right in the head
i think i might just be a humanist. and a reluctant socialist at that. i think if i was planning on being poor, it would be a lot easier to believe what i want to. fact is, there's a lot of things i want to do and have and i'm smart enough and am going to work hard enough to get them. around that time, i'm not going to be looking forward to a socialist equality-for-all philosophy. we'll see. i'm pro-people. i think that's the christian thing to do. i'll be a decent human being. there are so few of those out there. i'll be alright someday.
i wish it was easier to write tonight. i had all these wonderful words earlier today. really wanted to sit here and pound something out. i think it's better for my mental health the more i write anyway. what i really want to do is take a motorcycle and ride a long ways, writing at night. instead, my eyes are drawn to the tv - where the braves are playing cantaloupe-head bonds in san francisco - or the music, which isn't great and is stealing my attention.
this afternoon, though, was beautiful. around one, i snuck out to do some work on the backyard: pushmowing down a hill, mowing the dog yard and weedeating the same. mixed some gatorade for the job - my new way of tricking myself into drinking a lot of water. got a shower afterwards and drove out to the library and back, picking up a copy of zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance for bermuda. looking forward to another life-changing book. i was in a good mood already and it was nice to get out and drive my car; i hadn't in a while. windows down cause the a/c wasn't working real well, acoustic music going all nicely. i don't think i broke the speed limit by more than five the entire time. after i got back, took my leftover gatorade, a copy of man without a country, and the hammock and retired to the old cherry tree outside our driveway.
it's not easy to describe it out there but i can guarantee i felt a lot more fluid out there than i do now. man without a country is an extremely human book and i love it for that. after player piano last summer and slaughterhouse-five this summer, i feel like a full-fledged convert to the religion of vonnegut. i'd recommend man without a country to absolutely anyone. it's just the kind of book that makes you want to be a better human being.
our old cat wandered out my direction about the time i was getting set up. she's getting pretty mean in her ancientness but she still hangs around the family when she can, especially outside. so she comes trotting up about the time i get the hammock tied up between the tree and a post. i picked her up and tossed her in - she used to spend a lot of time swinging in there alone, but she didn't feel like it and hopped out. i got in and, after scratching a bit at the tree, she came back and walked around under me, rubbing her tail around against me. i'd reach through the ropes and scratch her head or rub her under the chin. it was pretty quiet out, which is amazing considering the density of people around these parts these days. used to be not so unusual but what with all the subdivisions built recently and the last section of 540 going almost in our back yard... not to mention our old neighbor moving out a couple years ago and the asshole russians renting the place next door. always speeding up their driveway in old piece of shit cars and all the ricer friends. i mean it's a fairly stereotyped group this kid belongs to but they are what they are. i can't really say much for the thumping japanese ricers anyway...
point is, it was pretty quiet out. even when i figure on it being nice and quiet there's still the rumble of a car on the street or the rattle of a lawnmower in some yard behind me. lots of birds at least. helicopters. planes. someday i'll have a house far enough away from everyone that they can't bother me and i can't bother them. someday. i happened to look up from my book as a butterfly landed on the edge of the hammock in the sunlight. i stared at him for a second. even through my sunglasses, i could see the black iridescence of his wings. calm little thing. i looked a ways to my right where my dog was laid out just on the other side of the fence in the shade watching me. when i looked back, the butterfly was gone, fluttering drunkedly around the truck out by the grass's edge. i went back to reading.
every now and then, when i'd hit a particularly heartfelt quote, i'd turn the book over and lean back, looking up through the tree limbs to the sky. it was cool for july. the view from behind my sunglasses was exactly how i've gotten used to taking pictures - a touch underexposed. i figured if i ever became a noted photographer, i'd need some signature style and maybe that could be it. that touch of underexposure makes everything sharper, more understated. more contrast, more true color. i can see it now: shooting for bike magazine in england. some triumph taking a corner, sunset behind us. haunting photo, that.
after a while, i heard something moving out in front of me. down past my feet, a rabbit ran up. he paused a couple feet away from my toes under the hammock, looking at me with nervous rabbit eyes. i saw bear grylls break a rabbit's neck and then karate chop the poor thing on tv tonight. this one wasn't in danger but i'm sure he felt like it. hell, i'm sure he had no idea i was there until our eyes met. he got moving again and scurried off behind me, all the way down to the woods. don't often get one running up to you, not even out here.
it was a beautiful time, though. i finished the book and remembered to think hard about that precise time and environment because it was so nice. it was in there... that people don't often enough realize and appreciate it when they're happy. i'll remember that.
i've been waking up with a song in my head. not a real song, though probably closely related to one. i'll entrench it in my brain laying there under the sheets and hold it till i can go downstairs and fiddle it out on my guitar. two days in a row now. usually a bass riff first and then some chords when i get that down. rarely a breakdown. i can never figure those out. never lyrics. for some reason, as much as i read and as much as i write, i cannot for the life of me write musical lyrics. it's just something else entirely. i think it's the disconnect. the ability to write about something without necessarily using linked prose or complete sentences. without actually connecting thoughts. just one line at a time. one idea at a time. maybe i'll figure it out eventually. i'm sure the music is mediocre even for a twenty-year old who can't sing, isn't in a band, and has never recorded anything. oh well. at least i'm doing something.
