Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm
Yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new
In city and in forest, they smiled like me and you
But now it's come to distances and both of us must try

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time
Walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
You know my love goes with you as your love stays with me
It's just the way it changes like the shoreline and the sea
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm
Yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new
In city and in forest they smiled like me and you
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

- Leonard Cohen

Vanity

Let the writer take up surgery or bricklaying if he is interested in technique. There is no mechanical way to get the writing done, no shortcut. The young writer would be a fool to follow a theory. Teach yourself by your own mistakes; people learn only by error. The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice. He has supreme vanity. No matter how much he admires the old writer, he wants to beat him.

-William Faulkner

Animal Sacrifice

The Old Testament is surely the most violent book ever assembled. Today, I have been empathizing with a major theme of the OT: being separated from Love. The cathartic drive to kill in order to demonstrate the frustration of being cursed to live apart from Love while being overwhelmed by its reality is suddenly powerfully familiar imagery to me.

I daresay I would do anything to be with her. Every time you fall in love it feels a little different; but this time it feels reciprocated, which is novel for me. It is inexplicable why I am so compelled to trust her after having had my heart broken multiple times before. Then again, I've always been tenacious. I am fully cognizant that I barely know her. But GODDAMN I love this girl. She is 2,485.86 driving miles away according to Mapquest. It hurts. I miss her profoundly.

This is unlike me. I am very used to doing my own thing and being alone. I am an independent person! Was. Now I'm a caged canary begging to be poked at. I am King Kong.

Could be worse....

Theme From Cyrano

What would you have me do?

Seek out some wealthy patron and crawl like a clinging vine up the lordly tree? Rising by deceit and trickery instead of my own strength?
No thank you.

Imitate what others do and dedicate my works to the rich in the hope of arousing a smile of recognition from some sterile face?
No thank you.

Breakfast everyday on insults, wear out my knees and warp my spine with endless bowing and groveling in the dust?
No thank you.

Become a master of hypocrisy and opportunism, never letting my right hand know what my left is doing? Burn incense for some glorified idol of the day? Pull all the proper strings?
No thank you.

Shall I become the captain of some literary cult by writing stupid love songs for wealthy widows and navigate to success with their sighs filling out my sails? Pay some publisher to print my poems and bribe some critic to review them?
No, thank you!

Shall I become the high priest of a petty group of hack writers who dine together once a week?
No, I thank you!

Shall I build my reputation on one flawless poem and never write another? Should I scheme to get my name mentioned in the columns of some newspaper and smack my lips over the little praises written about me?
No, thank you.

Shall I calculate and scheme, live in fear, make visits instead of rhymes, meet all the right people, seek introductions and favors?
No, thank you.
No I thank you . . .
And again, I thank you!

Oh my friend, I prefer to sing, to laugh, to dream, to travel light in my own way, to see things as they are, and speak out without fear, to cock my hat at any angle that I choose, to duel if necessary for a quick “yes” or “no.” I prefer to work alone without any thought of reward, to scorn fame for a journey to the moon. Never write a line that does not ring with sincerity. I shall be content with the fruits and flowers that grow in my garden, no matter how small, because they belong to me. Then if success should come my way, no tribute ever need be paid to Caesar, whatever fortune or misfortune that happens shall be mine and only mine.

And although I may never reach the stature of a great oak tree, I shall never be a parasitic vine. I will climb perhaps to no great height, but I will . . . climb . . . alone.

-translated by Frank Devenport (orig. Edmond Rostand)

Potential Land Mine

“Goodnight.”
Intending to reply in kind, but it somehow came out, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Immediate yet calm. Natural even.
…

She just said she loved me. Excited confused interrobang. Wait, did I say I love her? How the hell…? Why did I…? He counted the days again. Two weeks, one day, ten hours. Have I completely lost it again? I didn’t want this to happen. He realized he was holding his breath. Silence to his left, and he dared not move to peek. The inexplicable thing is I believe her. I don’t believe ANYBODY. In a world full of lies I believe this goddamn potential land mine.

Still silent.

She flies out in a few hours and I’ll never see her again anyhow. But I DO love her. In the morning I’ll tell her I really do love her. It’s only been two weeks, but I’ve figured out how she melts. If I’m lucky she’ll melt. I don’t know what to do after that.

He exhaled as unobtrusively as possible. He fell asleep fast. The alarm didn't go off in the morning.

H.

What's coming through is alive
What's holding up is a mirror
But what's singing songs is a snake
Looking to turn my piss to wine

They're both totally void of hate and
Killing me just the same now

The snake behind me hisses
What my damage could have been
My blood before me begs me
Open up my heart again

And I feel this coming over like a storm again now
Considerately

Venomous voice tempts me
Drains me bleeds me
Leaves me cracked and empty
Drags me down like some sweet gravity

Take me

The snake behind me hisses
What my damage could have been
My blood before me begs me
Open up my heart again

And I feel this coming over like a storm again now
And I feel this coming over like a storm again now

I am too connected to
Slip away fade away
Days away I still feel you
Touching me changing me
Considerately killing me
Considerately killing me again
Considerately killing me
Considerately killing me again

Without the skin here
Beneath the storm
Under these tears now
The walls came down

Once the snake was drowned
And as I look in his eyes
My fear begins to fade
Recalling all of the times

I could have cried then
I should have cried then

As the walls come down
And as I look in your eyes
My fear begins to fade
Recalling all of the times
I have died
I will die
It's all right
I don't mind
I don't mind
I don't mind

I am too connected to you to
Slip away fade away
Days away I still feel you
Touching me changing me
Considerately killing me
Considerately killing me again
Considerately killing me

-Tool

La Sirenita vs. La Bonita

La Sirenita and La Bonita are both Taquerias on the 2800 block of Alberta Street in Portland. Only an alleyway and a seemingly abandoned home separates them, but they are a world a part. Bottom line: there are La Sirenita people and there are La Bonita people. I am of the former.



La Sirenita is a run-down stucco place with a withering awning and graffiti tags all over it. There are colorful plastic tables to sit on outdoors. Inside is dark and haphazard with a television usually playing Mexican music videos (always with scantily clad women) in a corner. Mexican pop music blares from out of the kitchen. The walls are covered in cobwebs and plastic faux brick. Next to the counter is a big orange jug like something you’d see in a construction zone to pour yourself water from, if the Styrofoam cups have been stocked. The tables are not regularly bussed or cleaned, but most are stocked with a roll of paper towels. The employees are often singing, flirting or otherwise goofing around and you sometimes have to wait awhile for them to appear or decide to ask you what you want. I almost always want the no pales burrito. It is, in my opinion, possibly the greatest lunch ever invented, even though its quality varies widely depending upon who’s working that day. (For this reason, I don’t recommend La Sirenita on weekends.) For $3.50, you get a huge log consisting of piping hot cactus, rice, cheese and refried beans wrapped in a flour tortilla. They have a condiment bar with awesome grilled jalapenos. Their red sauce is okay but a bit too smoky for my taste. UPDATE: They sometimes have a second red sauce now which is much better. I seldom resist biting into the burrito before it cools down, so I usually end up burning the skin out of my mouth. Well worth it. I usually alternate between burrito and jalapeno bites. Yes, the jalapenos are spicy. (Why do people ask this?)



La Bonita is a much newer looking place, nicely painted (if you like mauve) with large windows and clean wood tables. Inside is mood lit with hanging emerald-colored lampshades, and waiters seat you and bring you menus as Rod Stewart serenades from above. I went there once, on a recommendation from a chef (at another restaurant) who said it was, “very clean.” Fortunately, cleanliness is not on my list of things desired in a taqueria. I ordered the veggie burrito, which had lettuce, broccoli, carrots and a bunch of other crap that doesn’t belong in a burrito. It also had black beans, which I sometimes like but don’t expect to see unless I ask for them specifically. It was like a cooked salad wrapped in a tortilla. Booooooring! The “gringo burrito” was over $5.00. It was about half the size as the burrito two doors down. I find myself wary of anyone who patronizes this establishment, and assume they are the same type of people who sit in coffee shops working on laptops. I don’t trust those people either.

Go Home

Well let me tell you if you’re feeling alone
Instead of whining and moaning
Just get on the phone, tell her you’re coming home
If you need her, you should be there
If you scream in your sleep, or collapse in a heap
And spontaneously weep, then you know you’re in deep
If you need her, you should be there
Go home

There’s nothing better than affairs of the heart
To make you feel so good then tear you apart
Make up your mind and stick it out or start again

You can’t imagine what an effort it takes
When you make a mistake
And you know in the wake that her heart’s going to break
If you need her, you should be there
If you’re flummoxed and flushed
And your heartbeat is rushed
Then get out of the slush, tell your dog team to mush
If you need her, you should be there
Go home

If you think of her as Joan of Arc
She’s burning for you, get your car out of park
If you think of her as Catherine the Great
Then you should be the horse to help her meet her fate
If you need her, you should be there
Go home

You can’t believe it, but it’s true
She’s given everything to you
Now take a moment to be sure
Before you give it all to her

Well now you’re thinking that its over at last
All your woes in the past
But you’ve got to be fast; put your foot on the gas
If you need her, you should be there
So now you’re out from under the gun
And its over and done
I won’t spoil all the fun but if you ever wonder
She’ll be there if you need her
Go home

If you’re lucky to be one of the few
To find somebody who can tolerate you
Then I shouldn’t have to tell you again
Just pack your bags and get yourself on a plane
If you need her, you should be there
Go home
If you need her, you should be there
Go home

- Steven Page and Ed Robertson

Song Lyrics

Some of you may be wondering why I've been posting a lot of song lyrics. The answer is easy: 1) I'm too lazy to write original blog entries right now; 2) I sometimes find myself listening to music that seems to be EXACTLY where I am at when I hear it.

