ ..and he asks the waitress for a steak and Denver omelet with poblano chilies.

Crazy Charlie (part two)

Charlie tries to keep his balance on the narrow trail. He follows the river canyon from the high desert to the foothills of the mountains ..where the water rushes between boulders and sycamore trees. He catches a glimpse of it every once in a while ..but, from his altitude, it looks like a thin ribbon of water winding slowly around pebbles and twigs. He gets lost when the trail crosses a dry riverbed and branches into a maze of paths ..some going up into another canyon ..and others going nowhere in particular. He decides to follow the dry riverbed down to the main stream. At first, it meanders pleasantly around rocks and trees ..but suddenly it straightens out and becomes steep ..then the ground beneath his feet gets brittle and breaks loose ..until he’s sliding several feet down the slope with every step. At first, it’s fun ..he feels like he’s walking on the moon ..then it becomes a terrifying out-of-control slide down the mountain side. He tries steering with his feet like a bobsled ..but it doesn’t do any good. He gets flung over the edge and floats into the canyon below. He looks down and sees something coming up real fast It’s his reflection in a pool of water. He hits it and sinks to a depth of several fathoms before getting his bearings and jetting back up to the surface ..gasping for air. The pool is a slow-moving part of the river ..pausing before it flows through some massive boulders and cascades into more pools below. Charlie grabs his pack and bedroll floating by ..swims over to the bank .. lifts himself out of the water ..and comes face to face with an extremely tall woman ..no tan lines ..surrounded by a dozen radiating golden children ..all beaming up at him ..eyes wide open. He stands there speechless for a moment ..then blurts out: “Hi, I’m Charlie ..is this the way to Shangri-La?” She smiles, points downstream and tells him he’s almost there: “Just follow the river trail ..you can’t miss it.”

continued ..

Crazy Charlie (part one)

“Man, you’d think the back alleys of LA were turning gold” ..Charlie says. He ought to know ..he’s just been kicked out of one. So he spends the next three days following the Santa Ana river to San Bernardino. Thought nobody would bother him there. Instead he finds the streets buzzing with crystal meth ..and cross-fire. He catches a ride out of town with a kid in a Cadillac, who, moments before ..carjacked it just in time to avoid a police raid on his own meth lab. They blow through the Cajon Pass and out into the high desert going over 120 mph. “That kid was spooked man ..he was poppin' pills like candy and lookin' over his shoulder the whole way.” They stop near a park in Victorville and, without a word ..the kid grabs an AK-47 out of the back seat ..walks into traffic ..smashes the window of a car stopped at an intersection ..hijacks the car ..and disappears down Highway 18 toward Barstow ..leaving two guys standing on the corner shaking ..and Charlie heading for the hills. He spends the night with some other ‘campers’ on the Mojave River. He tells them his story and, in return ..they tell him about some hot springs in a river canyon so deep that roads don’t go near them ..cell phones won't work there “..it’s like Shangri-la, man. I bin there once ..but now I can’t find my way back ..no way.” Before dawn, Charlie is hiking up the Mojave River in the general direction of Shangri-la. After a few days, he finds a tributary feeding in from the East. He stops and tastes the water. Fresh California snow pack with just a hint of olive oil and patchouli. “This has got to be it” ..he says to himself. He follows this new river into a steep canyon filled with boulders. After a while, the boulders become so large that he can’t go over them ..or around them. He climbs straight up the side of the canyon, using his hands and feet, until he finds a goat trail, about 10 inches wide, that follows the river from up high.

continued ..

Branching streams

A breeze cools my face ..a candle flickers ..a bell rings to keep my mind from wandering .. like a stream that branches in different directions ..there's a thousand and one things rattling around up there ..not one of them worth writing about. Why don’t I feel like there’s anything worth writing about ? Nothing seems entertaining enough ..or clever enough. It all seems like a bunch of boring crap you find in a junk drawer ..images of someone I haven’t seen since 2001 ..remnants of a failed relationship I’m still trying to fix. Even now, I’m trying to improve a conversation that I had the night before. What sense does that make? I wonder what’s in me that makes me do that ? Maybe if I rummage around long enough I’ll find something interesting ..a key that unlocks a door ..a door that leads to a more enlightened place. You know, maybe it’s OK being a junk drawer ..or a branching stream ..because it’s becoming a real strain trying to keep what I am moving down a straight path all the time. I’m always afraid of miscalculating ..taking the wrong step ..and looking like the fool that I am. In fact, I think I’m more afraid of that than I am falling off a cliff.