i need to be a decent human being. there's so much to be said for someone who is simply that, these days. and maybe i'll end up a doctor. maybe i'll end up a writer. maybe a photographer. maybe a bum. but dear god, let me not kill the planet. let me not waste breath. let me be worth more than the sum of my parts.
i wish it was easier to write tonight. i had all these wonderful words earlier today. really wanted to sit here and pound something out. i think it's better for my mental health the more i write anyway. what i really want to do is take a motorcycle and ride a long ways, writing at night. instead, my eyes are drawn to the tv - where the braves are playing cantaloupe-head bonds in san francisco - or the music, which isn't great and is stealing my attention.
this afternoon, though, was beautiful. around one, i snuck out to do some work on the backyard: pushmowing down a hill, mowing the dog yard and weedeating the same. mixed some gatorade for the job - my new way of tricking myself into drinking a lot of water. got a shower afterwards and drove out to the library and back, picking up a copy of zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance for bermuda. looking forward to another life-changing book. i was in a good mood already and it was nice to get out and drive my car; i hadn't in a while. windows down cause the a/c wasn't working real well, acoustic music going all nicely. i don't think i broke the speed limit by more than five the entire time. after i got back, took my leftover gatorade, a copy of man without a country, and the hammock and retired to the old cherry tree outside our driveway.
it's not easy to describe it out there but i can guarantee i felt a lot more fluid out there than i do now. man without a country is an extremely human book and i love it for that. after player piano last summer and slaughterhouse-five this summer, i feel like a full-fledged convert to the religion of vonnegut. i'd recommend man without a country to absolutely anyone. it's just the kind of book that makes you want to be a better human being.
our old cat wandered out my direction about the time i was getting set up. she's getting pretty mean in her ancientness but she still hangs around the family when she can, especially outside. so she comes trotting up about the time i get the hammock tied up between the tree and a post. i picked her up and tossed her in - she used to spend a lot of time swinging in there alone, but she didn't feel like it and hopped out. i got in and, after scratching a bit at the tree, she came back and walked around under me, rubbing her tail around against me. i'd reach through the ropes and scratch her head or rub her under the chin. it was pretty quiet out, which is amazing considering the density of people around these parts these days. used to be not so unusual but what with all the subdivisions built recently and the last section of 540 going almost in our back yard... not to mention our old neighbor moving out a couple years ago and the asshole russians renting the place next door. always speeding up their driveway in old piece of shit cars and all the ricer friends. i mean it's a fairly stereotyped group this kid belongs to but they are what they are. i can't really say much for the thumping japanese ricers anyway...
point is, it was pretty quiet out. even when i figure on it being nice and quiet there's still the rumble of a car on the street or the rattle of a lawnmower in some yard behind me. lots of birds at least. helicopters. planes. someday i'll have a house far enough away from everyone that they can't bother me and i can't bother them. someday. i happened to look up from my book as a butterfly landed on the edge of the hammock in the sunlight. i stared at him for a second. even through my sunglasses, i could see the black iridescence of his wings. calm little thing. i looked a ways to my right where my dog was laid out just on the other side of the fence in the shade watching me. when i looked back, the butterfly was gone, fluttering drunkedly around the truck out by the grass's edge. i went back to reading.
every now and then, when i'd hit a particularly heartfelt quote, i'd turn the book over and lean back, looking up through the tree limbs to the sky. it was cool for july. the view from behind my sunglasses was exactly how i've gotten used to taking pictures - a touch underexposed. i figured if i ever became a noted photographer, i'd need some signature style and maybe that could be it. that touch of underexposure makes everything sharper, more understated. more contrast, more true color. i can see it now: shooting for bike magazine in england. some triumph taking a corner, sunset behind us. haunting photo, that.
after a while, i heard something moving out in front of me. down past my feet, a rabbit ran up. he paused a couple feet away from my toes under the hammock, looking at me with nervous rabbit eyes. i saw bear grylls break a rabbit's neck and then karate chop the poor thing on tv tonight. this one wasn't in danger but i'm sure he felt like it. hell, i'm sure he had no idea i was there until our eyes met. he got moving again and scurried off behind me, all the way down to the woods. don't often get one running up to you, not even out here.
it was a beautiful time, though. i finished the book and remembered to think hard about that precise time and environment because it was so nice. it was in there... that people don't often enough realize and appreciate it when they're happy. i'll remember that.
i've been waking up with a song in my head. not a real song, though probably closely related to one. i'll entrench it in my brain laying there under the sheets and hold it till i can go downstairs and fiddle it out on my guitar. two days in a row now. usually a bass riff first and then some chords when i get that down. rarely a breakdown. i can never figure those out. never lyrics. for some reason, as much as i read and as much as i write, i cannot for the life of me write musical lyrics. it's just something else entirely. i think it's the disconnect. the ability to write about something without necessarily using linked prose or complete sentences. without actually connecting thoughts. just one line at a time. one idea at a time. maybe i'll figure it out eventually. i'm sure the music is mediocre even for a twenty-year old who can't sing, isn't in a band, and has never recorded anything. oh well. at least i'm doing something.
i need to be a decent human being. there's so much to be said for someone who is simply that, these days. and maybe i'll end up a doctor. maybe i'll end up a writer. maybe a photographer. maybe a bum. but dear god, let me not kill the planet. let me not waste breath. let me be worth more than the sum of my parts.
posted by sunshine at 11:01 PM
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