On Ordinary

One of my favorite times with you was the Saturday morning you surprised me with coffee before work.  You told me you had heard of this really great place and even though I had no idea how significant a well-crafted latte would become to me, I was excited to be chauffeured to the office with a quick stop for caffeinated goodness on the way.

"What if I didn't work on Saturdays?" I mused as we walked back to the car.  I don't think you responded.

And so the morning drive continued without incident, you dropped me off right before the Farmer's Market vendors started unloading their trucks, preparing for the day's activities.

A few months later, I got Saturdays off and we both worked Monday through Friday like "normal" adults do.  This isn't super significant, except to say the surprise coffee trip only happened once.  And maybe it should have happened more, or maybe the novelty of it made it matter most to my aching yet hopeful heart.

And I am still trying to process these feelings and hurts and choices, but when is it enough?


I dreamed about you last night, so I figured this was the most appropriate form of response.

When the Rain Comes

The building I live in is old.  Also, there is a storm happening. (Right now!)  And I found myself tossing & turning in bed as the curtains flapped wildly against the screen, convincing myself I couldn't close the windows because I have never closed them since moving in and why would this morning be any different?

I will refrain from turning this into some sort of philosophical metaphor for old things and leaving things open or forcing them to close and just say this: I was able to shut the windows.

Everything was still okay.

On Not Knowing

One of the first things I will confess to you if we spend any amount of time together is that "mostly, I know that I do not know." Sure, I have my opinions and beliefs about why things work they way they do (or don't), but these are my opinions and if you want facts, maybe you should consult a book or Google or better yet go straight to the source (if/when possible).

I am also one of the more passive people you will meet and would go to great lengths to keep the peace versus actually addressing an issue I may have with someone. Chink in the armor? I suppose.

All that to say, the more people I meet, the more things I learn, the more I realize how little I know about my neighborhood, the city of Los Angeles, the Golden State, and I suppose life in general. It is a gentle, humbling reminder that I am a little piece of a great, big universe. "And that makes things right."

Even when it doesn't feel that way all the time.

Things I Wish Would Happen But Will Most Likely Not Be Today, Etc.

Though I hate to acknowledge/these things take time/They cannot be rushed/or fast-forwarded/or ambushed into action/(which is what I'd prefer they do)/Perhaps for now we can sit/Walk the lake/Hope for good things for people who are not ourselves/And maybe "3rd times the charm,"/or 4th/or 5th/or maybe no charms/Just a peace and hope for what is to come/But still trying to be okay with the quiet,/the sadness,/the humility of solitude.

Diving into the Wreck

First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for, we who have used it. Otherwise it is a piece of maritime floss some sundry equipment. I go down. Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses me the blue light the clear atoms of our human air. I go down. My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladder and there is no one to tell me when the ocean will begin. First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power the sea is another story the sea is not a question of power I have to learn alone to turn my body without force in the deep element. And now: it is easy to forget what I came for among so many who have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans between the reefs and besides you breathe differently down here. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail. I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flank of something more permanent than fish or weed the thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staring toward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disaster curving their assertion among the tentative haunters. This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silently about the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrels half-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course the water-eaten log the fouled compass We are, I am, you are by cowardice or courage the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera a book of myths in which our names do not appear. -Adrienne Rich

The Quiet

Confession.
For most of my life I have been shy. There may have been approx. 3 weeks of my entire existence where I pretended to be an extrovert (probably around the time I started college), but deep down I knew my heart couldn't take it for long. This is truth: I am shy; I am quiet; I am oftentimes (I hope unbeknownst to others) terribly worrisome and may be guilty of thinking too much. Okay, okay, I think too much. It still makes me a little sad when I finish a good book, because I invest in the characters and feel like I'm losing a group of really cool friends. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing; but you see what I mean.
So I find it interesting that I gravitate towards those who are not as quiet as I have been. Many of my friends are and can be (for lack of a more graceful description) loud. They are boisterous and in charge and have fun and reap the benefits of being known. And for that I am grateful. Maybe if I had too many friend who were just like me we'd all sit around and say nice things about each other. Which sounds cute, but could become terribly boring after about 20 minutes.

