perceptions of self

IM'ing with a friend about investing in energy funds (I know, fascinating):

F: Why didn't it occur to me earlier to invest in energy or really, anything that's going to run out and become more expensive
me: because you had silly notions of energy being ~~evil~~ or some such.
me: fucking brainwashed hippy.
F: ok, why don't YOU invest in it
me: because my ex has all my money.
F: :|
[a moment passes]
F: you're like the ghost of christmas future.

strangely, this may be my proudest moment.

Just because the christmas past slots were all taken,
doesn't mean I can't be jolly.

Sharing

Sharing is the best part of relationships. Sharing your thoughts, reactions, opinions, predilections, pleasures, perspectives with the ones you love fosters so much of the intimacy. I guess that's because in these ways you're sharing your self. Witnessing an act of sharing, you can feel the connection between two people, the breaking down of one ego wall so soul can mesh and engage with other soul. The guy comes back to his girlfriend after hanging with a buddy. He was intrigued by something that came up in conversation, and a minute after getting back in, he's telling girlfriend how dude had an eye-opening reading of Master K, the awesome character in their favorite comic. Friend inquires about a series of books by one author she sees on another friend's shelf. Friend A has not read a page by this author, "you like him?" Not only is he his favorite author, but more, Friend B shares, he has to think about it, but "he has such a beautiful optimism for humanity. Everything doesn't work out in the traditional sense, there's death, great change, and elimination of our societies, but it's ok, and he has us change so that we're better. I really identify with his voice." Guy appreciates his copy of the King Arthur tales, "you really get the Zen Consciousness Spontaneity of these knights. you venture out to execute your mission, but along the way, if there is a call upon your capacity as a knight, save a village, slay a dragon, etc., you focus on the task at hand, blocking out distractions of discomfort, inconvenience, bad odds, and resolve the crisis before resuming the original mission." Gal appreciates his sharing.

I guess this is the spirit behind take-her-flowers gestures. For a lot of folks, flowers are nice to have around, so it's an obvious way of doing something nice. Apart from the flowers, you're showing your regard for a person, and maybe presenting something interesting. You wouldn't get her sunflowers since you know the big seed heads freak her out. Daisies seem too common. A bunch of ranunculi are lovely. When you give them to her she'll get happy from the something nice, and your giving. Then she might pull out a small pitcher with the scene of ducks painted on one side. You'd forgotten about this pitcher and certainly would never have thought to place flowers in it. It looks charming, and utilized with the ranunculi. The ranunculi in turn look settled at home, and even more lovely than they did at the florist or wrapped in newsprint in your giving hands. You got the flowers knowing this could happen, that things could be better because she can appreciate them.

Sometimes my reading sets off my romantic notions. I thought this passage captured what i tried expressing above:

"The right girl is… everything. She can be everything. She can turn your life from empty to whole. She can make everything goddamn better, because she's so goddamn great, and anytime you see something else great in the world you want to bring it back to her, because she's going to love it and just make everything more great.." - Narrow Road

poem for daniel

Very hot in L.A. -
all the girls shorten their skirts
and are sweaty.

at the Tea Garden

On this wooden platform,
I can feel each step from every passing girl.
Stompiness makes a girl less sexy.

Thinking about pinball

Ever since Sarah bought me a Wii for my birthday, I've been playing a lot of pinball. Williams Hall of Fame pinball simulator, to be precise - but it's a pretty spectacularly good simulator. Everything feels right - the weight of the ball, the flipper response, that bleeding edge between chaos and control that real pinball gives you. You can even push the table around with the magical Wii-mote.

It's kind of interesting, actually. What I've been discovering is that both pinball and painting are sort of... zen no-mind biofeedback devices. For both, you do absolutely the best with a clear, unselfconscious mind, totally devoted to the object act hand. The moment some shred of self-criticism or worry or self-judgment creeps in, skill suffers. Balls drop. Paint strokes go stiff. Life goes away. You lose your multiballs. But it's a marker, a way of making subtle inner states outwardly explicit. It helps you track your no-mind zen state - it helps you notice when it goes off. And I find, as I paint more, and play pinball more, that I'm getting better at slipping into no-mind.

Why is it so compelling, though? I think it's partly because pinball is part of this class of games - very low amounts of input, or very constrained types of input, into vastly complex systems. Golf, poker, Knizia's Ra - all are like this. And there's this weird narrative energy to pinball, too. Unlike most of the arcade games, you're not in constant contact with your little jumpy dude. You hit the ball, you send it out, it bounces, further away, coming towards you, bouncing away, you're trying to predict when it comes, and how, disinterested at first, gradually more focused and intense as the ball starts to drop, trying to anticipate when it'll come and what angle and how fast and where it wants to go and how you should get it there, all at once. A game of pinball is, instead of a steady state of reflex-testing, a series of little narrative arcs - further away, and coming back - over and over again.

The ball hanging
at the top of its arc
between the bumpers.

Found Haiku

previous applicants
  may apply again
        except graham

Found here.

happy father's day

Anyway, after spending the early part of last night with insomnia, my son woke me at 3am, calling me urgently. I shuffle into his room, eyes not quite open. Standing by the rail of his crib, almost pleadingly, he tells me 'daddy, horsey did it.' except it's like 'Daddy, hooorsey did it,' his grogginess coming through in the emphasis. I tell him that's ok, and that he needs to lie down and close his eyes and try to go back to sleep. Which, somehow, he then proceeds to do.

Horsey, you rogue,
Trampling through our dreams,
Running down our rest,
I'll make glue of you, yet.

Watching my girlfriend
play Wii Pinball all night:
more fun than you'd think.

memorizing

Here's what I'm memorizing - one of my very favorites:


280


I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept bating - beating - till I thought
My Mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -


-ED

Horizon

Before today, Nathaniel planned in years.
In four his Ph.D.; a wife in six,
And then, his tenure topped his dreams and fears.
(For later gain, for now he takes his licks.)
His doctor looks at him. And then the floor.
"How long?" "It's hard to say--" "Well try."
"It's months. Perhaps 2 years. But hardly more."
"I'll fight; I'll learn--" "It's not like that." A sigh.
"OK. I'll take what time I have to see the world.
And make some languished friendships once more new.
The perfect chance to spend my money squirrelled
away! Well thank you, Doc, you've changed my view."
And as he walked out of the hospital
he was hit by a bus and died.

... and this little piggy went to market.

A mountain of peaches
With articulate scent.
“We’ll be ripe by the weekend.”

A flooded market.
At 99 cents per pound,
I’ll take a crate.

Three elderly Jews
with beards down to their knees
in the front seat of a Ford Dart.