Sanctuary

I inhale deeply ..and blow smoke rings toward the sky. I leave the sanctuary ..walk past the misty lagoon ..beneath some twisty trees ..out to the open shore ..across the sandy beach ..and underneath the crashing waves. I come to the surface in calm water ..just beyond the break ..and watch a flock of pelicans sail by ..leaving wind trails in the sky. There aren't too many things I can think of ..real or imaginary ..that can produce more pleasurable waves of endorphins ..or put me farther from the reach of crazy delusions.

Small world (continued)

For those of us who remember seeing the Hitchcock classic ‘The Birds’ when we were kids ..you may not know this ..but it was inspired by actual events. In the coastal town of Capitola, California ..a large flock of disoriented seabirds started crashing into streetlights, cars, houses and people. Alfred Hitchcock was living in nearby Scotts Valley at the time. The birds in Capitola were suffering from a brain disorder caused by eating shellfish containing too much of a neurotoxin (called domoic acid) that periodically flourishes in the ocean near the coast. That’s where we get the saying ..don’t eat shellfish in months containing an ‘R’. The same thing is happening to the seals and sea lions where I live ..more and more of them are washing up on the beach delirious ..even in months without an ‘R’. The sad thing is ..it happens mostly to the females who come to the coastal waters to deliver their young ..making them unable to care for their pups properly. Sadder still, even in trace amounts ..human children who eat shellfish with this substance will, over time, develop memory impairment. Then they wind up at the Center for Learning Disabilities. We are seeing more and more of them now too. Scientists tell us that the amount of this toxic substance is going up near the coast due to warmer water ..disappearing wetlands (that act as a filter) and urban runoff. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against human progress or anything. It’s just that I’m tired of hearing people tell me that human activity doesn’t make that big a difference in the larger scheme of things.

Small world

The fertility rate of polar bears in the arctic circle is on the decline ..they are finding trace amounts of birth control substances in their tissue. They get it from digesting the fish that they live on ..who get it from the water they swim in ..that arrives in currents that travel north from the European continent ..where urine is discharged into the ocean ..which comes from people who use birth control pills. Now, I’m not saying birth control pills are bad or anything ..it’s just that I’m tired of hearing people tell me that human behavior doesn’t have consequences on a global scale. We don’t know our place in the universe ..we are not even at home in the world we live in ..and I’m afraid that soon ..we may be left without a hope of finding home ..alarmist that I am.

Crazy Charlie (continued)

Charlie says: “We ’ll walk to the beach ..I know a shortcut.” So, we go through a schoolyard ..across several backyards ..along the railroad tracks ..and through the Fess Parker Hotel lobby. We drop our shorts off on the sand and take a running leap into cool blue water. Charlie says the ocean is alive ..he plunges his head under the surface ..then comes back up, spitting seaweed out of his mouth, and shouts: “listen, you can hear it breathing”. Afterwards, we sit down for a ‘smoke’ and a chat with a circle of people by the wharf. California free agents ..as Charlie likes to call them. A couple of them actually are former owners of a solar energy company. They are complaining about how nobody in California really takes solar energy seriously. Charlie says he likes the heat and humidity ..makes him feel alive ..says he usually has to sit in the back of Laundromats to get it ..not these days ..it’s everywhere. One of the former execs says he’s glad to hear him say that ..it’s the most abundant source of energy there is. Next thing I know, they’re discussing plans to make Charlie their next spokesperson as soon as they get back on their feet ..and I’m like ..how come he gets all the good deals ..?

Crazy Charlie

The Celtic music coming from inside sounds mystical ..the warm westerly flow out here feels pleasurable, sweaty ..but pleasurable ..sunlight filters through the trees ..inner voices barely detectable ..feeling empty and forgetful ..birds singing ..digital symbols flicker by ..without meaning ..I just watch them cross my laptop screen ..I don’t know why ..solitude is short but sweet ..Charlie gets out of his tent by the creek ..hair everywhere ..shouting obscenities ..without meaning ..he rolls a cigarette ..while I pour coffee ..and ask if he’s well. "Why do those fucking birds cry like that?" "In English we call it singing." I say "..although some Asians cultures call it crying ..why, feeling Oriental?" "I feel like a Rottweiler from hell." "You smell like one too ..what’s the matter ..too toasty to sleep?" "Man, I slept on the ground last night." "Hey, the door was open." "Nah, it’s cooler down there ..besides, I pass open doors ..haven’t been through one in months ..don’t wanna start now ..it’s a habit that’s hard to break." "Can we drive down to the showers on the beach, or ..are car doors habit forming too ?"