I had a friend in college who was paranoid that the radio was sending him messages. "That's the beauty of music," I'd explain. The greatest art, by its very nature of expression limited by senses, allows us to feel connected to others. This connection is simultaneously profound and illusory. An example I like to use is all those who claim to relate to Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye even though NOBODY has ever acted anything like that character in the history of humankind.

Combining poetry with music is a sublimely potent means of communication. Despite all the song lyrics I have included in my blog, I have rejected others with ONE word that I couldn't precisely relate to. The lyrics I post are intended to relay to my (imaginary) audience where I am at that moment. I have even gone through my own past posts to try to recall how I was feeling at a particular time, found some lyrics I’d posted and listened to that song. It makes for effective memory triggering.

Now you know, and knowing is half the battle. G.I. JOE!

I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)

When I wake up, well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next you
When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you
If I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you
And if I haver, yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door

When I'm working, yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you
And when the money comes in for the work I do
I'll pass almost every penny on to you
When I come home (when I come home), well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you
And if I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door

da dada da (da dada da)
da dada da (da dada da)

Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Ah Da Da

da dada da (da dada da)
da dada da (da dada da)

Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Ah Da Da

When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you
And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream
I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you
When I go out (when I go out), well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you
And when I come home (when I come home), yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you
I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door

da dada da (da dada da)
da dada da (da dada da)

Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Ah Da Da

da dada da (da dada da)
da dada da (da dada da)

Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Ah Da Da

da dada da (da dada da)
da dada da (da dada da)

Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Ah Da Da

da dada da (da dada da)
da dada da (da dada da)

Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Ah Da Da

And I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door

-The Proclaimers

p.s. Haver means to talk nonsense.

Camping Journal V

If we had an M-50 mounted on top of this car we could camp wherever the fuck we wanted.

Just throw it in that crack right there.
That’s what she said.

Well, this is fucking Maupin!

That bird is its own rap group.

Careful of that jewelry box; we don’t know what she considers jewelry- a partially polished turd…

Hopefully she wasn’t expecting any privacy with her friend that’s coming to visit tonight.

I walked in and thought, “That’s weird the front door’s unlocked,” and then some dude said, “Hi!”

Wow, more players than we knew.

I was trying to keep my hair out of my chewing. It was only partially successful. I’m gonna cough up a hairball tomorrow morning.

What? She’s making a cemetery?

Usually you want your gutters to be more horizontal.

We have contact with Dick.
I love having contact with Dick.

Good thing about Maupin: You’re never more than 50 feet from someone who will let you camp in their backyard.

Oregon: Thank god it’s beautiful because otherwise it’s worthless.

His parents were like, “There was this penguin that’s been every place and seen some things so they bring it from the trestles with a life jacket on and a helmet over its head and some cop cut it open and filled its boat with stuffing."

It was horrible- he had trucks and toilets back here.

Hopefully it’s a lot worse in the Enchantments.

I just want to cradle you for not being a knucklehead.

You're unusually agreeing, Andrew.
I'm sadly black man from the what?

There’s nothing pretty or interesting but this is getting pretty dull.

I was writing in the dark with a belly full of whisky, and things got illegible. Amazingly, I managed to decipher all but one line, which I have included in its original form. Let me know if you can figure it out!



I don’t know what else there is to do in Wasco County.

Either you gotta do this every day or never do it again.

The ‘bow was… retarded.

What were you guys talking about when I was in the tent and your reply was, “We’ll have to take a little spin.”?

Two dudes and a patrol boat spent five minutes with me for nothing.

Daddy Jeremy, buy us a cheese pizza!

I don’t want to be on a douche bag raft though.
Well then we can’t be on a raft with Andrew.

Dick is all about beer and ladies.

We’ll give it the old college fraternity try.

I think this campground’s full of tools.

Pay to listen to butt rock?

Dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick

Dick fishes in Blue Hole.

Your mom isn’t sealed.
She is broken.
I can’t hear you. Actually I can but I’m just not listening.

Step 1: Shave the patient.
Step 2: Make the boobs hang out.

Outhouse backsplash- worst thing ever.

That was tots awesome!

He’s a pentapus.
That just sounds pornographic.

His shirt is tucked into his crack.
That just made my whole trip.

Oh Jake you have the midget chair.
It’s the righteous chair.
Does this chair make me look fat?

I see my name. Is that the scorekeeping sheet? I thought you were writing something nasty about me.

I thought I heard my name.
I heard “gay.”
Yeah, that’s me.

Where’d you go, toonsins?

I lost my green nipple and everything.

I love coming from behind.
Oh now you just turned it dirty.

I want to capture the moment: Before 6 nieces. After 6 nieces.

“I felt like I was literally sitting on God’s front porch.”

Thanks for backing me up on that stupid ass statement.

That’s a little too close-up. I don’t want to see it that close.

All you have to do is roll the dice and lose to Sandy.

I’m going to keep saying, “Daddy Jeremy buy me a cheese pizza” until he actually does.
It would be easier to chop your head off with my hatchet.
I was gonna offer to buy you one to shut you up but if he’s willing to chop your head off even better.

You’ve been taking your cues from under the Burnside Bridge.

RIGHTEOUS DUDE BRAH

I’ve got the power of the drifter now.

WHOA!

Chips go well with chili.
That’s true, but it’s dangerous on your jeans.

This parking lot is going to be nothing but chock full of reggae blaring cars.

I’m not a cracker connoisseur or anything but these are the greatest crackers of all time.

I’ll show you squeak, motherfucker.
Promise?

Those are the fat-girl-come-get-me pants.

We’ll flip for heads and tails.

I don’t know how you ever stopped at 800. That’s very un-Jake like.

I think the little fucker’s fucking with us. You being the other fucker.

That’s your excuse for everything.
It’s Maupin.

S’s are for aretards.

We’re almost there with the chili.
I’ve heard that before.

Andrew hearts death.

Ha you douched your pants.

Chip lifeguard- I need you.

There’s something hard in there.

Who won? Andrew? Damn it!
I like it when nice people win.

Why does Andrew do any of the things that he does?

I don’t want a chip in my crotch, thanks.
Beavers like chips too.

The sky’s really ugly right now.

I should stop with this chili.
That’s what Sandy’s thinking.

I see your lover’s intestines and I raise you one chip with four beans on it.

Hey Jeremy, where’s your tool?

I see a flying head.
No that’s just me.

That helps my loser ass.
Yeah it does.

I have so many fucking layers on right now.

We don’t mind if you puke on Jake.

You and God can go homo out together.
You’re complimenting God.
Right now, he wishes he was gay.

Wow that was worth the 18 ounces of gas.
Not to mention the gallon of gas it took to get Andrew’s flashlight here.
Your ass is gonna make a nice cap for your light.

I don’t know I was just trying to figure out whether I was looking at the sun or Andrew’s flashlight.

Everything in my hand and this one is not in my hand.

I am like patience encapsulated.
What is it a one-ounce vial?
I was being generous.

I am going to go write in my journal.
Do not invite Andrew camping ever.

Star gazing cancelled due to douche bag friend.

Until it’s waterlogged, duct-taped to your body on the bottom of the Deschutes.

I think Andrew’s just taking superfluous rolls now.

I was looking for squealing nieces. What’s wrong with that?

All I heard was split in three and your mom.
What else did you need to hear?

Your mom’s a mess after last night.

I love the sound of a generator first thing in the morning.

Should I go get a newspaper? ‘Cause you look like you could use one.

You might find kicking Sandy to be much more satisfying. Just an observation.

You lost your balls now that you’re sober?

They don’t say much when they’re unconscious.
You don’t police your mouth very well.

How many beers have you had?
Two.
You are an embarrassment to Maupin.

I could douche.
You could douche?
It’s French for shower.
Vagina shower!