I guess what I am saying is this: I have grown up in the boisterous and in charge and have fun, but instead have become the gentle, deferential, and speak softly. It is not so much an ultimatum as an internal observation, and as for this time of year, I think it's a pretty good place for me to be.

on losing, pt ii.

I don't so much mind that we are estranged,
that we never write,
or talk: never swapping stories over tin-can-phone-strings.

I don't mind so much that you are older,
that your job consumes time,
makes money: some thing I have yet to manage wisely.

I do mind that in the span of less than five years,
I have forgotten to call you my brother,
and friend: and in so doing never quite manage to grasp
sister
as tightly.

okay,

Listening, to hear You breathe.

"Well, there are times I wish I was a Persian cat, &I lay curled up inside Your lap."

if you have the time...

Try a Little Tenderness,
by Alex V. Cook, Music Editor

"I find that tenderness often goes underestimated in this world. We try to channel our wolf nature to accomplish things, believing that its our howl and gnash that get business done in this world, but truly, it is the meek that inherit the earth. Wolves , without fail square off against each other and while the melee has its fireworks and sexiness, you end up with 1 or 2 dead wolves. The real power is wielded by those that keep it in check, their resolve quiet but unflinching, requiring no sense of combat or bombast to accomplish a goal. They aren`t fighting the thunderstorms, they are talking to he wind, and in the long run, they will get a better return on investment. It`s this quiet resolve that attracts me to spooky delicate acoustic music. Its parts are immediately recognizable, its structure ofter pared down to the minimum , making every element crucial. And I`m not talking Belle and Sebastian mellow here, I`m talking the spook folk of Will Oldham and Current 93 and Ben Chasny and now a new couple of forest dwellers Mi and L`au. She (Mi, Finnish) and and he (L`au, French) met in Paris where she worked as a model, he a soundtrack musician, did the bohemian flat-hopping thing and then bolstered by the warmth of their love made off to a cabin in the frozen woods of Finland, and their music reflects this spares essentiality. The music supporting their small voices consists of carefully picked guitar and the occasional mandolin. They trade off vocals, with Mi`s whisper and L`au`s clipped delivery making you listen closer, as if a ghost is telling you a secret.

The opening track "They Marry" picks and ticks like a clock, detailing the cycle of lover between lovers, with a feathery dizzying merry-go-round twinkle and swoon supporting it, while a later song actually title "Merry Go Round" sounds as if the contraption of the opening number has been drugged and is slowly winding itself into hibernation. It`s heavenly stuff, the slow orbits it creates. It`s in the sparser tracks like "Philosopher" however, where the real magic lies. The gentle acoustic guitar and light harmonies are akin to watching a candle flicker. "I`ve Been watching You" with its slow Nick Drake fingerpicked development shows the group to have a sinister side amongst all this sylvan filigree. "Burns" which highlights Mi`s voice the best, offers a solution for all those soft voiced women who are looking to sound powerful but end up sounding cutesy. Her vocal style is almost like a bamboo flute, simple but direct, cutting though the various ambiance that has been attached to the recording. "Older" languidly rolls out like a Quaalude sunset, while the string laden "A Word in Your Belly" has the deep grandeur of a John Adams or Arvo Part string piece, no doubt coming from L`au`s experience scoring for films. The way slight rain drops or something like that sound like they are falling on the strings themselves is just sublime.

This album is rife with twists and turns, toy pianos and zithers and who knows what else crop up here and there, but it`s in the voice and the palpable connection between the two that centers this most gentle and elegant of records. It reminds me of the earlier Damon and Naomi albums or maybe Dome (I think that`s what it was called, one of those lesser known Mute groups that only resurfaced in compilation albums) but with a decided hermetic cast about it. Like This Mortal Coil and Dead Can Dance with none of the bombast and twice the embers. Like the moon reflected off a frozen lank. Like a tree swaying in the wind. Like two people in love. It is sweet deep stuff that yields ever unfolding rewards as you spend time with it.
That is the power of tenderness."