dark passenger.

Emotions can't be prescribed, prepackaged, manufactured, or otherwise dictated, so why does our culture persist in essentially napalming Valentine's Day all across billboards, advertisements, shopping aisles, and mindsets? Mass marketing and dispassionate displays of repetitive catch phrases, gaudy trinkets, and farm raised bouquets strike up the question of whether we are all supposedly seriously that alike.

I can't think of the last time I took a serious second glance at the card section, heart-shaped candy area, or the cellophane wrapped grab bag of candles, lotions, and other such chick get-up. Even Fresh Market, that small grocery chain who always seems to create an authentic atmosphere for it's passionate relationship with food, sold out to the duplicate gift giving idea. My wife and I tend to venture there on the occasion to window shop primarily and to pick up a few whims mostly. We found ourselves there yesterday afternoon, and were instantly taken aback at the front entrance which had been overtaken by penis wearing vultures tearing at the chocolate covered strawberry and coronary cookie display.

act two

The more you are motivated by love,
the more fearless & free your action will be.
◊ Dalai Lama XIV

The last show I directed premiered one year ago, last night. Each and every aspect was a struggle and a fight, that left me longing for a different venue, another collection of board members, and some goddamned dignity. The core group of artists who did ultimately wage the waves with me without jumping ship command my utmost respect.

For a short time, I contemplated submitting a show for the theatre's consideration. Over the past nine months, in fact, I was asked time and again: Are you doing anything next season? What are you directing next? What's your next show? I thought about submitting something partially out of habit and mainly out of yearning to spray my creative juices all over something else.

After the mistreatment the general populace of the behind-the-scenes hacks offered the brilliant piece of theatre I assembled last time out, it appeared the only way to garner their attention and notice was to play it straight and way too safe. It seemed that grit and perversity were much too worrisome for their little minds to take on.

I thought about a few shows that their high school esteem could cheerlead behind that I could likewise add my own particular brand of spice to. I also had my moments of fuck-all, as I reconsidered shows like the unsettling 1979 work, Bent or anything that no one else in this town would have the balls to attempt. But there was nothing I could concieve of putting my blood, sweat, and tears into that wouldn't feel like I was wasting my time for a bunch of amateurs and a likely tainted prospective audience.

Oh, and I suppose there was the little fact that I was getting married. As the year passed, I came to realize such an event shares many attributes with putting on a show.