The Patient

A groan of tedium escapes me
Startling the fearful
Is this a test?
It has to be
Otherwise I can’t go on
Draining patience, drain vitality
This paranoid, paralyzed vampire act's a little old

But I’m still right here
Giving blood, keeping faith
And I’m still right here

But I’m still right here
Giving blood, keeping faith
And I’m still right here

Wait it out
Gonna wait it out
Wait it out

If there were no rewards to reap
No embrace to see me through
This tedious path I’ve chosen here
I certainly would’ve walked away by now

Gonna wait it out

If there were no desire to heal
The damaged and broken met along
This tedious path I’ve chosen here
I certainly would’ve walked away by now

And I still may (sigh)
And I still may

Be patient
Be patient
Be patient

I must keep reminding myself of this
I must keep reminding myself of this
I must keep reminding myself of this
I MUST KEEP REMINDING MYSELF OF THIS

If there were no rewards to reap
No embrace to see me through
This tedious path I’ve chosen here
I certainly would’ve walked away by now

And I still may
And I still may
And I still may
And I am…

Gonna wait it out
Gonna wait it out
Wait it out
Gonna wait it out

-Tool

Let Me Be The One You Need

May not know enough about you, babe
That can only come in time
Only know enough to make you stay
On my mind

Though I met you only yesterday
And only for a moment then
I knew I couldn't let you get away
I just have to see you again

I can be the one you love
Let me be the one you need
Take a look into your heart
Try to find a place for me

Can't say I can't live without you, babe
That's just some worn out loser's line
May not know enough about you, babe
But you’ve stayed on my mind

I can be the one you love
Let me be the one you need
Take a look into your heart
Try to find a place for me

-Bill Withers

Ev Oida Oti Oudev Oida

After Socrates had explained these things to the student, the student nodded and declared, “I see!” Socrates responded, “When I look back on all I have seen, the one thing I see is that I’ve seen nothing.”

While I don’t have the original source on hand, this is basically the scene from whence the title of this blog comes. It loses a little in translation, especially considering the context of Platonic thought in which the only way we can know something is by seeing it as it truly is. (Nothing Socrates might have written has survived, and most of what we know of him comes from the works of Plato.)

As I get older, I find more and more how true it is that I don’t know anything at all, and perhaps I know myself least of all. I don’t trust anybody who thinks they have learned anything by sheer virtue of getting older. I feel sorry for anybody that thinks they have anything figured out, because they are truly missing out on the wonderful mysteries of life waiting to be discovered by anybody bold enough to look for them. I find it frustrating that people generally are not interested in seeking knowledge beyond what they are comfortable with believing. There is nothing more inspiring than challenging our own beliefs and finding how limiting they are.

I am constantly amazed at what can be learned from participating in random life experiences. I never cease to be surprised by my own choices, desires, obsessions and preferences. There are infinite journeys to take and avenues to explore. Don’t just push your boundaries; blow them up! Life is curious. Life is weird. Life is one big question mark. Live it up!

Porcelina of the Vast Oceans

as far as you take me, that's where I believe
the realm of soft delusions, floating on the leaves
on a distant shoreline, she waves her arms to me
as all the thought police, are closing in for sleep
the dilly dally, of my bright lit stay
the steam of my misfortunes
has given me the power to be afraid
and in my mind i'm everyone
and in my mind

without a care in this whole world
without a care in this whole world
without a care in this life
it's what you take that makes it right

porcelina of the oceans blue
porcelina, porcelina

in the slipstream, of thoughtless thoughts
the light of all that's good, the light of all that's true
to the fringes gladly, I walk unadorned
with gods and their creations
with filth and disease
porcelina, she waits for me there
with seashell hissing lullabies
and whispers fathomed deep inside my own
hidden thoughts and alibis
my secret thoughts come alive

without a care in this whole world
without a care in this whole world
without a care in this life
it's what you take that makes it right

and in my mind i'm everyone
in my mind i'm everyone
in my mind i'm everyone of you
you make it right
it's all alright
you make it right

porcelina of the oceans blue
porcelina of the oceans blue

- Billy Corgan

Les Paul

The first time I heard Les Paul and Mary Ford I just about shit my pants. This was a music I had never heard before. The recording quality was stupendous, the melodic lines clean yet profound, the tone unsurpassed. Everything about the music was cleverly calculated but refreshingly charming. This was white people music (something I generally avoided at the time) except with soul. I first heard it in 1995. The music was from as early as 1947. To this day, I’ve still never heard anything else like Les Paul’s music, which is inexplicable considering the influence (which includes the invention of multi-track recording and the modern electric guitar) that he has had on modern music. It’s as if everybody since has been futilely trying to copy him. Although, truth be told, a lot of his guitar lines are Django Reinhardt rip-offs.

One Of These Days

One of these days
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
And I'm gonna try
And thank them all
for the good times together
Though so apart we've grown

One of these days
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days
one of these days
one of these days
And it won't be long, it won't be long

And I'm gonna thank
That old country fiddler
And all those rough boys
Who play that rock 'n' roll
I never tried to burn any bridges
Though I know I let some good things go

One of these days
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days
one of these days
one of these days
And it won't be long, it won't be long

From down in L.A.
All the way to Nashville
From New York City
To my Canadian prairie home
My friends are scattered
Like leaves from an old maple
Some are weak, some are strong

One of these days
I'm gonna sit down
and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days
one of these days
one of these days
And it won't be long, it won't be long

One of these days
one of these days
one of these days
And it won't be long, it won't be long

- Neil Young

Camping Journal IV

(Key-Sea House July 5-7, 2009)

If you set it down for a minute I’m gonna burn that fucker.
Is that for all the brilliant things we say?
Brilliant’s a stretch.

I was using the binoculars to look at Sandy and Jeremy mostly.
Sandy’s ass?
It’s fine.
You wouldn’t really need binoculars though.

This isn’t gonna be a survival story.

Hey Sandy- what did you say that was funny five minutes ago?

Hope you like Yachats!

I have a long way to go before getting back at you for the big ass comment earlier.

I can’t believe I missed that ONE opportunity of hearing Andrew being an asshole.
It’s like Haley’s comet.

It’s somewhere between a cloud and rain.

Jake has a jump rope.
I’ve never seen his jump rope.

WOW. Things are getting nutty.

So... it turns out your mom does like me.

In only 3 more hours Ann and Carl will be here.
Just don’t think about it.

I like your hood.
Jeremy made a funny.
It’s so soft- have you guys touched it?

What’s up Jer-Bear?
That’s what my mom calls him!
Yeah, but I like it better when she says it.

I brought a slingshot- I want to see how far I can shoot a rock into the water.

Mosquitoes have some weird genitalia.

I’m unna shut up now.
Whatever.

No one’s looking except our wives.
We’re not going to be looking; we’re going to be busy.

I like you.
I like Sandy.
I like me.

Is that why you club baby seals?
Because they’re there. And dirty.

Marshalltown is like the unwashed sprouts of Iowa.

Don’t fuck with Leo.

Don’t accidentally shove your head in the fireplace.

Just use rubbing alcohol.
Just rub it and drink alcohol.

Carl the humping ghost.
Carl the extra-friendly ghost.

It’s a drippy cheater.
It’s a blabbermouth cheater.
Just give it a good yank.

She’s reference use only, Carl.
You have to leave her in the library.

ARE YOU PUTTING A BLANKET ON YOURSELF?!?!?!

I need to deliver some tea.

She went out to find “service.”
Because apparently I’m not doing my job.
What’s your job?
Oh that- I’m still waking up.

What lame thing are you going to write now?

There were these cheerleader mermaids with cheese pizza and beer offering handjobs.

Coffee and Jenga- the perfect storm.

Think outside the pepper.

That’s how Jesus plays Jenga.
Or yoda.

There’s a lot of love going on here this morning.
It’s making me sick.
I love Jer-Bear.
Jer-Bear’s Hair Care.

Carl, I’m going to shove this so far up your ass….
Yes! Sandy does want to do me!

Please refrain from shitting in the toaster.

I have flaccidity function.

It’s like a flamingo threw up in there.

Brokeback Devil’s Backbone

He left the house with nothing but assless chaps.
Are you sure he’s going fishing?
Stink bait.

Tell them about the time I raped you in the bedroom just now.

That’s Carl’s make-shift masturbatorium.
He’s playing solitaire.

There’s nothing funny about the truth.

Okay, are you ready for my vagina now?

I’ve got dominoes in my pants.

I’m sorry about your structure, Jeremy.

Bring me my lemming.

I don’t know; I’ve got a pain in my ass and I don’t know what it is.

I stepped in horse shit- what’s your excuse?

THE KEY-SEA HOUSE IS FOR LOVERS

Hard like me for your mom.

Jesus Christ Choir Boys

Iceburgs suck. Period.

Hey Ann wanna make a Sandywich?

It sucks like it blows- it is not a lolly hobby.

I’ll stick you with me.

I thoroughly enjoyed the time we had together- mostly when we were humping.

Okay see you next y….

What’s that? Oh, I thought I felt something.

You don’t have to try.

You got your lettuce, you got your hot shit.

Projectile shitting out of my head.

Who wants to play the part of the baby seal?
If it involves duct tape, bungee cord and carabiners I can do it.

Parabol/Parabola

So familiar and overwhelmingly warm
This one, this form I hold now
Embracing you, this reality here
This one, this form I hold now, so
Wide eyed and hopeful
Wide eyed and hopefully wild

We barely remember what came before this precious moment
Choosing to be here
Right now. Hold on, stay inside
This body holding me, reminding me that I am not alone in
This body makes me feel eternal. All this pain is an illusion

We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment
We are choosing to be here
Right now. Hold on, stay inside
This holy reality, this holy experience. Choosing to be here in
This body, this body holding me, be my reminder here that I am not alone in
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal all this pain is an illusion

ALIVE!

