i*d*a*h*o (or, the freezingly beautiful, retrospectively weary north)

you don't have an email account. that is likely the most intriguing thing a person has let me in on lately. the garages we hid from cops in, glow like heavens.
those two, they still hang out nightly. and this one still "uses the restroom" every other second minute. chest held, out, not that we've begun to believe it.
the children we all have make children out of all our warm hands. and nothing we ever swore would never change matters beyond some best intentions.
nervously i knew this wouldn't be good, but in that it is. i knew i needed to hurt for a second. needed to see you. breath in the frost bite.
is reminiscing really for our generation? i live distant and you stay as close as you can. both in a veiled attempt to veil all those things we will never do, and others we always will.
i cling lively to anything that looks like your shining aged face. icy rivers, banjos picked softly, hard-drugs, any source of energy. unacknowledged of course. so much of my root grew only in protest to your watering.
unpacking the vestments of your last trip home. we both know. and neither has a clue.
still, to the last syllable, i can not peck your name. draw a face. i'm learning that i like the implications of loosing. the latent ones that give us that hope we didn't have to work for.
talk to you soon, hopefully.

hawaiian mistaken

so that's not your number i have been in contact with.
what a quiet. good. bye.
the other end, with its "who is this". "k".
you have become part of the cosmos in a hopelessly illiterate sense.
we all wish to hold you...again.
and hope beyond dreams that you wish the same.
this is not only you, but all of us...we have bills to pay.
is this my message in a bottle?
sure, why not!
it's all the courage and/or cowardice welled up these past days.
and possibly someone else knows more concretely.
but for the more courage/cowardice required, we all have bills to pay.
i love you dearly my friend.

your lips are my life

i overheard you, as you may have intended.
penned feverishly on what i intended you to think were notes from my reading.
you had aged only eighteen years, this was fifteen years ago, the two of you met in some mathematics class at your high-school. the genre of math was not pertinent to the discussion.
"after fifteen years in a relationship you are really not in a relationship. it's more like, just there"
to this your friend replied, "yeah, but that drug addicted love you feel at first can't last forever. you wouldn't want to be addicted to drugs your whole life. i wouldn't. it has to calm down and become normal at some point".
you're not sure you still love your partner. not sure you even recall what love is to you. you would "never just leave", but you don't find it necessary to talk about why that is. this feeling/idea that once made you never want a moment away from your partner has evanesced, and where its shadow laid is this constant reminder that it may never return.
you then both go into a narrative discussion of past relationships, finding a conclusion that there is a two year limit on the a priori sense of agape.
& i thank you both for the intriguing & thought provoking conversation.
what is the answer to tall of this? should we resist the impulse to be near each other like hip-sisters in the beginning stages of a long term relationship? would that extend the goodness? is that goodness not the point? i think that the answer lies in the questions being addressed. they are not quite correctly pointed for answers being sought.
more milling this later.
postscript: is this "problem" inherent in monogamy?

BLOCKHEAD!!!

no time to enjoy writing, but I have recently enjoyed some super stellar music! please check out Blochead's album titled, Music by Cavelight. particularly the track called "Insomniac Olympics". Some of the best music I have ever heard!
also, P-Love, a Montreal based turn-tabelist has recently put out some mind blowing jams for your head. Check it!
lastly, a great ol' friend of mine recently turned me on to The Gaslight Anthem. for anyone up for some "soulfull" oldschool rock and roll, this may well be your tunnel light, as it has certainly become mine!!!

date and name please.

you gave me this shirt-
said it reminded you of her-
now i look at others wondering who you stole it from-
you're the whole story behind my poor tattoos, and i love you-
an aggregated heap of years since we were here-
growing deaf, old, and better as "musicians"-
we all dreamt together of the floors we would sleep over-
squatting countries, curb-sides, and watching closely those who still do-
& i know where i know you from, though not one of us will say-
basement, bathroom, second floor, we're runaways-
everyone i watch now reminds me of you-
'rushing back' may be the phrase to use-
& i see life in this, as i saw in us-
in that cold concrete space, Diamond Heights, all together now!-
this life is in no way complete, never should be-
& looks so much different today

of napkin notoriety

little down she said
stand-ups like kickstands beg impermanence
a little like "another" today
but chin-up, the seasons are coming to a close/beginning
weight has dissuade the balance's lanky levers
say i remind you of a lover, followed by faults of uncertain origin
& this is what we do
sit and talk of others, in an effort to avoid this seemingly inherent selfishness
draw upon books we've not yet read
drawing memories on our hands

affixed along the hips

i can be a vacation.
also i can serve as a book you hold fast to its epilogue.
furthermore it is possible that i am a page in a calendar with photographs of antiquated swing-sets, which you like very much and keep in a dusty paper box some place until that big move far off.
a long run through cool dark wood, filled with a special sort of excitement that your grandchildren will relish the telling of.
the grade you deserved to receive for work you feel represents your thoughts in splendid order.
the delicate balance between what someone said and what they intended that you never quite wish to spoil with a question.
the dust on both your old records and vinyl that maintains a scent so dear to your heart, tucked in the webbed corner of every other great space.
seasons you love to warm up to, and recall the last when you did the same.
& for this not just a memory, but a piece of something great to help everyone get to the bus stop on time & without panic.