Jen in color

Note: Fooling around with color. You can see the genuine article by clicking here ~>Jen’s blog

Off road travel

Sometimes I don’t have to leave the area to travel .. my deck is as far as I get ..the road in my head is weird enough ..I’m traveling through thoughts every millisecond of the day ..I admit, most of it is flying by so fast it’s just a blur ..but sometimes, out of the corner of my eye ..something will catch my attention and shift the direction of travel down an avenue worth exploring. I’ve learned that one road is just as interesting as another ..so, if I’m in a receptive state of mind ..I won’t discriminate. I lay back and see images of myself as a kid ..roaming through the neighborhood on a bicycle with a group of other kids ..one of them comes up to me and says “don’t you think it’s more fun to ride in a group ..there’s more people to add to the experience” ~ flash ~ I’m sitting around a hookah with several other people and we're playing a game where one person starts a story ..and the next person has to continue ~ flash ~ the person next to me says: “..and he drops the bag of dope inside a parked car before the cops pull him over” ~ flash ~ it’s my turn ..I remember saying something like ..a couple on their first date come back to the car, and she says “Philip, you said you didn’t do drugs” ~ flash ~ a train full of block letter graffiti streaks by non stop with no gaps in between ..I wonder if I’m becoming illiterate ~ flash ~ a dog barks ..a child cries ..and there’s a sound check coming from the county bowl ..I wake up startled ..thinking there’s a half human beast howling down the canyon toward me ..my heart is racing ~ flash ~ I remember Anne saying that she “dabbles in Wikki” ..but I don’t know what that means ..it’s not in the dictionary .. so I guess I’ll go look it up on the Internet ..there's people adding to the story out there all the time

Location location location

I haven’t seen the movie, but I hear Al Gore says global warming will probably turn the Nevada desert into the high tide mark of the Pacific Ocean ..in addition to wiping out a few South Sea Islands. According to my friend Jim ..it will also turn the Sahara Desert into the lush tropical paradise that it used to be. It’s a cycle in geological time ..he says. We’re in Huntington Beach watching the US Open of Surfing. Guy next to me leans over and says: “Ya can’t see nuthin’ like this in Atlanta ..no sir. It looks sort of like NASCAR ..except them surfers are driving boards instead of cars ..and lookin for the best pole position on the wave”. I tell him he'll have to wait ..it'll be a few more years before it catches on in Georgia.

Cluelessness

Bush has no clue what life is like on the west coast ..so, he imagines things. Right now it’s a salmon shortage that doesn’t exist ..so, he’s gone ahead and placed restrictions on how many can be caught ..jacking up prices at the store and putting fishermen out of work. The salmon population of the Klamath River is declining ..that’s true. Probably has something to do with the hydro-electrical industry. On the other hand, the Sacramento River is pouring them into the ocean in record abundance. That’s nature. The federal government has put this bounty off-limits to the local fishermen. That’s ignorance of the dynamics of the California coast.

Another night

There’s a desert sky overhead ..which combines with the ocean air and makes me feel like I’m living in the tropics. Don’t get me wrong ..it doesn’t bother me, I actually enjoy tropical weather ..but lately I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Sometimes I wait until four in the morning, when it cools off, before trying ..but weather is not the only reason. I’m afraid of being attacked by the demons that bombard me in the night when I go to bed. These aren’t ghosts from the nether world ..they are my own personal fears and anxieties ..things that I haven’t learned to cope with yet ..which just bolsters my fear that I probably never will. It seems that the best I can do is anesthetize them and cover them up. So now they’re buried somewhere in my psyche waiting to come out and haunt me at night They run from petty annoyances to major stress. I’m afraid of not getting back on my feet and working at something meaningful again (!) ..and I’m afraid that I’ll never get around to decorating the house ..or finishing the laundry (?) I’m afraid I won’t even be able to keep up with the repairs ..which really tweaks my sense of self-sufficiency. Then there are the phantoms that tell me I’ll never kick my bad habits ..or make it to the gym ..or recover my interest in reading .. but you know, books contain disturbing ideas ..ones’ that I’m trying to forget ..tales of trauma and tragedy ..my thoughts become intolerable ..making me get out of bed and pace the floor at night ..I can’t seem to stop thinking about them ..or put them to rest.

Traveling ghosts

The news is so sad lately ..it’s hard for me to sleep at night let alone read the morning paper. A lot of ghosts are being released into the atmosphere ..I hope they get home all right. What’s troubling is that they die so violently ..and so far from home ..that they get lost in a middle world of desperate ghosts ..unable to move on to the next world. These are the ones that visit me at night while I sleep and plead for money to purchase a plane ticket home. I don’t have the heart to tell them that it doesn’t work that way anymore ..so I burn paper money to get their attention ..then I light a lantern and read aloud from Zen Master Dogen in hopes that they find a way out and are able to continue on with their journey. I feel worse for their loved ones who are suffering thousands more sleepless nights in this world. It’s for you that I write.

