yours is the only version of my desertion that I could ever subscribe to

here are a few great things:

-indiana.

-interpol.

-wheat thins. (esp. when you can stand in front of your refrigerator with a box of wheat thins tucked under your arm and systematically go through the condiments and other assorted fridge fare and dip them in anything you notice.)

-family.

-specifically, my family. more specifically, my hero/grandfather. what a fucking man. DAMN. he is, i believe, mostly responsible for any awesomeness that i bear. or any of us, really. him and my own father. Mom, we got real lucky for a family full of hard-luck white-trash/ immigrants and others searching for political/religious/linguistic asylum.

-public radio.

-making friends.

-having a job that makes me not really care if it’s a work day or not, because i know it will be funny either way.

-bourbon.

-beer.

xoxox

Yes, we speak of things that matter, with words that must be said.

my life is mosty functional.

that is, i feel purely utilitarian. proletariat.

i find little bits of satisfaction in conversation, in sunlight, in passages of books that others have written that ring true.

but for the most part, i work. i make a little money. i spend a little money.

and i do radio. at which my mumbling and my stuttering render me mediocre. but it doesn’t matter because i can play music without speaking, and say a lot that way.

sitting on my porch (MY porch. my somewhat-very-own porch) tonight, i got an idea of what the next nine or ten months will be like.

new house, new street, new corner store (where i got recognized from work. that’s an entry for another day.) new bus route, new bike ride.

new heartache, new uselessness, new nights spent wandering in circles in my home with a bottle and a romanticized idea of what my life was supposed to be like.

perhaps i was wrong in condemning organized religion. i see the merit- it must be nice to feel like there’s a reason to your existence.

but ignorance gets corrected eventually, and it’s never easy to swallow.

i prefer to deal with what is in front of me, and not what is beyond the last heartbeat.

and, apparently, i will do this in the corniest way possible.

so, i will continue to live on my own first principle:

don’t fuck anyone over.

now sweet sixteen’s gone twenty-one

it’s true! i aged!

i did not:

-vomit.
-make a total fool of myself.
-”black out” (whatever that actually means.)
-have to sift through any drama.

i did:

-spend it with most of the people in this little city that i wanted to.
-give pizza to a homeless man.
-eat a really big cookie.
-see a wide array of establishments and humans.
-see a surprising number of people i knew. which was fun.
-get stood up, a little, but fuck them anyway.

i also only drank beer all night.

lots of it.

several kinds.

and several mac + jack’s.

so, not bad.

thanks friends, for caring. you’re pretty fucking good ones.

and for the ones that i didn’t get to raise one with, well…

i intend to know you all for a proper long time.

so no worries, there.

and today it’s sunny.

so imma get on my bike.

neck deep in contradiction in the gut of the beast

i am excited for-

-the blue scholars on saturday. i am fully prepared to hand over my senses and become immersed in epic words.
- Lonely, Dear. Their album is really lovely and I finally got it onto my computer.
-music in general.
-also, Post Harbor. Like Muse, but also like Explosions in the Skyl, but also like….early 90’s Kurt and Chris? Mostly, just beautiful.
-the greenness of everything.
-the greenness of me.
-the shrinking moon.
-my little indiana.

i’ve been writing like the price of ink is on the rise. it’s really been theraputic.
it’s keeping me out of a plunge. which i feel is immintent, but I keep rocking back on my heels, keeping my center of balance just low enough not to spill over into the sea.

everything is moderately mysterious theses days. and although everything is recycled, and nothing is truthfully new or different or novel, it all feels like the first.

the first full moon. the first deep frost. the first frozen puddle. the first crisp night. the first song. the first word.

people are dropping off from all around. i wonder what it means for anything to be permenent.
or meaningful, for that matter.

in my 16th century lit class, we were discussing Sir Wyatt the Elder, and his poetry, and how he continuously decided that he had wasted his time in the pursuit of love, that he had nothing to show for it, that he had squandered his youth.

but when you get down to it- what does it mean to waste? if something was learned, or a piece of art was borne or even an idea was formed, then wasn’t it purposeful, or at least meaningful? and really, what does it mean for something to “work out” if the end result is the big sleep anyway. I mean, how is there such a thing as a “fairy tale ending” when we all know that “happily ever after” is the same as “until they both died.”

the fact is this- our minutes of breath, of youth and of energy in motion in general are finite. and as long as you are interacting, loving, excersizing your ability to emote and feel and sense and touch and experience, then what does it mean for anything to be for naught?

alright, the point of it all is this- there is no such thing as a waste of time, as long as in the end you are a more evolved person. because everyone arrives at the same conclusion- it’s just who enjoys the trip there more.

so fucking love someone. alright?

and furthermore-

nothing in the world can be promised to any degree of certaintly except for that check, written out from fate, to be cashed when your time is up. you’re going to die and that’s all there is to be sure about.

so no, i can’t promise anything “forever.” i can’t even promise anything for tomorrow.
i can only say, right now, that i love you. whatever that means at the exact moment that you hear it, or read it, or even remember that i said it.

so i guess i made meaning. but it may only be meaningful right now, in this context.

but that’s another discussion entirely.