perfection is for dreams, reality more for the fucking up

it's a battle, tossup, contradiction
the space between my shelter and yours shrinks each interaction
is this time the one i find some reason behind?
in the still life there are covert options, following orders, hidden by dental lamps
polarization is so weak and waning
and this is not the only ripe fruit, but it is ripe fruit
fuck absolution, and forget it the same way fate and faith were
pieces of a language left on the same island in the same bound book
the links that hold muscles and bones in suspended necessity are absolves of a mission
there is a hustle in the alley that can find solemn peace in a vomit yellow street light
but it is not light or dark that allows me to smile or nod
those are concepts for someone else to uphold and internalize
my reality is in a dirty novel and a pack of your cigarettes

tired of hiding

so that was what a bad day looks like.
then i returned home to find a message from my department chair asking for a meeting with me asap.
it may not mean anything at all, but all i can think is that she has more bad news.
i really need a kiss in the hair (the kind you get with a hug from a very dear friend) and a really really really really long hug (the kind we call cuddling). the kind that lets you get it out. the sort that hits you in the gut & reminds you why you do what you do every day. the sort that valiantly gives a fuck about something other than its self & its own historical context.
this blog is not a place for me to rant and let out "my poor feelings", but today (& recently) there is nowhere else for that. the best place feels like this, because no one will read it.
done

cartography of me, vol: I

it's not a house shaped after a viola, though i wish it were-
gardens in the f-holes, along the fingerboard, skirting scroll-
shelter in a belly, with hallways scented as all the pain it took to grow-
this thing made of trees, the gut of sheep, & rich in coal from beneath-
texture, resonate, run, run, run-
this space shelters anyone, fill in the blanks as you see it in your moment-
& if the keys loose their tune, allow it-
& if the bridge slips a step, play it-
where your bow meets coal is where you hold the world-
a saddle with no time for pitch perfection-
play off the imperfection and chose what you art will entail-
release, fluidity, run, run, run, run, run

things which can be "drawn"

lines, string, out, pictures/images, cards, pistols, numbers, cards, a bath, & quarter, straws, to a close, blinds, a match or competition, together

positivism & faith: similarities? *~

clever acronyms delineate the proper worth of a prospective candidate
every last barely breathing thought rationalized to an acute point of stoicism

what are you worth, & to who?

life long aspiration of becoming a specialist. in a decidedly fallow field
the doctor said don't do it. even scientists can't handle hearing narratives of what they don't want to know.

you'll never work in this town again.

houses constructed of ending resources, rooted in shifting sediments
the shift is what goes unnoticed. the movement of energy blinded by an "enlightened" light. emphases on consistency solely.

headlights in the eyes of critique.

move around a globe to find some smoke and a place where weather shifts & animals feel it. the experience will be shared with the choir, but they will sing rather than listen.

the disdain of enlightenment,even now, dilutes you.

SHE'S TWO!!!

i know that people in many countries don't celebrate their years of age, and don't even know how old they are, but until she doesn't care we will celebrate the lovely Penelope Beatrice in human years.

adolescence?

why can i not recall swinging outdoors when i was 3 years of age?
are psycho-linguistic connections part of the explanation for our lack of childhood memories?

could this be partly explained by the idea that, as young children, we do not have a language to describe or document what is going to happen, is happening, nor what has happened in our lives?

is language the basis of our internal documentation, and if so, do we require documentation for memory? or, are we looking in the wrong place for memory?

could this lack of articulate language be the reason so many other sentient beings do not display the same emotions, or in the same ways, as we do? do they feel these feelings for one another, and others, and simply not recall their interactions as in-depth?

if we could teach our children more concrete linguistic skills in their earliest years, would they recall more?

lastly, someone is likely already studying this, has a name for it, and feels they can "prove" some of these inquiries. just popped up in my head the other day and i thought this a great way to remember it. hah! if you know if any such studies, please send them my way.

postscript: do not connect this to aged memory loss in any linear way, as we do not necessarily lose language skills and there are a whole different set of variables in this situation.