Ventilation

I feel hyper but I don’t see the reason ..didn’t get much sleep last night ..I should be passed out on the beach right now ..instead I’m dusting bottles and sweeping the deck ..if I stop, I feel like everything will unravel. I call my sister to see how things are going with her. They’re experiencing global warming in Orange County ..the air conditioners can’t cope ..the swimming pools are boiling over and the lagoons are slimy green. Her friend’s sixteen-year-old is pushing the envelope of reckless youth ..got his second DUI yesterday. He pays my niece to do his homework. I say ..hey, I can do that. My sister says that I should try tutoring at the local college. Good idea, I reply ..do they need help writing bad poetry? She senses my edginess and tells me that my niece is at the ‘Warped’ music festival today ..she says something good always comes out of that ..like last year it was ‘my chemical romance’ ~ You mean to tell me she’s taking ecstasy now ~ Hey, don’t be so cynical ..are you keeping up with your writing practice ~ I guess you haven't read my blog lately ~ Yes I have ..I just get distracted sometimes ..hey, you know ..a good way to get more traffic on your blog? Plug it into MySpace dot com ~ Are you kidding? ..kids are brutal these days ..they’ll pour in like banshees ..hack it apart ..and spray paint the remains with graffiti. On second thought, that may not be such a bad idea.

Lunatic beat

I have my own theory about treating mental illness ..if you want to contain the deranged ..put them in a bigger container ..just as many people recover on a large stretch of sandy beach as they do in a mental institution. Now, I can use a padded cell just as much as the next person ..but I prefer a sandy beach. Which is more or less the reason I live where I do. It’s therapeutic. I don’t remember the last time I drove on anything wider than a two lane road. A town farther north like Santa Cruz would be nice ..but I don’t want to push a good thing ..besides, life follows me where ever I go and I wind up just as intolerable in the next place ..ask anyone. Maybe a psychotic breakdown is healthy every once in a while ..it’s like a new perspective ..I think Eastern mystics would call it visionary. I grew up to the sounds of women screaming (five sisters ..go figure). I still hear them when there’s no one around. I scream back occasionally. Hey, no matter how many times a coyote hears a siren ..it howls back. The spirits of Nopal Canyon are getting angry ..everybody here acts like they own the place ..when in reality .. we’re all just passing through .. living in temporary shelter made out of bones. We’re the nomads of skeleton land. I hate crows ..and they know it. That’s why they gather outside my bedroom window and screech all day. What really worries me though is when tree limbs crash through my skylight. I hate to think of what that means. It’s all connected though. The spirits know. The traffic grows silent ..a siren wails ..police chase me for sport ..I pull over and traffic roars by like a freight train. I drive on the shoulder until I come to an off ramp ..and disappear down the side streets. I don’t need to run away to another northern town ..it’s me that I need to find sanctuary from.

Demolition experts

I have a theory about the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve weren’t cast out ..they blew it up themselves. When I first arrived in Santa Barbara, I felt like a kid at summer camp. Our offices were within walking distance to the beach ..or the university. I found that I could develop computing systems in my head while sitting on the bluffs overlooking the ocean. I had a talented group of co-workers ..and an account manager named Sherry who was our best promoter. We were at the top of our game ..none of the other consulting groups won as many contracts ..or contributed as much to the revenue stream. Nobody screwed with us. I went out on medical leave in 1999. While I was gone, Sherry retired to Arizona to take care of her ailing husband. With her gone, people from headquarters saw a need to take-charge. They stepped into a foreign culture. They brought in a manager named Pete. The ‘talent’ bailed. Pete immediately set out to demolish our relationship with local customers. Pretty soon they were complaining to headquarters that they were not getting the service they were accustomed to. When I returned in 2000, headquarters asked me to step-in and help since I was the only one left after the exodus. I talked to the customers. They told me they had awarded us contracts worth millions of dollars, and were waiting on bids for several more. They said it felt as if their requests had fallen into a black hole. They were frustrated. So I sat down with Pete, but he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. I started thumbing through a stack of official-looking folders on his conference table ..saw one that said ‘Supply chain link’ and went “Hey Pete ..here they are ..!?” He said he had no idea what they were asking for, so he wasn’t about to take any chances assigning them to someone. He also didn’t like me snooping around ..so he handed me a virtual ‘broom’ and told me to get busy. Pretty soon I was bumping into other people sweeping a virtual floor. I asked Pete why everybody was sweeping the floor. I got swept up into a ‘smart-ass remark investigation’. Ahhh, the wheel had turned and paradise was gone. I stuck around and met some of the new people ..then ducked-out. Shortly after that, CSC lost several big accounts and were forced to shutdown the Santa Barbara branch. Ironically, they put Pete in charge of dismantling everything ..including his job. He actually called me up at home one day to ask me how to do that. I just said good luck. I felt we had everything we needed ..and blew it up.

