slow suicide's no way to go

A routine morning at the family leads to finding out that one relative has a week to live, that another one much closer is veering closer and closer to a total collapse and there's nothing any of us can do. I don't know what to say, and leave, not knowing what to do.

But it's so beautiful out, and how many more days like this will there be, so I go to the nature preserve that's open twice a year, take my camera and shoot pictures of leaves and trees, of reeds taller than me, of spiderwebs and deadwood, basking in the sun filtering through the green and the first red colors of fall, having awkward small talk with senior citizen birdwatchers, walking ahead so I can be alone with God and immerse myself in the sound of crickets and cicadas.

I want more green and flowers, but the botanical garden has some big event so I wander through the art museum looking at photos of the midwest and its broken dreams, ancient sculptures from Persia and Greece and Byzantium, the bright colors of oil paintings. I know that this is only temporary solace, but it is solace nonetheless.

I need sleep, need so many intangible things and wish for things that will never happen in this all too short life. I don't know what to say, what to do to make anything better. I don't know if any of us really does.

the last summer night

Writers block in attempting anything creative, the tap has run dry and the Sea of Stories is so fast that I'd drown attempting to dive in and come up with some kind of treasure.

But there's studying to do, and a decent flow of people coming through, the student diverting the creeps away. A half hour longer and I'll be home to be back here again.

under summer moon

walking home from church in the twilight, the vacant lot glittering with lightning bugs, scents of lavender and wisps of citronella, leftover firework crackle, everyone on their front porches, finding that I'm picking up Spanish by osmosis. All ennui from the day, the tiredness and seemingly unshakeable somnambulism where I don't feel like I'm much fun dissolving momentarily in a place of community, wishing that the night could last a little longer.

I sat on my porch for awhile, hovering between adoration of Creator and the constant stream of questions and ventings, still sometimes wishing that I shared my space again because as much as I love the quiet and the peace that at this time last year didn't exist, and I know part of this is the rhythms and cycles completing and beginning again, that I'm not myself in times like these.

But I miss staying up late, driving through empty streets plumbing the depths of the profound and ridiculous, night walks to the lake to lay on the rocks and listen to the waves, because it's hard to do those last couple things alone and so I move upstairs to my balcony in wonder and solitude, trying to soak in the summer nights, angst out to Mark Sandman's croon and try to appreciate the beauty and not angst so damn much as the moon ascends through gauzy clouds, radiating a golden halo, bicyclists whisper past, and everything around me is finally blooming.

untense

A whole mess of emotion, the strange feeling of solitude like a hangover from spending more time with people than I usually do, coming off the adrenaline of wanderings in the sun, perusing books and drinking coffee, allowing my voice to harmonize on the high notes instead of the low, being entertained by local comedy, having conversations with multiple people I enjoy intensely but rarely see, celebrating a friend's wedding, an interlude at the east side beach, driving home through hail and downpour, running on empty and stopping to pump gas, getting soaked in my semi-dressy clothes, walking the dog through the humid darkness past girls smoking cigarettes and the revelry of Sunday nights on three-day weekends, loving these nights even as the bluest of deep blues bring out the blues in me...

whoever said we'd wash away with the rain...

Running errands for work since I have my car today was much needed because even changes of mundane scenery save me from completely zoning out and heading into that usual route of melancholia.

I'm tired and depressed, thinking about too much, grieving some things I wish were not as they are, and coming down from the buzz of countless cups of coffee. I'm sure part of this is the weather and the feeling of helpless frustration at the state of the world that's haunted me since my teens. Some who believe say that I shouldn't get depressed but if my God walked the earth a man of sorrows, I think it's okay.

Tonight will be tea, candles, creating, sleeping, meditation, solitude, music. It's times like these when I'm glad I live alone because this way I don't bother anyone and I can just be...



So much blood I'm starting to drown
Runs from cold to colder
Time to time the sky's come down
To help me lose my way
Tears and lies for answers
You and open veins, God knows I'm gone
Girl I just want you to
Come on down
Lord it's a storm and I'm heading to fall
These sins are mine and I've done wrong, oh babe
Come on down
Long Gone Day
Mmmm, who ever said
We wash away with the rain
See you all from time to time
Isn't it so strange
How far away we all are now
Am I the only one who remembers that summer
Oh, I remember
Everyday each time the place was saved
The music that we made
The wind has carried all of that away
Long gone day
Mmmm, who ever said
We wash away with the rain
So many tears I'm starting to drown
The rain in heaven's all come down
Silver spoons affix the crown
The luckless ones are broken
Fears and lies for answers
You and open flames
God knows I'm gone
And I just want you to
Come on down, hmmm
Lord it's a storm and I'm heading to fall
These sins are mine and I've done wrong
I want you to, oh, I just want you to
Come on down
I fear again, like then, I've lost my way
And shout to God to bring my sunny day

it's all blueprint, it must be easy...

I was in line at the bank this weekend listening to old men talk about how it sucks that people are revolting in Libya because that means their gas prices are going up. "I'm for freedom fighters and all, but I gotta fill my gas tank too."

I couldn't shake the depression this weekend, forcing myself to not be alone with my unproductive thoughts, not wanting to explain and articulate because my jaw is sore and I wonder if I'm just adding to the noise, if I've been doing it wrong, if what seems to make sense now will be something I will regret later.

Because I can't play these games of ladder climbing and career hopping and what people call love but usually ends up being a total mess full of regret. I'm just not interested in dealing with that. I can't compete and it doesn't look fun or fulfilling. I've got no debt, I can sustain myself and have enough to share, I've got creative outlets and spiritual sustenance. I wonder if I'm crazy for not trying harder, if I'm just another slacker wasting my life like all the burnouts I used to hang with, or if this kind of race is even the one I should bother running.



"I'm not playing with you / I clean forgot how to play....we'll draw a blueprint, it must be easy, it's just a matter of knowing when to say no or yes. frustrating, frustrating, always waiting for the bigger axe to fall.

a patient game that i can't find my way to play. never mind what's been selling, it's what you're buying and receiving undefiled..."

springwinter

I'm loving the sun pouring through the window behind me, knowing that in another week, we will be plunged back into cold once more. My neighborhood doesn't lend itself well to walk alone at daybreak without a canine companion, so last night I went to my old haunts in Lakewood Park, to walk down the path to the jettys below, where the ice stretches out as far as I can see, with the glittering skyline to the east, and where the west is brilliantly pink fading into lavender and blue.

I soak in the stark scenery of bare white birch trees, the dark filigree of vines, the deep blue sky, the frozen waves. The night falls quickly, but there's enough people out enjoying the thaw that I can be alone with my thoughts and with God.

It's been a good week and I'm looking forward to a weekend of creating, adventures with good people, a whole lot of new tuneage, and enjoying a respite from the chill. Despite the craziness of this world that makes me wish sometimes I could disappear onto an island somewhere, I am thankful beyond words for these things.



And this is the most gorgeous minute and a half of guitar work ever. Even though he's a bit crazy, I love John Frusciante.