so, uh...chaos or smoke? or both?

there are so many misunderstandings whizzing by my overly sensitive dome right now it is making me a bit ill.
i am doing my best to remain positive and remember why i have made the choices i have, but nothing is quite coming to fruition. or even pretending it may at some point.
i am intentionally cryptic here because it seems everything in my life fits this scenario right now. it is not necessary to specify. sometimes this blog is a good place for this "let it out" sort of writing. or apparently is has become such today. huh?
school/work, friendships, other sorts of relationships, child care logistics, and the like.
if i know you, you are a part of one these groups, & there might be something you could tell me that would help me make sense of something, please do! anything! i fully refute the traditional masculine idea of not asking for help. i am one person who can only stand to gain from listening to the perspectives of others, so let it rip!
full explanations or a simple yes/no will suffice. if there is pain involved, bring it! just bring it soon please, so i can get out of this haze.
merci!

in another's words

and in a harmonious voice she asked the sky:
is it possible to have true guy friends?
why do they always have to get sprung on me?
so they think i'm atractive, and i'm single, why should this have to consistently change the relationship?
she wondered, does everyone feel this way, or is it just me?
why should it be my job to make relationship dynamics with friends clear?
can't i just enjoy being single, and having a lot of good friends?
what is it about my interactions with men that makes them think i am interested in more than friendship?
why am i wasting my time thinking about something that is entirely someone elses problem?
i have far more important things to take up my time. like remodeling my bathroom.

& they make shapes

concerned with linearity
this can not be the only way we understand things
sequences of logable numbers, attached ideas and well lit concepts
set in claustrophobic spaces with specific cut outs
feeling and a cut out
can humyns understand the significance of these licks
the bolts that bind
pieces licensed to a past that has passed
tethers held by teeth hardy cast
may be as perennial as perceived
likely a discretionary perception in a faint wind

primavera

my mailbox and I will again move across this city. back a bit further north,and a smaller bit east pdx. old roommates moved out to start new lives: one to marry & the other to work on a farm in far eastern oregon. new roommates are in search of a sense of adulthood, and i am knowing that these things do not change. we simply put on different hats, coats & mail boxes. i will be moving in with three good friends who are also team mates on the bicycle team i spend so much of my time with. one an ex military career person with a philosophy degree and hunger for conversation, another from stuttgart who studies economies through geography and loves my lovely daughter, and a third from salem, or, with a sharp wit and spreading smile. am i excited? i suppose, it is always nice to be some place new. even if only a bit further north and slightly less further east. i have no need to be bitter, but i am ready to make a larger move. barcelona, vancouver, chicago, dakar, sao palo, who knows. any place would be nice, it's just time to leave. alas, this idea is futile right now. place bound i am, and place bound i shall be. and if that must be the case, i suppose portland is one of the best places to bind.
i have fun research looming, penelope beatrice is beginning to speak in sentences & is hilarious, it's about to stop raining, and the world is in a bit of a shift from system to stone. so things look good! also exciting, my new room mates and i are going to play music together! ahh the recap. i plan to soon write something interesting, and less stream of consciousness. for now i will end with a nice quote from
The Weepies: "i held so many people in my suitcase heart, i had to let the whole thing go, it was taken by a wind and snow, and i still didn't know that i was waiting, for a girl, on a slow pony home".
happy spring everyone!

finals week again again again

quick note on my cognitive what-not this past & coming week. i have so much to get done that my only release is to ride my bike as hard and long as physically possible. this seems to clear my head, after which i can write essays and research papers. it's a bit ridiculous, and feels amazing.
postscript: my new room-mates installed a full liquor bar to our common living quarters this afternoon.

think about direction

we heard you say it was meant to look like running paint, but we all know what that meant-

the lovely shapes your skull makes, shadows in boats on seas we dream of-

what do stars really mean, you told us with your cryptic southern state rap step-

influenced razors and sleeping partners, and stood in your place of plain sight-

& if this is sex I want it, & if this is love I want it more, & those may have been your words,

you are after all, in part your star spangled chest, the reason I can say this-

awe is only one hold of the cradle that is not prepared to fall-

the saints of snow still hold heads differently than those sun blessed-

and I've been here hours waiting, but could not tell you what the table top is made of-

shared drink with both hands on one glass in six eight time-

and somehow none of that is frightening any more, but another bit of dust-

a second piece for you dear friend, sectioned eloquently as you might prefer-

could not tell the color of the bathroom walls, kitchen curtains, or iris accurately-

the keys have worn thin and difficult to read-

modern woman with a world trade agenda, two bold knowing lovers, a grandparent's buck-knife-

and a gut twisting urge to let it all out of the bag

eff the johnson control!

some thoughts on the day's musings.