This holy reality, in this holy experience. Choosing to be here in
This body, this body holding me, be my reminder here that I am not alone in
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal all this pain is an illusion

Swirling round with this familiar parable.
Spinning, weaving round each new experience
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate this
Chance to be… alive and breathing
Chance to be… alive and breathing

This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality
Embrace this moment, remember, we are eternal all this pain is an illusion

-Tool

Puppy Close-Up Wide-Angle Lens

Many people might not realize I can have a huge bleeding heart. I tend to show my frustration at my inability to help others rather than the source of that frustration. It seems I’m surrounded by all these wonderful people who have been helplessly beaten down by their environment. My instincts are to fight back against the bullies who have used, abused, manipulated, tortured and raped these people. Leaving the dead to bury the dead, I have sought to rally troops and engage combat.

We fight hardest against that which we hate the most about ourselves.

Perhaps all victims of bullying need is a shoulder to lie on. Or cry in. I can be that supportive, nurturing person too, it turns out. One shouldn’t expect precious china which has been violently shattered to pieces and smashed into the ground to fix itself. I often whine that life doesn’t play by my rules, but I can’t even begin to imagine what some people have been through. I feel incapable, incompetent and confused. Perhaps I don’t need to know anything. Perhaps it’s better to focus on reflecting the beauty and love which still exists in abundance despite the bullies’ best efforts instead of continual reminders of the atrocities that have been committed.

I don’t think we should ignore bullies and hope they’ll go away. At the same time, victims must be reminded that they aren’t to blame.

Fight Club

Fight Club is one of my favorite movies. Yesterday, I bought the book at a garage sale for fifty cents. I read it today in about as much time as it takes to watch the movie. My advice: don't bother. It is poorly written with little cohesion or substance. The movie succeeds in taking the best parts of the book and imroving upon it immensely. If this best seller is indicative of what is being written and read today, it is unsurprising that nobody reads anymore.

Woyzeck

Once upon a time there was a poor child who had no father and no mother. Everyone was dead. He had nobody in the whole world. And seeing there was nobody left on earth, he wanted to go to heaven. And the moon gave him a friendly wink. And when in the end he came to the moon, it was rotten wood. So he went to the sun. And when he came to the sun, it was a withered sunflower. And when he came to the stars, they were tiny golden insects (stuck in place), as though by a butcherbird on blackthorn. And when he wanted to come back to earth again the earth was on an upturned cook pot. And he was all alone, and he sat down and cried. And he is sitting there still, all on his own.

-from the film version of Woyzeck by János Szász

Why I hate Christianity

I don’t hate Christians; I object to those that blindly follow an ideology and attempt to impose that ideology on others. Ultimately, I feel sorry for them for being duped into believing what is not only a lie, but a poorly constructed one at that. I continuously hope that they can find the strength within themselves to reflect and explore the validity of what they have been told. But I find their persistent ignorance, willingness to be used and the underlying fear that permeates their existence, leading to a narrow, fanatic and often violent dogmatism, appalling.

Christianity is a multi-billion dollar tax-exempt institution that works like a pyramid scheme. Members are encouraged to donate 10% of their income while volunteering countless hours of their time and actively recruit other members. It has created a dogma convincing enough that it can unflinchingly demand its followers to believe and obey everything they are told no matter how unethical, ludicrous or masochistic it is and they will unquestioningly do it. Christianity’s influence in American culture and politics is obvious, profound and entrenched.

Perhaps there is nothing I value more than having the ability to educate myself and make my own decisions regarding my preferences and opinions. I do not have a personality suited for blindly going along with the crowd or agreeing with the masses simply because there are more of them than me. While I realize that I am biased against organizations in general, I especially don’t like when those organizations impose their ideologies on non-members. Groups tend to have the perspective that freedom is found in being able to be free from having to do things such as explore, reflect, trust one’s self and form unique ideas; whereas for individuals, freedom is found in being able to do these things. Many Christians will deny that individual freedom even exists (see Calvinism).

I also do not value knowledge based on tradition. Aristotle’s wrong but influential beliefs regarding physics and medicine prevented those fields from evolving for centuries. Today, religious aversion to anything contrary to its narrow sense of morality stymies the progression of humankind. Interestingly, the figures most influential in how we now conceive God were also greatly influenced by Aristotle. Christians will declare that they “know” Christianity is true because they’ve been a Christian for X number of years. If having believed something for a long time is all that’s required to make something true, that should lighten the workload of Christians trying to convert people that can trace their beliefs back not only years but generations.

Although Christianity comes in many forms and with many interpretations, all Christians I am aware of claim that a fundamental source of knowledge is the Holy Bible. They do not seem to realize that most of the traits which they identify with God have their origins not in the bible, but in St. Augustine, a theologian and philosopher born in 354 AD. He developed metaphysical theories on the nature of a supreme being using philosophical logic and not the scriptures. Almost a century later, Maimonides and then St. Thomas of Aquinas would help to solidify how most now envision the Jewish and Christian God. Christians will claim these are the same god, but it does not take a bible scholar to realize that while both are monotheistic religions, the figurehead of each is portrayed very differently. Metaphysically speaking, every god ever conceived in any religion has an equal chance of existing.

According to the Old Testament (OT), God physically looks like us. He is often found wandering around asking questions and devising tests. Obsessively jealous and controlling, he has an extremely unstable personality; fond of genocide, revenge, tricking his subjects, changing his mind, collecting spoils, manipulating nature, implementing nitpicky rituals and rules regarding everything and, foremost of all, the spilling of blood. Christians ignore almost all of the over 600 OT commands and rituals, including what’s become known as the Fourth Commandment to honor Saturday by not doing anything, which is among the most stressed laws in the OT. Incidentally, the Christian tradition of going to church on Sunday is not mentioned anywhere in the bible at all. These OT laws are not flippant but specific and important, with impressive punishments for ignoring them. Then again, God himself ordered Moses to break the Second Commandment.

Jesus didn’t seem to think obeying the Old Testament laws were very important, and Paul, the main author of the New Testament (NT), blatantly allowed for them to be ignored. This conveniently enabled them to come up with their own set of rules and rituals, most of which stress the importance of being abstemious, which is not surprising considering how much the NT praises suffering.

Christians will dismiss the OT god in favor of the NT one. This god, instead of punishing us when we’re alive, has devised a way to eternally and senselessly torture those who don’t so much as believe in his existence. Instead of the OT promises of wealth and prosperity on earth for the obedient, the NT offers Christians a life of suffering but infinite reward after they’ve died. Whereas sex was a reward in the OT, now it is a sin unless done under very specific conditions. Having lost his taste for blood but not pain, the NT god continues to condone slavery (read the book of Philemon, a letter written by Paul to accompany an escaped slave who he has convinced to return to his master) and treats women very differently than men. In fact, the salvation of women is found through childbirth. They are considered irrational beings incapable of understanding God, so must keep covered, segregated and silent in church. Obviously, Christians generally ignore most of the NT commands as well.

I could never trust a supposedly all-knowing being that is so overwhelmingly inconsistent. It is especially odd that the bible itself seems to indicate that God is unchanging. If he can change his mind, it is impossible to use century old documents to find out what he currently wants from us. In the bible, God does consistently hate being ignored. Why, then, does he choose to be invisible and inert? While it may be true that absolute power corrupts absolutely, few other gods behave as such insecure megalomaniacs as the Christian God. Like the cruelest dictator, he demands to be obeyed and worshipped constantly with extremely excessive punishments for refusing to do so. What does he need us to acknowledge his existence or importance for? Wouldn’t it have been easier to simply invent himself a therapist?

Christians will excuse the errors in the bible by pointing out that it was written by humans. Why didn’t God simply write it himself then? He supposedly wrote the first version of the laws he told Moses on Sinai on the front and back of two stone tablets (which Moses promptly, dramatically and conveniently smashed to pieces), so he is not incapable. What does he have to gain by having his minions write flawed and contrasting versions of his rules for him? According to tradition, Moses wrote the first five books of the OT, which would mean he couldn’t even be consistent as to where his own brother died and was buried.

The chapters and verses that the bible has been broken down to make it extremely easy for some parts of it to be used out of context and the other parts ignored in order to give a very skewed perspective of what it says. In reality, the bible contains contradiction after contradiction and a multitude of errors and discrepancies, despite the fact that it has been continuously edited throughout history, with dozens of books that were once part of the bible having been removed. (As but one example, Martin Luther removed many books from the Scriptures which he translated to German in 1534 but published them separately as what now known as the Apocrypha. See also: anagignoskomena and pseudepigrapha; and ancient texts like the Dead Sea scrolls.)

Jesus of the gospels is considered an incarnation of God. In contrast to the aggressive and warlike OT God, Jesus condones and praises passivity and submission. The four gospels telling of Jesus’ life differ immensely. Many, even in religions other than Christianity, consider Jesus a prophet, but he wasn’t a very good one, as he predicted he’d die and come back to life after three days and three nights, but in reality although the gospels disagree on almost every part of the resurrection story, they do demonstrate that he was in the grave for barely over a day and a half. I cannot understand why Christians are so willing to overlook such glaringly obvious fundamental flaws regarding extremely pertinent events in a supposedly perfect book about a supposedly perfect being.