• BUDGET ($$$) - Whether you love it or hate it, money is a key component to any major undertaking. On previous plays I have done, the above theatre in question offered a reimbursement amount between 200 and 250 dollars, which would presume that a quality show could be put on for that precise amount. I have always disagreed. At ticket prices of ten dollars a pop, I don't believe that amount of moolah can put together squat which would warrant such an entry fee. I was able to pull off the last show for somewhere in the realm of 850 dollars, but the actual retail value far exceeds that given how many things were given to it pro-bono, to say nothing of a fair amount of DIY, which seems the proper buzz word for putting a little freakin' pride into the proceedings. I highly recommend putting yourself into everything you do, regardless the available funds. This is certainly the direction my bride and I took our nuptuals. It doesn't hurt, either, that we are both highly creative individuals who are also really good with money.
• LOCATION - As a wedding is essentially a limited engagement production, finding just the right scene for the folks in question is key. Working the theatre I have for so many years always made the choice an obvious one, but now that things have changed finding another option takes a lot more fore-thought and internal examination. I remember watching Paul Thomas Anderson's masterpiece Boogie Nights in a dingy, piss smelling, grungy dollar theatre that made my boots stick on impact. It was the right place to experience that grimy flick. The choice of venue for a wedding can easily link hands with the tone of the show. We took the better part of our eight month engagement to discover just where our show belonged. Ultimately we decided upon a ceremony venue that accepted our unboxable religious and spiritual belief cornicopia and lent itself to being a place embraceable by each person in attendance. Our reception space was the harder fought decision, which quickly became the obvious answer to the query. We decided on our favorite pub, an establishment with a history itself and for us, positioned on a street corner of much significance.
• PROMOTION - What's the point of putting on a show if no one knows about it? In this new speak age of Facebook and the changed dynamics of social interaction, the release of relevant information was highly considered. In ways we are quite old school. We quietly became engaged and shared the information with close family and friends before presenting the big reveal on the social drone machine. After that we dropped zero hints about any ounce of wedding planning or other adventures we were having, so the few handfuls of people who received our inventive invitation package in the mail by July were understood to be an exclusive lot, and the one-of-a-kind invite was in limited supply.
• CASTING - One can never spend too long in casting. I know from being involved in poorly cast situations. From the month of our engagement until the last few invitations were licked shut and mailed, my fiancee and I toiled over the guest list. Having been harshly shown the true colors of so many so-called friends over the years, we were more assured of the value of people who could see through all of the filth, all of the lies, and were worthwhile participants in our life ahead, as opposed to pawns for someone else's agenda or disingenuous soulless duds. A few additional flies would ultimately drop from view once it became time for the processional. The people who showed up, and gave it their all, and the ones who could not be there but certainly were felt from afar are the ones who continue to hold an invitation to the exclusive inner circle. The rest can sod off.
• SCRIPT - As a self-professed writer, words are significant to me. The tone of a script is often what draws me to material that I would like to share with an audience. The words are important, but so are the spaces between words that draw moment for reflection. Standing in front of our friends and family we heard more than a few people say 'wow' or the like. And there were even welcome moments of levity. The overall response was powerful.
• MUSIC - Music makes all the difference. I don't know if it's related to the choice of music that plays within a movie, at the workplace, in the car, or at a party. If the tone is set inappropriately or arbitrarily, the choice will be the production's undoing.
• COSTUME - If I learned a strong lesson from my first play, I say always have a costumer. Make sure it's their only job. I would certainly contend that my bride and I were the snazziest looking folks at the wedding. It would have been a disappointment if that were not the case. We set down ground rules after that. Everyone needs to wear what they're comfortable in, with the expecation of Florida weather and dancing. Without fail everyone looked like themselves. So much of what goes on inside of each individual was exhibited in their choice of attire. And humorously no one looked like they were going to the same place. The last show I did demanded the actors in essence dress themselves. They were advised to dress like their characters. They were concerned they'd just look like themselves, but in truth they found parts of themselves in their characters and wore that.

(219)

going bananas.

I will have a blushing bride in less than a month.

That sounds like a perfect time to start up a new job, right? Well, the universe seemed to think so. Aspects of the past two months arrive into my memory in a blur. Two months have passed since I was underhandedly demoted from my pseudo-temporary post at my store in the 'hood. Everything there was turned on its head, power struggles ensued, excessive dramas erupted, a mutiny was brewing, and my schedule was in essence flipped.

Now I no longer work there. I bid that old raggedy, stress infested place its due farewell and good riddance yesterday. As of this morning I will be inheriting the trouble on the southwest seas, the S.W. Neglected. In what seems to be likewise surprise attack fashion, I will be taking over the reigns within mere minutes of the lazy, undependable, former manager's forced resignation.

If life were truly a choose your own adventure novel, we'd rarely select the right course of action. Simply following the flow of life as it comes from our hopes, dreams, and prayers, and seeing what doors open and which remain chained, we frequently discover unexpected answers to our problems.

(217)

the grounded

Here's a truck stop instead of St. Peter's
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
~ "Man on the Moon" by R.E.M. (1992)

During the past couple weeks Netflix has been sending my fiancée and I the award winning mini-series From the Earth to the Moon, which neither of us had seen during the fourteen year stretch since its release. What an appropriate time to take a gander at it, since coincidentally Sally Ride recently passed and an SUV of sorts has landed on Mars!

A little known fact: during my sophomore year of college I receieved my highest grade ever (a ridiculously high A) in Astronomy. For one who went from studying elementary education as a paying job fallback for a posited film career to college dropout turned self-taught whoknowswhat, this comes a bit out of left field. But space is facinating! Give me science fact or give me science fiction, especially of the extra-terrestrial variety, and I'm interested.

The mini-series had its aesthetic failings, primarily minor directorial choices, but it was quite in depth. Separate some added trivia for the noggin one of the things that really stood out is the realization that everything great truly happens at a snail's pace. A million tiny steps, circuits, and moments of time move us from big point A to bigger point B.

(213)

pseudo majestic

Am I a part of the cure or
am I part of the disease?
~ "Clocks" by Coldplay

You can taste when love comes out of the kitchen. It's noticeable when food has been prepared with heart and in harmony or with haste and through resentment. A meal made with passion and with regard to the end-user simply holds more flavor.