• is it problematic to use the term "cancer" to describe a spreading problem in an institution, movement, etcetera? according to current bio-research cancer cells do not know what or who they belong to. does this truly correlate to the spread of crisis or dissemination of ideas in a group, or in society at large?

• is it not an equally Utopian idea to claim that a single dominant paradigm is necessary to create a focused cohesive society, as it would be claim that a pluralistic and multi-dimensional ideology based model is necessary? is either correct? is the idea of paradigm mere shit? should individual perspective be the source of truth and cohesion? would that generate cohesion?

• ask these questions because the fundamental theory and historical context is often where a paradigm shift finds its beginnings, and maintains a foothold to endure.

• are paradigmatic shifts always calling for a shift in, or deconstruction of, meta-narratives?

• to what degree did the formation of the Christian far right during the Nixon era create the possibility for a backlash movement in denominations such as Episcopalian? Does this explain, in part, the current stance of these religious institutions? If so, to what degree?

step #5 in the process of "becoming 30 yoa".

(here is something i work every day to achieve, and decided to write down)

the most obvious alternative to most of the things i talk shit about, with regard to other people, would be for everyone to be just like me. this is in no way what i want. i enjoy the diversity of people, and for the majority would never want to change them. "good" or "bad" (save those who are emotionally or physically harming others with their choices).

for this old codger, the time has come my friends. time to stop judging people based on their benign choices, and rather observe and learn from those choices. not to say i wish to be less critical, rather that i should be critical of things worth being critical of and simply learn from other things (yes i know "things" it too broad a term, but i am on a homework break and have no time now to elaborate). i believe it is possible to determine a relatively clear distinction between the harmful and harmless. i am supposedly some sort of sociologist after all. i may as well start making the science more a part of my personal life if i wish to be a good one (that sentence was intended to incite comment from any and all of my post-modernist and deconstructionist readers).

la force des oeufs

it's important to recall what it took to get here-
everything began so broad conceptually, and moved pavement under step-
as a reflection of everything i have done and how it should change, this is acceptable-
walking to stores, buildings we call houses and flooded with mixes of emotions-
it's not likely that i can make this clear and benign at the same time-
we hold like eggs under pressure-
it's our shape that keeps us safe-
if i believe that of you we ought to be ok-
but it has come time now, that i think of wearing colors-
my childhood is re-synthesized through the window in the hallway-
my child holds the strings to a cradled new belonging-
and for this we have a synthesis--she wins--simply-
learning to learn is not taken lightly-
and if it's cryptic you like, then you may no longer like me-
we hold like eggs under pressure-
it's our shape that keeps us safe

margot's fear of spiral-staircases

& it was beautiful!
my recent excursion to Belgium and the Netherlands (Holland) was in every way amazing! i met some fabulous people, learned a great deal about myself and a bit about another part of the world. i began the trip in Brussels, then Antwerp, Rotterdam and Amsterdam. the sun made an appearance for nearly half of every day, and the temperature never rose above 4 degrees celsius. just what this kid wants from a winter vacation! vitamin D & lots of layers!

my evidently suppressed desire to move to Europe came rushing back in waves and is not likely to ebb this go around. the cultures and political climate of the places in Europe i have visited have been much more similar to my personal beliefs than those i have experienced in the United States. several of the people i encountered welcomed me into their homes and shared stories of their lives with me. it makes no sense, but i felt more at "home" on vacation than i typically do in my home in the states. possibly this says something about my current living situation, but i feel that it is also a clear sign that something larger needs to change. it's simple really. i belong some place else in the world, and i will relocate as soon as i can.

so why don't i just do it? "if you dislike the U.S. so much, why don't you just leave", is a common part of this dialog i have had too many times. to begin, i don't dislike the U.S. as a whole. i prefer the majority of culture (in its plethora of meanings and manifestations) that i have encountered when traveling. it's not a zero sum game. to move to Europe any time soon i would have to convince Penelope Beatrice's mom to let me take her with me, or to move as well. we have both agreed to not split her life in half between us for long periods of time, as this would negate Penelope's need to create social networks and build her own relationships. there are clearly some large benefits that could come from Penelope living half the year in another country, but they are not part of the agreement. in fine, i will likely wait until Penelope is old enough to express for herself how she wants her life to work, and then her mother and i can work together to try and make that happen. until then i will try to visit as many different places as possible, and learn more about the part of the world that i will be moving to. for the moment, Belgium gets the vote!
i am absurdly jet-lagged, and hope to look back at this post with a laugh at its silly structure and poor wording. but there it is. got it out for now. such an amazing trip!