Christians are really excited about the idea that their god loves them. They do not seem to realize that believing something or wanting it to be true does not make it true. The bible claims God is love, but actions speak louder than words. Unsurprisingly, love is not even written about in the bible very much, except in Song of Songs (which according to modern Christian standards is perverted) and 1 Corinthians 13. Unconditional love is nowhere to be found in the bible. I will never trust any ideology that condones multiple mass genocides for disobedience as being acts of love. Similarly, I will not consider anyone who demands to be loved under penalty of death to be loving or have any idea how love actually behaves.

It is not surprising that for Christians, knowledge is eschewed in favor of faith. Faith is the idea of believing in something even if there is no evidence for believing it. All humans, because they possess finite knowledge, often rely on faith. For rational beings, faith is superseded by facts. By way of analogy, one can have faith that another will never stab them, but once the other has stabbed them, it would be absurd to continue to believe they have never be stabbed. Christians hide behind faith as an excuse for remaining ignorant. They don’t need to explain why the bible has so many mistakes because they can simply assume it is the reader who is mistaken, even concerning passages that require no abstract interpretation whatsoever.

Christians tend to arrogantly think theirs is the only religion where there can be found a sense of peace and miracles. On the contrary, EVERY religion promises and delivers these things. The community, perceived security, hope and explanations religions provide are great ways of pacifying people. Miracles, derived from things such as laws of probability, self-fulfilling prophecies and selective attention, occur all the time, which makes them not that miraculous after all. Non-Christians win the lottery, too! The New Testament promises God will do anything a group of believers ask of him, which we all know is a flat-out lie. People find comfort in thinking that anything perceived as positive or beneficially yet unlikely is proof that God loves them. By the same logic, wouldn’t it mean that every supposed miracle that doesn’t occur means God hates them? On the contrary, Christians see this as proof that God knows more than we do. Christians have a justification for everything, and it is usually illogical, one-dimensional, short-sighted or a self-proving paradox that is a skillfully twisted play on words.

Just because something makes you feel happy and fulfilled, that in no way makes it true. It also doesn’t mean it will have the same effect on others. Many Christians will assume non-Christians are miserable. Often they will lament how miserable they were before turning to Christianity. This idea that everybody but them is miserable would be simply laughable except that Christians think it is their duty to “save” everyone from this assumed misery. They themselves have bought into hyperbolic stories about prodigal sons that scare them from imagining life possibilities other than the one they are familiar with. They are experts at the art of the guilt-trip. Until you believe exactly what they do, you are unequivocally wrong and should change your ways, which they have deemed sinful, whether you want to or not. They literally think they are doing others a favor by destroying their lives. It seems the true goal of Christianity is to make everybody who does not agree with them miserable.

Christians are very good at regurgitating clichés and embracing any evidence that supports what they already believe while simultaneously grasping at every perceived flaw in every view that is not theirs. Christians will tend to immediately disregard any opinion contrary to theirs as wrong without giving it any consideration, research or allowance for further explanation. They assume all contrary opinions are impulsive while theirs are divine. According to their rhetoric, while their motives for converting those who don’t agree with them are from love and compassion, the motives for pointing out the flaws in Christianity can only be anger and bitterness. Somehow heathens are the bad guys despite the fact that Christianity is the religion that promises eternal torture.

Because they think their religion has all the answers, most Christians are impossible to debate with. This is probably the most aggravating thing for me, a person who loves intelligent conversation. Christianity cleverly dissuades Christians from questioning their assumptions, as the suggestion of doubt is uncomfortably near to the all-important sin of unbelief. This fear is somewhat unfounded however, as the bible does allow for its god to be questioned, and the OT god prides himself in being tested.

It can be determined that the bible has too many mistakes to be reliable. By its own standards, one mistake is too much. Since flaws in it can be readily pointed out, it follows that any or all of it could be similarly flawed. This means Christians have absolutely no means for justifying their beliefs. They simply believe a bunch of random stuff random people told them and choose to interpret events that could happen in any religion or absence thereof as being the work of God. It logically follows that if Christians wish to justify their beliefs, they must first either explain why the bible is so full of holes or demonstrate that their views are correct without the use of the bible to justify their claims. Otherwise, it can only be assumed that their beliefs are completely unfounded. It then follows that they should, at the very least, refrain from forcing others into being subjected to their views.

If any Christian reads this and realizes I have valid points yet are unwilling to admit or debate them, you are nothing but a pathetic coward. If anyone notices anything demonstrably inaccurate in what I have presented, pleased be specific in letting me know what that might be.

Love’s Been Good to Me

I have been a rover
I have walked alone
Hiked a hundred highways
Never found a home
Still in all I'm happy
The reason is, you see
Once in a while along the way
Love's been good to me

There was a girl in Denver
Before the summer storm
Oh, her eyes were tender
Oh, her arms were warm
And she could smile away the thunder
Kiss away the rain
Even though she's gone away
You won't hear me complain

I have been a rover
I have walked alone
Hiked a hundred highways
Never found a home
Still in all I'm happy
The reason is, you see
Once in a while along the way
Love's been good to me

There was a girl in Portland
Before the winter chill
We used to go a-courtin'
Along October hill
And she could laugh away the dark clouds
Cry away the snow
It seems like only yesterday
As down the road I go

I've been a rover
I have walked alone
Hiked a hundred highways
Never found a home
Still in all I'm happy
The reason is, you see
Once in a while along the way
Love's been good to me

-Johnny Cash (Lyrics are actually by Rod McKuen)

Update

Although I have a few post ideas in my head that I'd like to get written down, I also have several more ambitious writing ideas that I am prioritizing before this blog. Also, now that winter is gladly away for a few months, I will be spending the majority of my time running around in the out-of-doors instead of sitting inside in front of this computer. Therefore, my contributions here may by spotty until it gets cold again....

Fear

My dad had called my brother and me out to the garage to help him with something. Before I was fully aware of what was going on, my dad had handed my brother a shovel and told me to guard the door. Suddenly, a huge white rat was seemingly everywhere in the garage at once, emitting a deafening high-pitched shriek, with my dad and brother scrambling after it desperately swinging their weapons. I began crying and pleaded for them to stop, and, after my dad realized he was getting nowhere with his justifications for killing the rodent, they eventually did.

It was terrifying. What struck me was not my own fear, but the intense and very real fear being experienced by the rat. We were responsible for making it afraid. Its only crime was having existed in our garage.

Fear, intimidation and shame are commonplace tools for control in our society. Religion, parents, governments, business people and peers all exploit fear to mold and influence our actions and beliefs. It is a highly effective tool, and that’s not a bad (or a good) thing. Fear can keep us safe. Fear tames the beast.

My assumption, however, is that fear is more often abused and abusive than it can ever be constructive. I am simply personally uncomfortable with the idea of inflicting fear. Conversely, I can’t stand others who attempt to scare. I refuse to be intimidated. My refusal to be deterred is a bias that separates me from the herd; where safety is usually seen to lie.

I am more comfortable foraging on my own than following the herd. Perhaps I’m simply afraid of being tamed. But I’ve tried that route and found it unsettling. The way I see it; I am simply too acutely aware of the ignorant assumptions, false warnings and blatant lies of others to follow anyone or anything other than myself. I am not at all afraid of making my own decisions.

I am no fucking sheep. I’m also not a rat being chased by shovels. I am not unconcerned for the angst my unpredictable nature causes in some. I seem to simultaneously blaze trails and burn bridges without even breaking a sweat while omlookers simply cringe. This empathetic fear can be reasonable, but it can also be nothing other than the manifestation of the lies they believe so earnestly.


I’ve been attempting to find a balance between existing on my own terms and freaking others out or pissing them off. I suppose I may be searching for prudence. It just seldom seems to be any fun.

Be For Real

Are you back in my life to stay
Or is it just for today
Oh, that you're gonna need me?
If it's a thrill you're looking for
Honey I'm flexible. Oh, yeah

Just be for real, won't you, baby?
Be for real, oh, baby
You see I, I don't want to be hurt by love again

So you see I'm not naive
I just would like to believe
Ah, what you tell me
So don't give me the world today
And tomorrow take it away
Don't do that to me, darling

Just be for real won't you, baby?
Be for real won't you, baby?
You see I, I don't want to be hurt by love again
Been hurt so many times
You see I, I don't want to be hurt by love again

I don't give a damn about the truth, baby
Except for the naked truth. Oh yeah

Just be for real won't you, baby?
Be for real won't you, baby?
You see I, I don't want to be hurt by love again
Oh no, oh no
It's just that I, I don't want to be hurt by love again

Thanks for the song, Mr. Knight

-Leonard Cohen

Terry and Morgan

The mid-April Saturday had been the warmest of the year so far. Terry and Morgan hadn’t waited for their dinner to digest before getting back outside to take full advantage. Actually, Terry had insisted they get back outside, but Morgan had no desire to resist. Now they stood facing each other in Terry’s front yard, Terry’s arms stretched to the heavens like an Evangelical overcome with the Spirit.

