On Want

I wanted to write about the nature of wanting and then I talked with a good friend last night about all different sorts of wants and decided I want to tell you about how most days I think I could be very happy on a ranch, running around with horses and dogs and maybe some cows or something.

I do not know why I think this.

Except for yes, mostly I do.  I like to think that I would be "good" at living the simple life.  Simple for me = less noise + more quiet + less electronic shit + more outdoors goodness.  I like to think that a big move, a change of scenery, a different pace equals simple.  I suppose it's not that easy, though, right?

When I reflect on my current state of affairs, sometimes this doesn't seem too far away.  A sense of an ending in this weird but achingly lovely city doesn't necessary seem imminent, but at the same time I can't rule it out entirely just yet.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that (you guessed it): I don't know.  Maybe the more I admit this the less terrifying it will become. Eh, probably not.

Sky scrapings

To be honest, I kind of feel like I'm walking around in a daze right now.
It was hard to drive to work this morning, above ground, waiting for traffic, not able to rely on my feet to get around on time.
It was hard to sit inside for hours, answering the phone, scribbling in charts, straightening magazines, watching the rain.
It is hard to realize that family sleeps in a bed across from you, but that they are also thousands of miles and lifestyles away from you too.
I can't say that these are earth shattering thoughts, but I am thinking them nonetheless. And I'm guessing it's safe to say that if you were the first skyscraper once upon a time, well, chances are pretty good that you're always gonna be the first.

in other news...

I'm pretty lousy when it comes to relationships with significant others. So, I am somewhat confused when I find myself heartbroken over another couple's misfortune. Why? I have no idea. Do I have to know them? Not necessarily, but if I do, it probably makes my heartbreak worse. Am I a sucker for quiet songs in the dark? Do I think every couple that is currently together should get married and be good to themselves?
Mos def.

sleepy, california.

"I used to think that I knew my way around this town, But I`m all ways getting lost since you`re not around
I never thought that I would say this, but I miss my mom
Even though for all those years we didn`t get along
And when I stop to think about it I guess we were the same: too stubborn to apologize, too filled up on rage

I wish she felt young again, when everything was new
When her father held her hand & said, "There`s nothing you can`t do"

And then I woke up to a phone call right on Christmas day
It said, "Your grandmother is dying in a painful way: her lungs are filling up with fluid even as we speak, the doctor said that if she`s lucky, she`ll make it 'til next week"
I had one last chance to see her right before I moved, but I didn`t end up going, I used some lame excuse

I hope that she`s not scared lying there alone
I hope she hears her husband`s voice, telling her she`s coming home

It`s just Sleepy California, but I just hope they know
It`s just Sleepy California, how much I really care
It`s just Sleepy California, how I want the best for them
It`s just Sleepy California, even though I`m hardly there"

i want [need] a dog.

(Akira Liwanag / European Pressphoto Agency)

we awoke early this morning, without any encouragement from the sun.
so you followed me around until i was ready to go:
[oh! but you don`t have to deal with the necessities of clothes and under wears and clean teeth!]
"let`s go! let`s go!" you urge.
all right. all right.
it`s the same walk we stride every morning, the same sidewalk you refuse to tread on, the same mailbox you p...well, you know.
&while i am lost, musing over the night`s peculiarities, you snuffle around in the brush, a single purple flower caught on your chin.
but i have grown fond of our quiet adventures, interrupted only by the sounds of morning showers, kiddie pool frollicks, &good intentioned neighbours.
&i am beginning to descry life in a way that no car driver, bicycle pedaler, running footer, or solitary walker ever could.

heavenly Father,

we bowed our heads in prayer for those younger than we.
i say we, but what i really mean is they.
for up on the stage, my eyes [&attention] were drawn towards a child, backwards facing, peering into the belly of the open piano.
another one approaches, wearing a dress, the colour of red wine.
she, too, is intrigued by the guts of the Baldwin.
&while the curious skins are exploring, I cannot help keeping myself from smiling.
won`t this be what all the angels are conversing about?
"we love You. amen."

where the grace &simple truth of childhood go.

brian &i went to visit mr. clyde jackson browne last evening at the thousand oaks civic center.
&it was good.

http://www.jrp-graphics.com/jb/apr08.html
April 23, 2008. Thousand Oaks, CA.

48.

"Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see some thing of God each hour of the twenty-four, &each moment then,
In the faces of men &women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, &every one is sign`d by God`s name,
&I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever." -Walt Whitman

été.

i`m going to start writing more.
i`m going to call home more often, &ask my dad how his day went.
i`m going to show diana, &sarah, &elise that i love them tangibly.
i don`t know how yet, but i`m going to do it.
i`m going to be a faith full pen pal writer, &keep using my mama`s college typewriter.
i`m going to go to bed earlier, and wake up feeling more a live than usual.
i`m going to start listening to good music again.
i`m going to listen to the same album over &over, for as long as i want.
i`m going to take thought-filled, intentional walks in the hills.
i`m going to go trail running or leaping or bounding.
i`m going to converse with children, in hopes of improving my vocabulary.
i`m going to study the elders, in hopes of gaining wisdom.
i`m going to start being a good steward of my money.
i`m not going to worry about it. [i think that`s a good start.]
i`m going to live more simply.
i`m learning to love Y(?)ou more.

pour a little salt, we were never here.

i don`t know what to tell you, really.
of how to relay what laps i have run, [oh! the distances these feet have walked!]
&you expect to receive my gifts wrapped up neatly in butcher paper, tied with strawy twine?
i cannot speak to that.

of pigeons, people, &pretty, fine things.
of night time wanderers, metros, &cobbled streets.
of day-long flyings, &airport wanderings, and finally coming home [?] where is that again?
of short sleeps, bicycle rides, chlorinated swimming pools, ping pong tables &soft hearts.

yes!
i forgot what it is like to have two hands and feet,
we need to be reminded.
but i doubt you could ever know what i truely mean.

X.

"There are various orders of beauty, causing men to make fools of themselves in various styles, from the desperate to the sheepish; but there is one order of beauty which seems made to turn the heads not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle and to engage in conscious mischief--a beauty with which you can never be angry, but that you feel ready to crush for inability to comprehend the state of mind into which it throws you." -George Eliot

for jane, for ever ago.

for old-fashioned television sets
salt water fish tanks,
&enough tableware to feed our humble army.
for sheep dogs,
brilliantly blue eyes
gentle voices &honest truths,
brand new ovens
&Jen's prints on every wall.
soy sauce and mushrooms,
apple tostada &tea.
&you.
you, all the while
breathing thanks with every syllable,
eyes that have seen so many things;
but you listen patiently, any way.

Hardwood Hands

The lovely bones/Her quiet laugh/Silence&stillness/In a cacophanous hall.
Of two-hundred souls/Stacked two-stories high.
In hushed tones/She wanders/Outloud.

and not one motion her gesture could I forget.

The prettiest bag lady I ever met.
Pushing her cart in the rain, then gathering plastic and glass
She watched the day pass,
Not hour by hour... but pain by pain.
I was a basket filled with holes, &she was the sand I tried to hold
That ran out behind me as I swung with some invisible hand.

I stopped believing, You start to move
[She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine]
I stopped my leaving &the better man bloomed
[&You can pour us out and we won`t mind]

I was dead then alive,
She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine;
You can pour us out, we won't mind,
As scratch around the mouth of the glass, "My life is no longer mine."

&if you`re still looking for a blanket, sweetie,
I`m sorry, I'm no sort of fabric;
But if you need a tailor... then take your torn shirt, stumble up my stairs,
&mumble your pitiful prayers and in your tangled, knotted sleep,
Our midnight needles go to work until all comfort and fear flows in one river
Down in the shop by the mirror where you see yourself whole... and it makes you shiver.

I stopped believing, You start to move
[She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine]
I stopped my leaving and the better man bloomed
[& You can pour us out and we won`t mind]

I was dead then alive,
She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine;
You can pour us out, we won`t mind,
As scratch around the mouth of the glass, "Our lives our not our own."

Even the wind lay still,
Our essence was fire and cold & movement, movement...
Oh, if they ask you for the sign of the Father in you,
Tell them it`s movement, movement, movement &... repose.

i am a child in these hills.

I think I would like to join a house church.
I think we need more "hey, Dad," prayers, sloppiness and true community, tears, rejoicing with the rejoicers, and fracturing with the broken. We ought to break bread together &linger over fellowship longer. I should walk more slowly, talk more gently, &love more strongly. It appears that the Lord is more interested in the marginalized outskirted pocket pigeons of society, than the popular, unblemished lambs. I am one of those pigeons, you know. Perhaps we all are. What if we are just sposed to flock together, care for one another, and line our nests with feathers &soft things?
How good and pleasing it is when brothers &sisters dwell together in unity!

Happy Camper

"What if we all got along &people loved each other &sang songs about peace? he said. Would that be a good world? &I said I didn`t know about that, but it would be a good summer camp &he looked at me &shook his head &said; it`s no wonder you`re leaving us with such a mess."