Sierra high

We cross a pass at 12,000 feet and follow the trail down a river gorge so steep I look up to see a waterfall coming out of nowhere ..crashing into the river below ..vaporizing into mist then dissolving into rainbow. We reach the wilderness around Crater Lake ..way above the timberline ..filled with boulders, scree and other glacial debris ..closely surrounded by a rim of high sierra peaks ..it looks more like something you’d see on the moon. A tiny black speck appears high up on one side ..just below a gap between two peaks. Jack says he thinks it’s moving ..we check the forestry service maps ..but there are no trails up there ..it looks inaccessbile ..we make jokes about the abominable snowman ..but we check back from time to time while setting up camp. It is definitely moving down the slope. It reaches the bottom but it’s still too far away to tell what it is ..so Jack takes a look-out postion sprawled on top of a boulder with binoculars. It keeps disappearing and reappearing over the boulders in no-mans land ..always moving this way. I light the butane stove ..Jack yells out that it’s definitly human ..a man ..and he hasn’t slowed down a bit. He disappears behind some boulders then suddenly looms up over the rocks and walks right through our camp ..humming loudly as he goes. Jack asks him if he came from one of the peaks he’s pointing to. Yah, I spent the night there. Jack asks where he started from. Sequoia. No shit, that’s far ..how long did it take? Three months. What trail were you on? None, I’m hiking cross-country. You mean you’ve haven’t been on a trail for three months ? Yah. He takes out several topo maps to show us where he’s been. We tell him he’s welcome to stay the night at our camp. No thank you, he says ..if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. We watch him hike out ..and dissolve into rainbow.

Note: I haven’t actually been to the Sierras for a few years now ..but I kept good notes.

Cosmic Charlie

Sometimes while I’m working in Photoshop ..I’ll accidentally lose a layer ..and everything I’ve done since then will be floating around disconnected from anything I’d done before. It's like what happens when layers of my memory get peeled away and I become disconnected from anything that went on before ..like Robinson Caruso ..even my present surroundings look unfamiliar. I walk down State Street for the millionth time ..and it’s like the first time. I have no clue what’s coming next. Without memories, I have no way of putting together an image of what lies ahead. The pavement dissolves ..and I advance unhinged ..without a script. Someone materializes and says hi ..looks at me for a moment and passes by. Anyone who looks that sweet is always passing by. But, hey ..no memories ..no expectations ..if border guards stop me out here ..I have no baggage ..nothing to claim or deny. That’s what I like about Photoshop ..it helps me see things unhindered by my usual way of looking at them. And if any of this makes sense ..you need to take a break from Photoshop too.

Introduction

The Goth-fairy subculture is growing fast ..and they are no longer content to dwell in the realm of our imagination ..they are stepping out and committing vicious attacks in other parts of our psyche ..the parts we like to cherish and preserve ..the places where kittens in the grass, or rabbits in the field come from. When these attacks occur the things we cherish begin to disappear ..more than likely in a pot of stew .. along with the squirrel .. fox ..turtle ..and the dove. Mothers ..please tell your children not to be fooled by these new members of the fairy world ..they are not like Tinker bell or any one else you'll ever meet in Never Land. They have fallen very very far from the Pixie tree. They are more likely to be found in the backstreets and alleyways of the dis-enchanted forest ..or at the mosh pits of heavy metal shows in places like Sacramento or Modesto. Instead of sprinkling you with Pixie dust ..they are more likely to stone you with angel dust.

Fairytale begins here ~~> Chapter one

Paranoid delusions

I get no sleep ..I tank up on coffee, ginseng and a whole assortment of herbal remedies but still end up feeling weary for the rest of the day. I call you on the telephone but get dismissed. That was a blow ..I try to think ..what did I do to deserve that ..did I forget to comment on your pretty outfit ..or stare too long at someone else’s pretty outfit. Experience tells me that it is more likely something I neglected to do than something I actually did ..an error of omission ..those are the worst kind ..but if there’s something I learned from my former marriage ..it’s how thoughtless I can be ..I remember all the times she would sit on the beach and fry while I was surfing .. her skin was so fair ..it wasn’t until she started building shelters out of material she found on the beach (which I thought was pretty resourceful) that it occurred to me to go out and buy a beach umbrella. Oh, I know what it is ...I didn’t take you to the Emmylou Harris concert ..no, that can’t be it ..you don’t know that I went to the concert ..besides, it was a last minute invitation from Joey ..I didn’t even know I was going until, like ..half an hour before the show. Now I’m panicking ..all kinds of thoughts are racing through my puny little brain ..what did I do ..did I buy wine from the wrong vineyard ..one that’s not eco-friendly ..do you think I’m stingy with my pot ..you know I have a habit of cleaning up after myself ..did I say something offensive ..like the story about Ryan’s romantic fiasco ..I was only trying to be amusing ..did you find out about the time I spent at Camarillo state ..I was working there ..damn you Brian ..I don’t go around telling other people where you and I know each other from. I start to wonder if I have become so displeasing that you’d rather watch a cooking show on TV than chat with me over the phone .. that’s OK, my phone calls won’t bother you anymore ..besides, you are much too sensitive ..and you take things way too personally ..then blow them totally out of proportion. Later on you call to say you’re sorry for sounding a bit down over the phone earlier ..but the humidity was bothering you and you didn’t want to sound bitchy.