At the end of the day no fast food is made with love. It's not a place to expect it. Some kid who couldn't get a better job drops the frozen such and such in the deep fryer by rote and on command, not due to any culinary gymnastics or care for the customers. It's passionless. It has no pulse.

I've always enjoyed the whole waffle fry, savory chicken nugget, sweet iced tea meal at Chick-Fila. It's never been political. It's a matter of nostalgia and of taste. When given a choice between the wares of this joint and any of the other on-the-fly folks, they've always won hands down. But it's only fast food. And I haven't been there in eons. Now somehow they've become the poster children for the gay marriage debate.

I think people who oppose it are misguided and wrong, and I'm sad we're still discussing it. End of story. But I do have to wonder whether there'd be anywhere else to buy the things we need or the things we want if a socio-political position was riding on our selection process.


* Here, watch this video.

(212)

sky light.

All of my years spent living in apartment complexes have never resembled the situations you see in movies and on TV. Sure, the space itself has a similar structure to many of them, the appliances are temperamental, and the walls rumble with some semblance of the story unfolding next door. But neighbors in reality are rarely like those who seem to have captured back story and current thread of those residing adjacently, nearby, and betwixt.

So, it certainly stands out when an airbrushed couple unloading a rental moving truck jump at the chance to introduce themselves to myself and my sensual partner in crime. It was primarily an exchange of names and acknowledgement that we'd be sharing a wall and an approximate floor plan. For the one bedroom shadow of an apartment they were moving into, their truck held a lot of goodies. That and their jumbo pick-up truck seemed filled to the hilt with the sort of sundry bits kids accumulate at their age, apparent spoilage, or low level of credit card understanding.

Though on the shallower side of their twenties, they were an attractive duo, in that young Hollywood sense that made my woman's and my brief interactions with them seem akin to the tolerable early moments of the fortunately panned TV series Swingtown. There was tightness and tone to their overtly tanned bodies that drew much suggestion from our combined wild imaginations, as to their going-ons and presumed willingness.

Newness takes time to create routine. On the one side of our building, we can hear what has always seemed like clumsy poltergeist activities involving furniture on every third day of the week. Their tiled floor could only have suffered in umbrage and physical damage unrepairable. Somehow their dog who we see much of, outside in person and in poop, seems to keep it down to a whisper inside. Their television and bass heavy instrument playing is far more notable than a peep, bark, or growl.

Moving into a new place brings with it desire. There's the desire to get settled in, by solidifying a home space as swiftly as feasible, and a desire for a couple of hot, sweaty folks to get their freak on in as many new spaces as possible. I think it's written in our DNA. I can only guess the amount of caves whose stalagmites may just hold some primitive love spray within it's glimmering layers.

Think about that the next time you're spelunking.

In anticipation of creating a home from nine cracked bare walls, I have found myself hammering a thing or two in the wee hours of the morning, if only to cover up that intrusive water stain. Unpacking can go long and extensively depending on just how expansive one's collection of trinkets and whatnot might be, to say nothing of the heightened energy level brought on by change.

On the one hand, the sounds on the other side of their wall at 3AM were indicative of the well chosen placement of a few framed posters, likely black light-ready or otherwise raised up from their origins from that art sale at the edge of the gas station lot. Or, on the other hand, the sounds were representative of the flushes of steady pounding, human racquetball in their final sticky throes. The disturbance was brief but noticeable. For a split second the noise seemed warranting of a walk through one courtyard and along a stretch of sidewalk to suggest our new neighbors keep it down. But when new people move in, it takes a few weeks to tap into their rhythms, so we thought it an isolated incident. Plus, we're the last two folks to be the proverbial asshole neighbors. So, we drifted back to sleep.

That was the last of that.

Several days passed and we heard through the grapevine that we had been in earshot of a late night B&E. In spite of the substandard parking lot that we lived with for so long, or the questionable gunshot pops in the middle of the night, and any number of other stereotypical details, this is an uncommon circumstance for this complex. Not that it makes it right, but it doesn't surprise me that some young kids moving in with some fancy, new shiny things in broad daylight who then left for a week long foray somewhere else would be a shout out to local chaos.

They were, as they say, asking for trouble.