Leaning sideways with concentrated precision, Terry planted her little hands into the ground and shifted her weight to them. Focused on the task at hand, Terry did not notice that the grass was suddenly due for its first trim of the year. She pushed with all the strength her seven-year-old legs could muster. Terry, barely older than Morgan, would be quick to remind that she’d soon to be eight, but did not have the self-awareness to realize that she wasn’t currently strong enough to force her knees straight. Toppling around in a sort of semi-circle, Terry returned to her feet and threw her arms back into the air, beaming almost as bright as the setting sun, which was possibly paying more attention to the feat than Morgan was.

“Okay, did you see how I did that? That’s how you do a perfect cartwheel. Do you get it now, Morgan? Now you try it again, and just do it how I did.”

Morgan threw her hands in the air for what seemed like the hundredth time, realizing that this was the most important part of the stunt but unable to summon the enthusiasm to give it much pizzazz. Bending down, Morgan kicked her feet into the air and, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, crumbled straight to the ground into a pile. Then she swiftly but dramatically rolled onto her back, grateful for the soft, embracing grass. Morgan looked up to the sky at nothing in particular, although consciously avoiding the direction in which Tammy stood, laughing robustly and genuinely.

Tammy stomped into Morgan’s field of vision, hovering above her. Impatiently interrupting the laughter in an attempt to make it stop, Tammy scolded, “No, no, stop! You didn’t do it right, Morgan. Have you been watching how I do it?” Tammy sighed dramatically as the laughter finally faded. “Get up. I’m going to have to show you again. Watch this time. Okay, are you ready? This is how you do a perfect cartwheel….”

Plume

Oh yeah
Another day
Oh yeah
Gotta play
What it is
It never was
I don't care
To give enough

My boredom has outshined the sun
It's all down low
I just want to have some
Little fun

Oh yeah
Another day
Oh yeah
What a waste
What it is
It never was
I don't care
Or give a fuck

My boredom has outshined the sun
It's all down low
I just want to have some
Little fun

Bring me down
Bring me down

- Billy Corgan and James Iha

Ocean Size

wish I was ocean size
they cannot move you
no one tries
no one pulls you
out from your hole
like a tooth aching a jawbone...

i was made with a heart of stone
to be broken
with one hard blow
i've seen the ocean
break on the shore
come together with no harm done...

it ain't easy living...

i want to be
as deep
as the ocean
mother ocean, yeah

some people tell me
home is in the sky
in the sky lives a spy
i want to be more like the ocean
no talking
all action...
no talking
all action...

-Perry Farrell

Dating Material

I find it humorous in retrospect that I spent some time last year wondering why the women I’ve loved more than anything all left me. It’s pretty obvious, really. I’m too selfish, stubborn, irresponsible, hedonistic and predictable to be long-term relationship material.

The one that lasted longest and didn’t leave me per se was my best friend more than a lover. Friends are awesome, but I am a passionate person that can quickly overbear them. I hear people say, “I’m not interested in casual sex because I don’t want to get too emotionally attached.” First, casual sex is a total misnomer. If it’s casual, you’re doing it wrong. The closest I’ve ever come to casual sex is on the occasion when I’m mostly asleep while spooning someone and it sorta slips in and I groggily think, “What? Oh whoops, I mean, oh well….” Second, what is this fear of emotional attachment? I’m the type who is emotionally attached to all kinds of people, including those I’ve barely met, will never see again and have never slept with. I’d be a little disappointed if the only way you could become emotionally attached to me was by having sex with me. The only way I know of living is intensely- “Right up to the hilt,” as Doc Holiday suggestively put it in Tombstone.

Girlfriends have accused me of talking too much about everyone I’ve ever loved. Don’t they get that after they dump me I will continue talking about them lovingly too? I don’t fall out of love. I even still love the ones I’ve broken up with. From my point of view, everybody is different and so loved in incomparable ways. Similarly, I don’t have a favorite color- I see existence as a rainbow of beauty clouded by ignorance and greed.

I don’t get jealous, so I admit I don’t empathize well with jealousy. Both of these drive most people crazy. “How can you love me if you don’t care what I do?” Huh? I don’t follow the logic. How could I love you if I caged you in? I’ve noticed that relationships are often grounded on the hope that either the other will change or that they’ll change you. Sorry; I’m just not interested in either of those things. Am I emotionally damaged? Yes. Have I ever met anybody who wasn’t emotionally damaged? No. I’m okay with that. I don’t have all the answers and can’t stand those who think they do. My interests are to live, die, let live, let die, have fun while doing so and speak out against oppression here and there along the way….

Panic Attacks

Sometimes I like to pretend I am impervious to anything life can do to me. Maybe it has something to do with watching all that television growing up during which automatic weapons were being fired all over the place and nobody ever got so much as a scratch. But if that were the reason, I’d be negating my own premise, wouldn’t I?

The reality is I’ve started having panic attacks lately. It began a little over a month ago on my way to a party. I attributed this to social anxiety, which made sense, as I had spent months prior to that essentially alone. Still, I am a person who has performed in front of thousands of people and never even thought of getting nervous.

After that, I’d notice it happening whenever I drank coffee. “It” consisting of my heart pounding out of my chest, having heat flashes, breaking out in sweat and having my hands shake like an unbalanced washing machine. Easy fix, there, although that sucks because I really like coffee.

Then yesterday, while pondering the state of the economy and my job, it happened again. Now, since when have I worried about the future? What happened to “Carpe diem; Eat, drink and be merry because tomorrow we may die; calculatedly irresponsible” Andrew? Am I that scared? C’mon, me, pull it together.

Fuck it, dude. Let’s go bowling. Except I don’t like bowling. Mah jong, anyone? One of many things I love about that game is that you can lose and still win.

Passivity

I have a very difficult time comprehending passive communicators. I see how it can be advantageous in business dealings, when you’re trying to con someone out of something, but in our personal lives, where we, to a large degree, get to choose who we hang out with, it doesn’t seem to have a place. Why try to con a friend or attempt to fool someone into thinking they like or agree with you?

It seems unfathomable to me that others expect me to read their mind or are too cowardly to express themselves forthrightly. In my view, life is too short to be hinted at. I wear my emotions on my forehead, and am often accused of over-sharing. It is rare that anybody wonders what my opinion on any topic is. I have no shame- if I want something, I ask for it; if I’m wrong, I admit it.

Some don’t like to be disagreed with, but I’m used to it. Most people disagree with me on most subjects, and yet I bluntly feel my philosophy on life is more accurate than any other I’ve come across. My arrogance is indomitable. I’ve been falling backwards on chairs my whole life, regardless of my mother’s countless warnings, simply because I enjoy leaning back on them.

Social and cultural taboos are ridiculous to me, so I don’t bother heeding them. An ethos’ sustainability is a horrible indicator of credibility. Few people honestly question anything; which allows nonsense to be believed for millennia. If you need evidence of this, you are evidence of this.

I do understand that many humans are fragile creatures that need to be treated delicately. Frankly, I avoid these people, because I do not relate to them. Call me immature. I relate much better to the culture of Star Trek’s Klingons, where the best way to earn another’s respect is with a strong right hook. I haven’t been in a good brawl in years, despite that fact that I am a loud-mouthed and brazen S-O-B. I think this is evidence enough of a real flaw in our system of etiquette.

Sphere of Existence

My sphere of existence
What will it take to fill up this hole?
I dance around in eight figures
This comedy bouncing off this lost soul

I get lost, I’m last, I forget
Yeah, I dance

Could you be my reflection?
Could I be your exception?

Can you read my mind?
Stuck here in my own eternity
I’m looking through the backside of a mirror
To me you don’t see what we could be

You’re like my inverse reflection
You could complete this dimension in time

Could you be my reflection?
Could I be your exception?

I observe my fear thing
Will doesn’t stop it if I just run away
My heart bangs around this garbage can
Try to lift my mask to reveal my face

Maybe I’ll see what you think
I could be your fool forever someday, yeah

Could you be my reflection?
Could I be your exception?

-NED Grimes

Desire

Not long ago, a bratty but attractive girl told me she has found she can get anything she wants out of life. I implied, “fuck you,” but framed it much more philosophically.

Three tries later, she proved herself right. She never returned a call after that.

It’s the End Of The World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)

That's great it starts with an earthquake birds and snakes an aeroplane- Lenny Bruce is not afraid. Eye of a hurricane listen to yourself churn world serves its own needs don't mis-serve your own needs feed it up a knock speed grunt no strength no ladder structure clatter with fear of height down height wire in a fire represent the seven games in a government for hire and a combat site left her wasn't coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck team by team reporters baffled trump tethered crop look at that low plane fine then uh oh overflow population common group but it'll do save yourself serve yourself world serves its own needs listen to your heart bleed tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right- right. You vitriolic patriotic slam fight bright light feeling pretty psyched.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

Six o'clock TV hour don't get caught in foreign tower slash and burn return listen to yourself churn lock him in uniform and book burning blood letting every motive escalate automotive incinerate light a candle light a motive step down step down watch a heel crush crush uh oh this means no fear cavalier renegade and steer clear a tournament a tournament a tournament of lies. Offer me solutions offer me alternatives and I decline.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

The other night I tripped a nice continental drift divide Mount St. Edelite LEONARD BERNSTEIN Leonid Brezhnev Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs birthday party cheesecake jelly bean boom you symbiotic patriotic slam but neck right? Right.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine….