Note: Camarillo state is a nearby psychiatric facility ..I was just kidding about that. Brian and I know each other from our former place of employment ..so it wasn't a big lie.

Stream of consciousness

The Japanese music I hear sounds mildly erotic ..Tori Amos music is definitely erotic ..images of my friend Alicia come to mind ..Liz Phair lyrics are erotic ..or is that only because I can picture the warning label ..I’m going deeper into my memory for erotic music ..I remember the Beatles used to be good ‘date’ music ..Cat Stevens was definitely sensual as well as Sade ..I’m fussing with my ideas and editing my thoughts ..now I think that there’s not much depth to my knowledge of erotic music ..I feel a jab of pain hit me in my chest ..I tell myself I lack initiative because I don’t want to go hiking ..or join the drum circle today ..another jab ..I rationalize by telling myself that I had a pretty intense week so it’s OK to just sit here and see what comes up ..feels a little better now ..I remind myself to keep hydrated ..and breathe deeply ..the pain diminishes even further ..I think, OK ..I’ll focus on my breath for awhile ..deep breathing relieves pain whereas shallow breathing gets congested like, um ..um ..oh, what’s the word ..‘mung’ water ..no, that’s what I called it as a kid ..‘stagnate’ water, that’s it ..now I’m thinking in metaphors ..now I’m thinking who cares ..now I’m thinking about the latest metaphor for the mind ..3-dimensional networks of information ..now I’m thinking about what other people will think about this ..I always think that they think I’m a little too ‘far-out’ ..and I don’t mean far-out as in ‘cool’ or ‘interesting’ ..more like far-out as in ‘weird’ or ‘irrelevant’ ..my dad is a thinking man ..and I always hear him saying that he has no concept for what I'm talking about ..maybe obtuse is a better word ..I don’t think in concrete terms ..mostly fuzzy abstractions .. pedantic is another word that comes to mind ..I’m just so full of self-importance that I think everybody needs to hear what I have to say ..no, I think it’s more like insecurity .. I spend a lot of time compensating for a bad high school education.

‘Proprioceptive writing’ is similar to ‘stream of consciousness’ writing. It is a method for expressing thoughts as you hear them. If you’re interested, click here ~~>Proprioceptive Writing .

Island

There’s a dream I keep having where I’m running in slow motion ..and snakes are catching up with me ..I fall off a cliff and scream ..but no sound comes out ..I’m laying in a green field ..children stand around me and stare ..from a safe distance ..like I’m a wolf playing dead ..a little girl walks over and lays down a handful of freshly picked poppies .. I accept them and put my hands together in a gesture of gratitude ..a mynah bird lands on her shoulder ..saying “pay attention ..pay attention”..I ask who it’s speaking to ..me or her ..and she says: “Anybody who can hear ..they remind us to see what’s near.” I look around ..this is definitely paradise .. sparkling waves on the beach ..waterfalls coming out of the face of cliffs ..mists above the trees ..she asks me if I’m hungry ..I follow her into a cove ..along the edge of a lagoon ..jade green ..and into a village made of driftwood huts “pay attention ..pay attention” ..I see women pit-baking shell fish .. men spearfishing in pools “pay attention ..pay attention” A taller and darker version of the flower girl is standing at a door ..she is wearing a white Muslim shirt, diesel jeans and coral jewelry ..come in come in ..she says ..I gorge myself on baked salmon while the mother asks me if I’ve ever ridden a Harley Davidson ..she says she would like to get a Yamaha dirt bike ..and maybe a boat ..she shows me pictures in a Sears and Roebuck ‘spring and summer catalog’ from like 1962 ..wedgy shoes and wonder bras ..she says that the island just won a claim for royalties from oil drilling operations dating back to the sixties ..she wants to know where she can ‘trade’ them for these goods ..I tell her about a major university just up the coast with computers that anybody can use ..she should get an eBay account ..she tells me she wants an Apple computer with an IPod and .. “pay attention ..pay attention” I wake up in bed ..my alarm clock plays a tape of Jim Morrison saying “pay attention ..pay attention” ..from a poem that starts something like: “Is everybody in ..the ceremony is about to begin.”