The following weekend, after a fantastic evening at our favorite pub, my lady and I pulled into our lot. We stepped out of the car, in a likely too-buzzed-to-drive, getting-a-bit-handsy-and-frisky-to-boot condition. Out of the shadows stepped a dark figure. We could hear the leaves rustling and saw the whites of his eyes before piecing together that our community evidently had stirred up a quick fix security guard to man our dark corner of the rental kingdom.

And boy could the guy talk! Maybe he talked too much. He was going on about all of the apartment's efforts to remedy this singular situation by planting him during such and such hours, by considering putting up barbed wire of all things, and every other detail that maybe isn't necessary to go into with every person encountered. How awkward, though, to have some stranger lurking outside our windows with quick chatter on his lips and gun on a holster. I have never been one who enjoyed the thought of living in a gated community, so the thought of local security never really drove me wild either. Fire begets fire. You get what you give. You see, I feel people have more control over their own lives and what disrupts it than most could digest.

But there he was: our regular welcome home greeter, as it were. It was damage control. It didn't make me feel any more comfortable. Then again, I wasn't worried that it was suddenly an epidemic. I feel that's a lot of people's first thought. Worry. Fear. Paranoia. It's weaved deeply into our culture.

Jump forward a month or two. The security situation is becoming more and more unnecessary. I suppose it must have started to be a monetary and superfluous burden on our complex, because as swiftly as the security team showed up, their disappearance occurred equally fast.

In their place sprouted a big wooden pole, amongst our comforting tree canopy. Then out of seemingly nowhere, a street light companion grew out of it, like an unexpected social glom. Suddenly there was a UFO in constant hover mode above our ordinarily darkened courtyard, emitting an off-color disconcerting orangey glow that began spending the evening, night, and dawn with us. It was no doubt some small panel's answer to our local crime, but an insulting eyesore and interference to enjoying any outdoor ambiance. Screw our string of comforting blue lights, or multi-colored strand, or even candles. Hell, our front porch light has become obsolete! Our enjoyment of our courtyard is now restricted to daylight hours and in anticipation of the cooler weather of the same.

The punishment certainly doesn't answer the crime. I'll tell you that.

(206)

opportunity knocks.

We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.
~ Charles R. Swindoll

There are so many succinct expressions that have become commonplace in our language that come out to play when they are least useful: you can't teach an old dog new tricks, live and learn, what goes around comes around. I hear them or variations of them on a semi-regular basis, especially given the spread of drama that seems to disseminate through my friend and acquaintance collective. And as additional drama has recently arisen within my workplace on a daily basis, I have seen the blob similarly extend in that direction.

The running theme of these issues seem to encapsulate each idiom quite well. The older we get the more we become inclined to carry around a small stack of three by five cards with contigency plans for each situation we encounter. We presume them to be tried and true, and certainly the ones that have gotten us by up to this point. This is why reactions are quick and predictable.

Each plays out stereotypes: jilted women undermine all men, blueballed men don't respect women, and on and on. Those who've lost jobs or relationships due to extreme personality clashes are quick to get on their high horse about how flawless they truly are. Blame is placed externally. How can the world be so rife with victims? I see so many playing the victim or, more notably, the martyr of whatever war they've been waging. And even before seeking answers inward, attempting perhaps to remedy personal failings, they throw the issue off to karma, move on, and do it all over again.

(202)

une fusion

a song you want played at your wedding

Last year when I undertook a music-related blog challenge, I constructed my own list from a variety of sources. One trigger that kept coming up while I was searching for ideas was a song you want played at your wedding. Truthfully I can't even think why it didn't make the cut, but I know everything has its proper time. I am getting married in less than two months. We have actually been talking about the music for it quite a bit, since our DJ wants a very detailed playlist from us.

After my lady love and I met, it didn't take us long to get stirred up in the power of one another's intensity. There was a kinetic energy and sensual passion to our earliest connections that was unstoppable. Our magnetism was palpable. And few of those who knew us during this time expected it to last. It's just a matter of opposites attracting, right? They'll get over it. After all, it must have been little more than a rebound from our now defunct fourth grader aged marriages.