-Michael Stipe

Go On Ahead

You go on ahead, honey
You have a good time there
You make me feel funny
I'm no ordinary lover or friend

I believe we have things to do
I believe in myself and I believe in you
I believe when I sleep you are near to me
When you sleep I am near to you

You walk out of the room with your hands so deep
in your pockets, I don't recognize you
You say you're a ghost in our house and I realize
I do think I see through you

So, you go on ahead, honey
You have a good time there
You make me feel funny
I'm no ordinary lover or friend

It's a death in our love that has brought us here
It's a birth that has changed our lives
It's a place that I hope we'll be leaving soon
And I fear for the year in his eyes

And it goes around in circles
One night is lovely, the next is brutal
And you and me are in way over our heads with this one
It's hard to admit it
But you hold me and I can't feel you
We hurt but we smile
I promise I'll make it back when the summer has warmed me awhile

You go on ahead, honey
You have a good time there
You make me feel funny
I'm no ordinary lover or friend

I believe we have things to do
I believe in myself and I believe in you
I believe when I sleep you are near to me
When you sleep I am near to you

-Liz Phair

Mouthful of Cavities

(Listen, man, I’ve got the window open- hear the cats? Listen….)

Mouthful of cavities
Your soul’s a bowl of jokes
And everyday you remind me
How I’m desperately in need

See, I got a lot of fiends around
And they’re peaking through nothing new
They see you
They see everything you do

Seeing everything on the inside, out

Oh, please give me a little more
And I’ll push away those baby blues
’Cause one of these days this will die
So will me and so will you

I write a letter to a friend of mine
I tell him how much I used to love to
Watch him smile
See I haven’t seen him smile in a little while

Haven’t seen him smile in a little while

But, I know you’re laughin’ from the
Inside out
Laughin’ from the inside out
I know you’re laughin’ from the
Inside out
Laughin’ from the inside
From the inside
From the inside, out

-Blind Melon

Oregon Symphony

There is nothing quite so effective at reminding one of how much they love something as watching it being destroyed. Halfway through The Oregon Symphony’s highly ironic arrangement of Duke Ellington’s “It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing),” which opened the concert I went to last night, tears began streaming down my face. I have been brought to tears by music many times before, but these were not tears inspired by sublimity, these were tears for the dead. It’s not that I hadn’t been warned- the title of the concert was, after all, Soul of New Orleans. But there was no second line happening this night. This was nails being pounded tight enough into the coffin to ensure no soul would escape. After that first tragic song, the conductor, Jeff Tyzik, smugly quipped, “I can guarantee you’ve never heard that song played like that before. And I can guarantee there’s more of it to come!” And he was oh, so right.

The featured artist for the evening was a trumpeter/vocalist named Byron Stripling. His forte was witty between-song banter. And he thought he was really funny. As a musician, he was strikingly boring and conservative. He stuck to the melody, and the arrangements conveniently removed virtually all improvisation. In fact, he played all of one extended trumpet solo the entire evening, in “Honeysuckle Rose,” during which he had obviously no idea what to do whatsoever. He ended a full three measures short of the turnaround! His intonation was tight, avoiding blue notes and vibrato. He had an interesting habit of moving his pinky up and down- obviously pretending that there was a valve under it. “What a showman!” the middle-aged white people in attendance will say….

Before beginning one of the great classic blues songs of all time, Stripling did a routine overtly making fun of the blues. This was redundant, to be sure. What was the point of this concert? Why spend an evening going out of your way to ruin a truly original American classical art form? Why not just stick with playing Mozart and Elgar? While making fun of them, Stripling struggled to name some blues singers. He did come up with James Rushing. James Rushing? He is always called JIMMY Rushing! Even the guest musician had not bothered with getting an education in the true version of this music before dismissing it.

During the first set, they made a few ill-advised attempts at small group playing, but with the piano shoved practically off stage left, and the scattered trombonist and clarinetist, it was obvious that even if they had bothered to try listening to each other they wouldn’t really have been able to. There was also a guest drummer who was about as competent as a senior in any reasonably proficient high school jazz band. He was buried behind the violas with a plexi-glass screen in front of him, presumably because he can’t control his own dynamics or there’d be no such thing as getting him subdued enough.

The second set was to begin with “King Porter Stomp,” another of my favorite tunes. In his introduction, the conductor mentioned the Fletcher Henderson arrangement then bragged, “We don’t have Fletcher Henderson’s sax section, but he didn’t have OUR string section.” Oh, hell no! Fletcher Henderson assembled many of the greatest musicians of the 20’s and early 30’s to be in his highly innovative band and was probably the greatest arranger of all time, sacrificing his career as a bandleader to become Bennie Goodman’s full-time arranger. The Oregon Symphony is a bunch of hacks. I seriously wanted to punch Mr. Tyzik in the teeth.

As I scanned ahead on the program, I grimaced at anticipation of Flat Foot Floogie, because I knew this guy wasn’t going to be able to scat or was just going to act like a jackass while doing it. After all, he had already derided music with words you can’t understand. It did not escape me that the program misspelled Slim Gaillard’s name, nor did it pass me by lightly when Stripling referred to him as a “one-hit wonder.” Uh- hello? You’re seriously going to call a popular live entertainer and master of his idiom with a 40 year career a one-hit wonder? Stripling’s attempt at scat lived up to its name.

Up until the last one, every song had ended with the high tonic being held surprisingly short on the trumpet, followed by Stripling pumping his fist in the air at his own brilliance. It was forgivable that he didn't have Armstrong, Gillespie or Fergusen's range, but I doubted he had the ear to even play the fifth above or something interesting. Well, he finally went for it, but we'll never know what “it” was, because he flubbed it ENTIRELY. He quickly took the horn out of his mouth while grinning slyly as if he’d meant to do that. Is there any way to make a deal with the devil to trade this fucker’s soul for jazz back? Long live jazz; jazz is dead.

Just Like a Woman

Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev'rybody knows
That Baby's got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls.

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.

Queen Mary, she's my friend
Yes, I believe I'll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can't be blessed
Till she finally sees that she's like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls.

She takes just like a woman, yes,
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.

It was raining from the first
And I was dying there of thirst
So I came in here
And your long-time curse hurts
But what's worse
Is this pain in here
I can't stay in here
Ain't it clear
That I just can't fit
Yes, I believe it's time for us to quit
When we meet again
Introduced as friends
Please don't let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world.

Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do
You make love just like a woman, yes, you do
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl.

-Bob Dylan

Classical Music

Cooking

Although I have a solid reputation as a loner, it is a well-known secret that, going back to high school, I have almost always had a girlfriend. Recently, however, I’m thinking, “fuck ‘em,” and not in the sense that I usually mean that.

When I break it down, girls are useful for four things: conversation, haircuts, cooking and physical contact. (If you look closely enough, that last one is really two things.)

I've seldom found good conversation to be gender-specific, except I DO love to flirt. True; haircuts and cooking aren't actually gender-specific either; I just find it sexy when women do them and not men. Is that sexist?

Since my hair “style” consists of me never combing my hair (an ex from college is the genesis of this, by the way), giving myself haircuts is pretty easy- I simply stand in front of a mirror with scissors and hack at it until it is sticking up everywhere.

So now I’m teaching myself to cook. Like everything one doesn’t know how to do- it’s not as hard as it looks. I’ll never understand those who say they “can’t” do something. My experience is that most humans aren’t actually very clever- if someone else can do it, then so can I. Perhaps I can never do it expertly, but that’s a different thing entirely.

The first thing to do when acquiring a skill is to recognize your weaknesses. One thing I know about me is that I have a very poor sense of volume and clock-time. I have to measure and time everything; if I try to guess, I fuck it up. Another weakness when cooking is that I can’t stand untidiness. Cooking makes a mess! I get OCD about cleaning everything all the time, which distracts me from the cooking part of it. I honestly don’t know that I will ever be able to leave all the dishes until after I’ve eaten, but I can find a balance I’m sure.

The second thing to do is recognize your strengths. I am a master of taking copious notes. Every recipe needs fine-tuning, and I love that part of the process. Also, “undaunted” could be my middle name. I don’t mind fucking up a dish, because I figure out what to NOT do next time.

Anyway, I’m still eating. The whole physical contact thing though; I don’t see myself joining a convent anytime soon….

Bad Reputation

I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation
You’re living in the past- it’s a new generation
A girl can do what she wants to do
and that’s what I’m gonna do
An’ I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation

Oh no, not me

An’ I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation
Never said I wanted to improve my station
An’ I’m only doin’ good when I’m havin’ fun
An’ I don’t have to please no one
An’ I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation

Oh no, not me
Oh no, not me

I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation
I’ve never been afraid of any deviation
An’ I don’t really care if ya think I’m strange
I ain’t gonna change
An I’m never gonna care ‘bout my bad reputation

Oh no, not me
Oh no, not me

(Pedal boys!)