Emmylou

I saw Emmylou Harris at the bowl last night ..she was singing with former members of Dire Straits. Now, I’ve been following Emmylou for a long time ..ever since the early days when she played the local colleges with Linda Ronstadt and Jackson Browne. I sort of have a of a soft spot for her. I’ve been to just about every one of her bowl appearances over the last 10 years. However, I’ve never been what you’d call a Dire Straits fan ..never seen them in concert ..but I like them ..even have a few of their CD’s .. ‘Love over gold’ and ‘Brothers in Arms’ ..but I sort of lost track of them. I never imagined I’d ever see them play together. So, here I am ..8th row center ..watching Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler singing duets like ‘Michelangelo’ and ‘Why Worry’. Emmylou was wearing bright green snake-skin boots ..very cool. I look around ..and it’s like I’m in a hippie colony ..there are a lot of grey beards ..Birkenstocks ..organic dresses ..and that sweet old smell of something. I look at the people in the seats next to me ..a young lesbian couple on my left ..and an even younger, straight couple ..almost high school age ..sitting on my right. Surprising. The two young women share some of their pot with me. They dance to tunes like ‘Espresso love’ and ‘Sonny Liston’. They keep yelling: “louder” ..and complain about all the ‘ballads’ ..they want to rock and roll ..and head down toward the stage. The quiet couple sitting next to me enjoy everything ..they ask me where the ‘noisy girls’ went ..I tell them they needed more volume ..and laugh. We listen to some really beautiful duets like ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Far away’. Afterwards I ask them whether they are Emmylou fans or Dire Straits fans ..half expecting them to say Dire Straits ..they say: “Ohhh, Emmylou by far”. (However, we all agree that Dire Straits are fine too.) That’s great, I say ..surprising but great. He tells me he’s in a band ..and that his father turned him on to all the greats like Gram Parsons, Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman. She says she was a go-go dancer at the Whiskey in Los Angeles. That makes sense, a lot of rock legends started out there. She tells me that's where she met her boyfriend ..he was playing in a high school ‘battle of the bands’ show while she was dancing on the stage. I wonder if his father could of ever imagined that. Ahhh, but they were really sweet. Gram Parson’s fans ..I would of never imagined that.

Daybreak in pink

I wake up this morning with the sunrise ..I see pink fog drifting by the window ..I sit up and stare ..it looks like another planet out there. It seems like this immense pink presence is trying to get in .. pushing on the walls ..and pouring through the cracks. I go around opening all the window covers ..it’s even waiting for me at the door ..and getting brighter. I go outside to sit and stare ...watch the mist pass around me and under the tables and chairs. I drink some coffee and read the paper ..but the words slide off my eyes and disappear into pink air. I shake my head and try to think ..but there’s nothing but a bunch of half-baked ‘sleazy’ ideas rattling around up there ..by ‘sleazy’ I mean ‘shadowy and unclear’ ..like the fog passing by ..intriguing ..but nothing I can hang on to. Better let them dissolve and pass ..leave space for the next ones to come and take their place.

Stepping out

Solstice Celebration

I guess if I had to choose .. my favorite part of the parade was the Viking ship. It looked like a dragon ..and there were ‘Vikings’ dancing around it to the beat of Congo drums. It's not just a parade ..it’s like a moving theater ..because they were frequently attacked by hordes of ‘barbarians’ ..armed with big rubber mallots and swinging balls ..who called themselves the ‘corporate raiders’. Everything else was relatively peaceful. There were costumed gymnasts doing back flips ..traveling minstrels ..inline skaters doing trick stuff ..elves and fairies either passing out flowers ..squirting water or throwing confetti eggs ..that sort of thing. No nudity this year. Not that I’m a perv ..I just see it as another sign of growing intolerance. Later on Brian asked whether or not I saw the giant jelly fish squirting purple fluid ..I’m afraid I missed that ..but I could see the purple stains all over his shirt. Smelled like Burgundy. When we got to the festival in the park, there were people, music, funny looking costumes ..and just about anything else you can imagine ..coming at me from every direction. I particularly like the scent of patchouli oil. I went to a booth and tanked up on lemonade. I wanted to be ready. My favorite part of the festival is dancing to the circle of drummers ..I guess that’s because, for me ..it’s the closest thing to an outdoor rock concert. There were belly dancers wearing earth tone chiffon ..‘ocean’ girls, from the parade, painted aqua blue ..and tons of tie dye. The lead drummer looked like he commanded some kinda' respect ..with a big, tall conical hat ..long grey hair ..violet color spectacles ..big ivory beads ..and African shorts. Anne came wearing a long red-and-silver skirt, pink tee and a dark blue sequin vest .. how festive! She also brought her own tambourine ..so I guess you could say she was ‘with the band’. I swear my body has it’s own memory for old rock shows ..as well as a few recent aerobic classes ..because, after awhile ..I don’t have to think much about what I’m doing.