Often one of the tell tale signs of being held back in the moving on process is going after a partner with similar characteristics as your recently estranged. My newly discovered pursuit could not have been more different than her. If she was like anyone, she shared commonality with a woman with whom I'd played around some nearly fifteen years prior. This new woman had striking depth of character, a twist in her humor, a darkness she wasn't afraid to explore, and a beauty befitting European erotica.

I was smitten, and I refused to let anything or anyone stand in my way. Take that christianmingle.com and the rest, I found my match all by my lonesome! It only took a lot of wrong roads to get there, for the both of us, but there we were facing the future together. This is a mighty powerful revelation when opportunity like this strikes precisely when the world is expecting a different reaction. We'd both stumbled along in our ill-fitting relationships, like actors playing the same tired roles year-in, year-out, speaking those same words until they had no meaning and our lips were numb. The details were different, but the outcome quite similar.

Have you ever been to an amateur dance class? There's a room full of mostly strangers who pair up and rotate through different pairings, attempting to learn the steps. Every rotation takes a new adjustment, and it's awkward and it's forced. That's what it used to be like. For a long time, I thought it had to be. Just when I thought reshuffling the deck one more time was going to do the trick, when starting with a fresh one was the answer. Everyone involved is so much better off! The new world that erupted into being when it was all said and done is a far superior place.

She makes sense to me. And I make sense to her. We've had strong rhythm since the very beginning. As I understand it, through experience, through knowledge of others, what we have is rare. We flood one another with a youthful enjoyment of everyday. Together we can be daring, and naughty, and take risks. And we function so freakin' easily! Sometimes I can't believe it's my life. I wake up every day pleased as punch.

And now we're getting married. And the guest list is really beginning to sparkle. But they're coming for the vows and staying for the party. So we need music.

There's so much. I'm going to go off the top of my head with this one:

• Endless Love by Lionel Richie & Diana Ross (1981). I will attest to this being one of my most favorite love songs of all time. Sure it was the theme song to a long forgotten Brooke Shields vehicle. It was recorded very quickly, and the final recording is said to be the first or second take. Yet the passion and unity between the voices is what really grabs me, as each shares or borrows phrases from one another, in a vocal dance of sorts.
• White Wedding by Billy Idol (1982). My brain seems to automatically be seeking out the early 80's. Perhaps it's related to something quite formative. Perhaps this is the most obvious choice of a wedding song. Any old wedding. I choose this one for many reasons. All of which are multi-layered fun! And no, I'm not letting on.
• Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads (1980). You may tell yourself - this is not my beautiful wife...How did I get here? -- Need I say more?
• Everlong by Foo Fighers (1997). I've waited here for you - everlong.... From the remains of Nirvana, Dave Grohl's seeming pet project created brilliance and their signature crowd pleaser with this one. It encapsulates so much romance, in all of it's varied hues.
• Cruisin' by Huey Lewis & Gwyneth Paltrow (2000). Speaking of duets, this Smokey Robinson cover is one of my favorites. It doesn't hurt that this song originates from Duets, a moderately enjoyable Hollywood peek into the world of competitive karaoke. As a karaoke enthusiast cum officinado (or at least more enthusiastic than previously), it's nice to have a touch of validation from the movies. Second only to that is the somewhat disconcerting fact that the characters in the movie are father and daughter, who share these empassioned phrases.
• Lucky by Bif Naked (1998). A quiet, reflective, nearly somber ballad which made its premiere on the cult classic TV series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Indeed, we are the lucky ones.
• Shelter by Ray LaMontagne (2004). Speaking of contemplative beauty, this man is the Van Morrison for our generation, to the chagrin of any number of whiny, indie poseurs whose souls are often phoned-in. You will shelter me my love. And I will shelter you.

Amen.

(194)

spider moon

There is nothing you know that isn't known.
~ John Lennon

 

(169)

calm warning

When I was solely focused on filmmaking as the end all and be all in my artistic life, I would collect quotes and advice from writers and directors I admired. Pedro Almodovar has been making brash, beautiful, brilliant cinema for several decades. I once read an interview of his wherein he said, "I think it is very important to be born in a place that you don’t like, because it establishes very early on the things you are going to confront in your life.”

My sister wages this war well. She puts up her dukes, unearths and exploits her past again and again, in literal terms. I go about it differently. I'll grant her the means she battles her rival. I have found my own method of weaving strands of this pain into what I write and what I create.

Everyone needs a nemesis.