An’ I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation
The worlds in trouble; there’s no communication
An’ everyone can say what they want to say
It never gets better anyway
So why should I care ‘bout a bad reputation anyway?

Oh no, not me
Oh no, not me

I don’t give a damn bout my bad reputation
You’re living in the past- it’s a new generation
An’ I only feel good when I got no pain
An’ that’s how I’m gonna stay
An I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation

Oh no, not me
Oh no, not ME…
NOT ME, not me
NOT ME!

-Joan Jett

Technology Dependence

Spin-off

I just started ANOTHER blog. In stark contrast to this one, the other will be singularly focused on one topic. The posts will be short tasting notes on single malt scotch whiskies. I've already been writing them anyway; I figure I might as well demonstrate my ignorance to all. I'll figure out how to easily link it from this blog soon, but the address is http://amateurwhiskytastingnotes.blogspot.com.

Cartoons

A couple of doodles I made today (while waiting for a UPS truck):






The car squeeling to not crash is usually me....

Happiness

“‘Are you happy?’ ‘Am I happy? Well, I don’t know- as happy as the next man I guess. I don’t laugh all day long like an idiot if that’s what you mean.’”

People that might not know me very well may get the impression that I am a miserable person. On the contrary, I am generally happy and satisfied with my life. I have the greatest friends in the world and a very supportive family.

I enjoy being contrary, snarky, perverted, aware, honest, opinionated, snobby, inappropriate, rude, cynical and bitter. Fortunately, I also like spending a lot of time alone. I like lying in bed watching samurai movies. I love quotations. I love that baseball games are often three hours long. I have a cute little house and really nice kitchen knives with no roommates to ruin them. I love going out for Thai or Indian food a couple times a month. I enjoy backsliding on my vegetarianism and getting sushi every so often. I like not owning a bunch of clutter. I have a decent job that I enjoy most days. I love drinking and playing board games with friends. I think cleaning up cat puke five minutes after I get out of the shower is awesome (no, that’s not true; that’s just what I’m doing right now).

If women (or their boyfriends) didn’t keep dicking me around, I would be ecstatic. If I had about $1,000 to fix up my truck, that’d be awesome. If I had a few hundred thousand to start my own business, that’d be perfect.

If I were like the masses, then I’d be miserable. I hate religion, nationalism and greed. I abhor the idea of marriage. I can barely stand children and find human proliferation appalling. I don’t like bullies, republicans, racists and homophobes. I don’t like people who brag about how philanthropic they are. I can’t stand whiny, lazy people. I don’t like exercise, yoga, saunas or bubble baths. I don’t want to try to be positive or optimistic all the time. I don’t want to improve my well-being. I can’t stand liars or delusional people. I also can’t stand people who can’t make up their own minds or those who believe whatever the hell somebody told them. “And I hate the fucking Eagles.”

Bottom line: I’m having a good day; so leave me the fuck alone.

Exodus

During the Jewish exodus myth, just after running from the Edomites (resulting in a detour that causes the people to grumble so much that God sends venomous snakes to punish them but tells Moses to erect a bronze snake idol that saves them from dying from the poison, breaking his own fourth commandment), but just before defeating the Amorites and fornicating with the Moabites while their god surprisingly betrays his own people by having Balaam tell all his plans to the Moabite king Balak, Aaron dies (again, actually; he had already died once according to Deuteronomy 10, cross-reference Numbers 33)). Why does Aaron die? Death before overthrowing the Canaanites and taking possession of their land by committing mass genocide on the many nations inhabiting the land of Canaan was God’s punishment to both Moses and Aaron because God asked Moses to speak to a rock to draw water from it and he hit it twice with a staff instead, which incidentally proved equally effective (Numbers 20). It does not actually state nor is it at all apparent what Aaron did wrong. God simply declares they both rebelled against his command, and that’s all he needs to do, really, being a supreme being and all.

This seems an odd offense for receiving the death penalty. Then again, God is a real reactionary with a twisted sense of justice. After all, the last thing God has Moses do is wipe out every last Midianite man, woman and child (the very people who had hid Moses from the Egyptians for forty years after he murdered one of them) except the 32,000 virgin girls, which they were allowed to keep as sex slaves (Numbers 31). This was an act of revenge because the Israelites were going out and having sex with the women of and worshipping the god Baal of the Moabites (a completely different nation, although they were in league) and because an Israelite named Zimri took a Midianite girl named Cozbi into his tent (Numbers 25). I have no idea how any of that would have been the entire Midianite nation’s fault; after all, Aaron’s grandson had immediately stabbed the actual perpetrators both through with a spear, presumably while they were “having relations.” In apparent fairness, 24,000 Israelites were also killed by a plague because of these incidents.

But beyond that, it is easy to understand how Moses could have been confused by God’s command. Early in their journey (Exodus 17), God had asked Moses to strike another rock with a staff to draw water from it under very similar circumstances. After all, the first rock was in the Desert of Sin and the second in the Desert of Zin. Both occasions were a result of the people quarreling because they were dying of thirst. And God did command Moses to take the staff with him the second time. Moses was so confused, in fact, that he named both places Meribah! (Besides being forty years give or take a month or two apart, these could not have been the same incident because the first happened at Rephidim and the second at Kadesh (cross-reference Numbers 33).) In essence, God virtually tricked Moses into disobeying him and then blamed both he and his brother. To his credit, he resurrected Aaron once without even taking credit for it and let Moses, three years Aaron's junior, live to be 120 in perfect health (Deuteronomy 34:7). That was generous.

This is all a bit tedious and my point is perhaps a little vague, so let me spell it out for you. Anyone who smugly notes that the god of Judaism and Christianity is consistent, loving, just and kind can cram those lies down their throats and choke on them. It is so easy to find contradictions all over the Bible that it is mind-boggling that many claim there aren't any. THIS is what every honest sermon would look like.

Homelessness

I have a real affinity for homeless people. I loved the homeless all around in San Francisco, and find myself missing them here. It irks me when others refer to the “homeless problem.” What’s the problem? As far as I’m concerned the far bigger problems in this society include capitalism, greed, property ownership and snobbery.

People with money can kiss my ass. Capitalism is based on the realization that you can make money by convincing others to do your job for less than what it’s worth. There are few ways to become rich other than by sheer luck, scamming others or inheritance. Don’t even try to tell me you work hard for your money. You want to experience hard work? Try being poor and homeless. Don’t tell me you’ve “earned” the position you’re in now. Please; the vast majority of the world’s population toils to their deaths and never earn anything. Most Americans spend more money than they have just to convince others they’re not poor anyway. Your home, your car, your huge ass television and your fancy clothes are probably all loaned to you on credit.

I myself have been a phone call from my parents away from the threat of homelessness at least twice. I wouldn’t want to be homeless because I’d fear being harassed or beaten by the police and other thugs.

Why are the homeless treated as criminals and not victims? Why shouldn’t free toilets and showers be provided for them? Why don’t people give their used clothes to the homeless instead of Goodwill? I will admit; I was shocked to find myself having a hard time getting rid of an uneaten and still hot cup of soup I had accidentally ordered across the street from People’s Park in Berkeley, because nobody wanted it. How the hell could you be homeless and not want soup?

There are those who begrudge that many homeless are drug addicts and say they don’t give them money for fear they’ll spend it on drugs. I hate drugs, but not drug users. This is another case of treating victims as criminals as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care if the homeless spend their money on drugs, just as I don’t think it’s anybody’s business what I spend my money on (unless they’re loaning it to me).

I knew of a musician who consciously decided to break up with her boyfriend, sell everything she owned except her van and become a full-time drug addict. She eventually lost the van, too. This is an extreme example of irresponsibility, but hey, whatever happened to the American dream of following your bliss? I do not believe this is how most people become homeless, although others would disagree. I found this story appalling when I heard it, then considered that it wasn’t as annoying as all the musicians I was working with whose concern was whether or not their album would sell and not at all whether the music on them was any good.

Thank Ronald Reagan for the fact that many homeless have mental health issues and no access to treatment.

When I moved to the Bay Area, someone shared a tip regarding giving to the homeless that I still follow. Pick out one person (or two or six people if you’re better off than I) whose paths you cross regularly and sort of adopt them by giving to them more or less exclusively. This keeps the conscious clear while turning down money requests from others. Another benefit of this strategy is that the person becomes a person. You’ll find yourself missing them when you have your dollar ready to give and they’re not there. They’ll probably start wanting to have conversations with you (or is it that you'll want to start having conversations with them?). If you don’t have time to listen that day, you can honestly say, “I have to go now, but next time I’m by I hope to have more time to chat.” I also almost inevitably give money to street musicians because I used to be one. My current guy is super nice and hangs around the liquor store in St. John’s. He always says he's not going to use it for booze because he doesn’t drink, to which I respond, “I don’t care; that’s what I’m spending my money on.”