My first high

I take a deep breath ..hold my breath ..then let it out slowly ..feeling the locks on my brain dissolve. We’re in an abandoned horse stable, off the beaten track, somewhere between high school and home. Biff is looking at me through squinty eyes and smiling. I smile back. “What do you think ..?” he asks. “Sweet” I say. He nods appreciatively and tells me I’m in for a treat ..this batch was cured in DMT. I tell him I don’t know what that means. “It’s psychoactive” he says. Halfway through the next hit my fingers start tingling ..then go completely numb. My hands swell up like balloons ..which makes handling the joint a major task. I try to explain this to the others when I realize that my lips have gone numb and I can’t hear myself speak ..until half a second later when it sounds like my voice is coming out of loudspeakers, located somewhere over my head, going “where did you get this shit, Biff ..?” I look around to see where the sound is coming from and everyone starts laughing ~ flash ~ all I can see are Mike and Biff squinting and grinning at me ~ flash ~ now I’m squinting and grinning back. Images are actually reaching me in flashes ..like a movie in slow motion with some of the scenes removed. I feel like I’m 20 feet tall handling a tiny burning ember ..and trying to make sure I don’t swallow it while inhaling ~ flash ~ we’re walking down a trail leading to a residential street ~ flash ~ it looks like Mike and Biff are switching directions in front of me and so I shout. They tell me that they’ve been going straight ..I’m the one who must be switching directions. I’m convinced we’ve been walking in circles and are no farther from the place we started ~ flash ~ we’re passing around a garden hose in someone else’s front yard ~ flash ~ Teresa pulls over and goes “Hello boys, wanna’ ride?” and I’m like ..thank God. Then I stop and go “Wait, you OK to drive? I mean we’re pretty stoned.” Mike looks at me, laughs and says “just get in and maintain.” Teresa is looking at us from the front seat and laughing “You guys are pretty fucked up, huh?” I mumble something incoherent ..causing her to laugh even harder. I hear her say “I have to run by the gift shop ..you guys mind?” and I feel a jolt of paranoia shoot up my spine. The gift shop is by the donut shop where the cops hang out. I hear my brain shout “engage maintenance faculties NOW” ~ flash ~ I’m trying to find my way out of the gift shop ~ flash ~ HORROR!! The cops really are at the donut shop, I can’t leave now. I start pacing back and forth ~ flash ~ I smile as we drive by. The cops stare back so hard ..it looks like their necks are stretched out and their heads are actually in the car with us ~ flash ~ I’m standing in my driveway ~ flash ~ I’m kneeling on my driveway ~ flash ~ I’m fishing for the keys inside my pocket, which has grown an extra foot deep. I’m relieved to find one that opens the door. My throat feels like a dusty staircase .. I drink some juice and feel it splash down every step ~ flash ~ I wake up and it’s noon the next day.

Dos Equis

I’m careening recklessly down the street, swearing at anybody who even thinks about getting in my way. I arrive at the credit union just in time to pay my mortgage before they start charging late fees ..and, in my paranoid state of mind, threatening to make arrangements for me to begin living on the street. I cruise along the shoreline with the top down trying to soothe my nerves. I make a sudden stop to parallel park ..and hear the sound of another driver calling me an asshole. I walk out on the sand ..drop my shorts ..and run into the water ..drenching the last frying nerve fiber. I still can’t seem to think straight. I walk into a liquor store ..dripping wet .. pick up a few bottles of Dos Equis ..a newspaper ..and a towel. I go back out to the beach to try and clear my head. Now something I’m reading doesn’t make sense. It says President Bush has just created the largest marine preserve in U.S history. Great, now I'm imagining things. I shake my head ..drink some more beer ..then read it again very carefully. Sure enough, he did. Says he was inspired by reading a Dr. Seuss book. The 'Lorax' reminds him of the ‘sleepy-eyed monk seal’ off the coast of Hawaii. That’s wonderful ..! My favorite Dr Seuss book is ‘Horton Hears a Who’. That’s where an elephant shows everyone how precious life can be no matter how small, humble or poor. I wonder if Bush will get around to reading that one too.