We all need that something else that runs counter to us, assuring us where we stand. Democrats need their Republicans just as vegans wouldn't be the same without their meat eaters. Lovers need their exes. And Kurtis Blow needs his breaks. Britney defected against the music and CBGBs took things out on the disco ball. From our opposition we stand. We can't fit everyone into our bubbles, and buying the world a coke isn't going to remedy a damn thing. From it all arrives some truth, though. The things we loath and the things that challenge us the most are also what bring us most fully out of our shell and into focus.

(126)

system failure

When the power goes out, the world comes to a standstill. People become powerless. So much of our existence is contingent upon the grid. Show me a stoplight outage and I'll show you awkward, infantile hesitance and unnecessary fender bending. Our attachment to our technological imperatives can be downright startling.

Work ceases when the system crashes. Cut off that worldwide feeding tube and those daily conveniences and our knowledge dwindles at unbelievable rates. Much like our food left in stasis in our silenced Frigidaire, we quickly melt down, becoming useless, lifeless fudge pop sludge. We are limp without a back up. We have raised a culture of electronic co-dependents.

That much I wrote while watching the public scurry around logic when key aspects of the network crashed at the DMV a couple weeks back. They were promptly turned into big babies, gripping for that teet that suited them alone. It was fascinating to watch the interplay between the desk jockeys and the urgent masses.

But then before I knew it, I found myself with a home computer on an out of control booting up loop. I wasn't particularly surprised, given its relative old age by technology's standards. It slowly purred itself to sleep, puttering out after a long journey through energetically rough terrain. It has served it's purpose for a fair stretch, but it's time had simply come.

It wasn't done yet, however. After a couple days of disconnect I resuscitated the beast back to its newborn glory. As it opened its eyes upon the room, restored and recovered, physically present but mentally stuck essentially back in 2006. Suddenly the six years since were suddenly evaporated, and bridged . . .

(103)

hazy shade . . .

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Thanks to the brilliant early 1990s comedy of Groundhog Day, February second can now become synonymous with a day for self-analysis, reflection, and taking stock. Even though I had barely thought of it, as I slugged back my coffee and watched as Phil took a look for his shadow in clips on Good Morning America, the day had much in store.

By the time it all hit me, it really didn't surprise me in the least that this horoscope would land in my lap:

Since last August, you may have been dealing with the farewell process of Neptune leaving your sign. For some Aquarians, it was a battle for boundaries.

If you feel like spending the day in an ashram in a seated lotus pose, no one would blame you. This is the final day in your lifetime that spiritual Neptune will be in Aquarius. You’ve hosted the dreamy planet since 1998 and it’s allowed you to evolve into a person of great depth. Tomorrow, it moves on to Pisces and your money house, helping you find your soul purpose—and profit from it. Spend today in reflection: how have you become more enlightened over the past 13 years? Acknowledge yourself generously: it’s not like this has been the easiest journey, but you’ve made it!

(96)

dragon's breath

One week ago, on January 23rd, the Chinese New Year ushered in the Year of the Dragon, traditionally considered the luckiest of the Zodiac. May that be the case.

(84)

fielding democracy

(81)

our tribe

Wanderlust has filled my belly since a young age, spewing forth on an occasion or two. I have always been a gypsy at heart, with a spirit for the road and of voyages to the undiscovered and the re-imagined. Mostly these roaming instincts have been kept at bay, held idle, gumming up the system inside. That is, until recently.

There is a concept I have returned to time and again, whether in my daily musings, in my fiction, or in this blog. It's the idea of home, of throwing down roots, or of finding a place to belong. I have found it crucial to recognize who you are at your core. This is a constant that never really changes, but instead can be viewed differently over time, but is for all intents and purposes your magnetic north.

(80)

corporate entity.

We all represent something bigger than ourselves. We each have beliefs, ideals, religions, communities, families, and preferences. We don't exactly choose any of them, but are instead drawn in their direction, whether by circumstance, happenstance, or positive mental trigger.

Within my daily routine, I represent a huge corporation that is so widespread that 95% of the upper forty-eight are within five miles of one. It's all a numbers game. Everything about every interaction is calculated and arbitrarily compared to the year prior, or the day prior, or the hour prior, or another store or region. Their ideal representative would be a consistent robot with streaming pop-up ads.

