(no subject)
12.31.05
So I figured I should write something before this year ends. Of course whaat can I say? I'm paying for this by the minute so it better be worth something.
Olympia is a cool place albeit it a little perpetually gray for my tastes. Yesterday I told Tatiana that if I had a sunny day, I'd break it out right then.
This year, measured from 12.31.2004 - 12.31.2005, had a lot of notable events that I'd write about if I could get my spastic neurons to behave for a moment. But I can't so you can wait. Does anybody really want to hear it anyway?
Instead, all I can think of is the "Dog is my co-pilot" bumper-sticker that I am reading though the window. However, there is no mention of crashing in the mountains and eating him.
I'm thinking back to before I left, rolling past tent city, Papau driving, looking at all the baby's mommas carrying babies to visit baby's daddies held in the jail. Throngs of them, waiting for them to cross and all I can think about is the way modern life seems to chew and grind a lot of people. But hey, this is a market economy so apparently the supply of humanity is greater than the demand. So, the market, ever benevolent, created a solution. Build a waste holding center down next to the sewage treatment plant and keep it all there. I love the market.
However, I'm quite certain the market doesn't love me.
I'm thinking about "Dove Valley Ranch" and my irritatingly cheesy songs that I belt out when we pass it on the way to work. I love it for the brash irony it contains. First, there are no doves there anymore. But beyond that simple observation, there is an irony far more sinister. When 100,000 pounds of D-9 came to "grub" the once verdant patch of desert, it surely crushed numerous mourning dove nests, many probably occupied, under its tracks, under yards of creosote and topsoil. See, they often build their nests on the ground. But now, all I can think is that they have been reduced to shadows of living beings, blowing out a few last mournful "coos" before sumbitting to the tyrany of steel, hydraulics, and compacted ashphalt.
"Here at Dove Valley life is peaceful, never better. . ."
Napalm. Napalm. Napalm
If I had a New Year's Resolution, it would actually be something that I decided to do a few weeks ago. I got the idea from one of the few movies I'll let the kids watch, "Princess Monoke." Basically, I decided that I want to move through life with eyes unclouded. Yes, perhaps it's a little yogamadoo and crystal-esque, but so far, it has helped me quite a bit. That's all I'll say for now.
Despite being nearly asexual at this point and trying to see all things openly, I must admit I love the way that Oly girl just walked by. Thick calves below a knee length coat, confident swagger shaped by female curve.
I love you all and I hope that this finds you well.
So I figured I should write something before this year ends. Of course whaat can I say? I'm paying for this by the minute so it better be worth something.
Olympia is a cool place albeit it a little perpetually gray for my tastes. Yesterday I told Tatiana that if I had a sunny day, I'd break it out right then.
This year, measured from 12.31.2004 - 12.31.2005, had a lot of notable events that I'd write about if I could get my spastic neurons to behave for a moment. But I can't so you can wait. Does anybody really want to hear it anyway?
Instead, all I can think of is the "Dog is my co-pilot" bumper-sticker that I am reading though the window. However, there is no mention of crashing in the mountains and eating him.
I'm thinking back to before I left, rolling past tent city, Papau driving, looking at all the baby's mommas carrying babies to visit baby's daddies held in the jail. Throngs of them, waiting for them to cross and all I can think about is the way modern life seems to chew and grind a lot of people. But hey, this is a market economy so apparently the supply of humanity is greater than the demand. So, the market, ever benevolent, created a solution. Build a waste holding center down next to the sewage treatment plant and keep it all there. I love the market.
However, I'm quite certain the market doesn't love me.
I'm thinking about "Dove Valley Ranch" and my irritatingly cheesy songs that I belt out when we pass it on the way to work. I love it for the brash irony it contains. First, there are no doves there anymore. But beyond that simple observation, there is an irony far more sinister. When 100,000 pounds of D-9 came to "grub" the once verdant patch of desert, it surely crushed numerous mourning dove nests, many probably occupied, under its tracks, under yards of creosote and topsoil. See, they often build their nests on the ground. But now, all I can think is that they have been reduced to shadows of living beings, blowing out a few last mournful "coos" before sumbitting to the tyrany of steel, hydraulics, and compacted ashphalt.
"Here at Dove Valley life is peaceful, never better. . ."
Napalm. Napalm. Napalm
If I had a New Year's Resolution, it would actually be something that I decided to do a few weeks ago. I got the idea from one of the few movies I'll let the kids watch, "Princess Monoke." Basically, I decided that I want to move through life with eyes unclouded. Yes, perhaps it's a little yogamadoo and crystal-esque, but so far, it has helped me quite a bit. That's all I'll say for now.
Despite being nearly asexual at this point and trying to see all things openly, I must admit I love the way that Oly girl just walked by. Thick calves below a knee length coat, confident swagger shaped by female curve.
I love you all and I hope that this finds you well.