(no subject)
Another Friday night surrounded by card sharks, call girls, competitors, the homeless, the road weary truckers, and conference goers that constitute the dwindling body of guests under my care. I walked through the swirling snow to a local bookstore with its adjoining coffee shop to meet two aquaintances. One, a nervous seeming type, was very anxious about the state of the nation. I encouraged him not to worry so much about matters outside of his sphere of influence. I found my attempt at comfort funny because sometimes I'm beset with such a fear that I tremble and wonder if I'll black out, different source though, internal. I explained to him I'm no longer concerned with the things of God, because it is really empty vanity to try to discern a consciousness that may be there, and which if it is most definitely operates outside of our understanding. My other friend told a stranger that I was a guy who could make things happen. I thanked him, and felt good about the compliment even though it was like he was speaking of someone else, who once was.
The walking is good. The fear that threatens to take my feet out from under me, dissipates as I walk. It's pushed into the ground with each victorious crunch of snow beneath the rubber of my traction molded winter soles. I actually deal with the immense sense of inadequacy that hangs off me like a long shadow woven of wet wool. The questions that are a constant accusatory drone to my distracted mind become singularly audible. "Why aren't you doing better?" "Could you have saved them?" "Will you save these?" "What are you so scared of?" When i'm walking I don't need booze, or herb, or to stay so busy I don't think. Grass has had an unusual effect on me lately. It makes the drone, waves of doubt . I think I'll lay off for now. The alcohol makes me less self conscious than normal, but a bit more assholish if i don't regulate. If substance reveals your true self than i may be a self conscious asshole. Thats a possibility, but not something I'm going to wring my hands over until I have more proof.
I went to see The Spirit for the second time with a friend this week. I love the living hell out of that movie. It's the dialougue, the visuals, the characters, the pacing, the humor. I think Frank Miller crept into my sleeping mind one night and sat there amidst the demons and legends taking notes in the margins of Will Eisner collections to extrude this bit of celluloid. I fantasize about getting out of work and driving over to the theater with a big bucket of popcorn and watching it. A ritualized daily baptism in my favored iconography. The commercials before the film were an evil plot get people to accept the poisoned hand of assistance from hard rock pseudo saviors in army national guard garb. They can't fool me. Then again 2012 is coming(a preview for a disaster film) so maybe the military will stop the end of the world. I think I'll skip those next time.
I was going to end with a joke, but then how could i expect to be taken seriously. I know, I could shave. ;)
The walking is good. The fear that threatens to take my feet out from under me, dissipates as I walk. It's pushed into the ground with each victorious crunch of snow beneath the rubber of my traction molded winter soles. I actually deal with the immense sense of inadequacy that hangs off me like a long shadow woven of wet wool. The questions that are a constant accusatory drone to my distracted mind become singularly audible. "Why aren't you doing better?" "Could you have saved them?" "Will you save these?" "What are you so scared of?" When i'm walking I don't need booze, or herb, or to stay so busy I don't think. Grass has had an unusual effect on me lately. It makes the drone, waves of doubt . I think I'll lay off for now. The alcohol makes me less self conscious than normal, but a bit more assholish if i don't regulate. If substance reveals your true self than i may be a self conscious asshole. Thats a possibility, but not something I'm going to wring my hands over until I have more proof.
I went to see The Spirit for the second time with a friend this week. I love the living hell out of that movie. It's the dialougue, the visuals, the characters, the pacing, the humor. I think Frank Miller crept into my sleeping mind one night and sat there amidst the demons and legends taking notes in the margins of Will Eisner collections to extrude this bit of celluloid. I fantasize about getting out of work and driving over to the theater with a big bucket of popcorn and watching it. A ritualized daily baptism in my favored iconography. The commercials before the film were an evil plot get people to accept the poisoned hand of assistance from hard rock pseudo saviors in army national guard garb. They can't fool me. Then again 2012 is coming(a preview for a disaster film) so maybe the military will stop the end of the world. I think I'll skip those next time.
I was going to end with a joke, but then how could i expect to be taken seriously. I know, I could shave. ;)