(46)

game day

I often must remind myself that art doesn't appeal to everyone.

(21)

open window

(20)

micro-cosmic view

I don't believe in superstars,
Organic food and foreign cars.
I don't believe the price of gold;
The certainty of growing old.
That right is right and left is wrong,
That north and south can't get along.
That east is east and west is west.
And being first is always best.

. . .

Well, I don't believe that heaven waits,
For only those who congregate.
I like to think of God as love:
He's down below, He's up above.
He's watching people everywhere.
He knows who does and doesn't care.
And I'm an ordinary man,
Sometimes I wonder who I am.
-from "I Believe in You" (Don Williams)

My worldview is insubstantial.

However, five years ago I decided to break ground, creating my own forum to share many of my insignificant thoughts and ideas. Gazing at my arbitrary tags on this blog would offer far more perspective on what matters to me than could any staid belief system checklist. At 100 posts, introspection wins out. Varying degrees of art, delusions of life, and musings on family and friends are not far behind. This sounds about right. These are the things that fuel me, drive me forward, and demand my concern.

Frequently I drive around, noting the bumper stickers people decide to attach to their vehicles. The more you look, the more often you discover that people become a certain collection of thoughts. I feel that people get so quickly swooped into an agenda and a set of ideals. It's one of the reasons I loathe so much politics and the structure of political debate. People blindly stumble for the vernacular and position that suits others like them, often for fear of reprisal. I have spent many years exceedingly irked by people supposedly like me.

I grew up in an environment with parents who changed their political party based on their opinion of the man in the Oval Office and who seemed to use God and religion to prove a point. As a formative structure, it doesn't surprise me in the least that most of my life has been far more replete with questions than with answers. I still think it's important to question and to grapple with ideas. However, I don't take it for granted that I feel far more centered than I ever have in the past. Any of us can say what's important until we're blue in the face, but actually following through with those same ideals is more powerful than the claim.

I remember a very uncomfortable car ride with my brother more than ten years ago. Our opportunities to interact have been staggered over time and he chose this moment to get caught up with me. So, he ran through a bevy of discussion topics like God, death penalty, abortion, and homosexuality. I don't know if I believe these to be the rubric on which one can base their knowledge of another. I think life is much more basic than that, and I choose to connect with people instead of divide myself from them.

I don't care about politics. I have never protested or picketed, but I have signed petitions to whose enactment I might otherwise disagree, because it jived with the party line. These days I am happily less than political and feel far more myself because of it.

What's important is love. I don't care how trite that may sound. From within all of us are a deep swelling of positivity and genuine love that when shared and allowed to ripple from being to being can have the most profound effect. Maybe it's God. Maybe it's indigestion. There are innumerable sorts and ways of expressing it. All I know is I find it impossible to argue with the existence of it, and of any of my beliefs that I hold close and often won't reveal, it's the only one I want to impart and impose on others.

cosmic love

Since love grows within you, so beauty grows.
For love is the beauty of the soul.
-St. Augustine

Been beat up and battered 'round
Been sent up, and I've been shot down
You're the best thing that I've ever found
Handle me with care
-Traveling Wilburys

Humans always like to explain away all of the brilliance of intangibles.

I choose to give them metaphoric wings, because I view entities less as they are and more as they are when they associate with other things.

That said, love is a chemical reaction.

It might not look like much in a crucible, but then again the human body broken down to its finer elements is really only worth about twenty-four bucks, thus reminding us that life itself is indeed an intangible. That's two of the biggies. What is real then? What's concrete? Not faith. Not belief. Hardly thoughts, dreams, or ideas. Time is said to be fleeting and most clocks have stopped ticking. Supposedly God is dead, romance is dead, and punk is dead. The dollar has no value and humans have no souls.

Maybe.

But not for me, though.

Sometimes I feel like we all have our own little decoder rings, shining light for us on things that exist in our little corner of the world and are real for us. People are sometimes referred to as another person's 'rock', but of course that's putting weight on an intangible concept and not the truth. But perhaps we're not meant to see the same truth, but merely different particles of the same prism.

For some it's important to see mankind's ideal upright stature as humans overcome adversity. For others it is the hint of viewing the soul, passion, and beauty in other's eyes that fuels them. And for others still, they can just be comforted knowing there'll be another forest to be seen tomorrow morning.