Hello Victor
I was gonna write 'bout how I think one way to survive in this world is you gotta assume everyone else is an idiot. But two things happened today that changed my mind.
The first was my landlord died. I just saw him a few weeks ago maintainin' the apartment complex. We waved to each other like we always did. Apparently he'd cancer.
My plan was to draw a parallel between drivin' and life. Cause in the 22 years (24 illegally) that I've been behind the wheel I've never gotten into a serious accident.
Nor've I ever'd road rage. Sure, I've carelessly bumped into a couple of vehicles, but nothin' worth reportin' to the insurance company. And traffic can be annoyin'.
Apparently he'd had it for the last two years. He was old and I didn't think he looked the healthiest he could be. Yet his passin' was unexpected. I thought he was cool.
He kept my rent down even as he charged new tenants way more--I've been at my place for 16 years. Any problems I had, like with drains or doors, he'd fix right away.
I figure it's how I perceive others on the road--they're all idiots. So I can't get mad at 'em cause they don't know how to control their cars. They're all hopelessly lost.
If they knew where they were goin', they'dn't swerve in front of me to get onto the interchange or block the flow with their retarded speed as they search for an address.
You just gotta let 'em be idiots. And from there I would jump to the conclusion that this theory applies to life in general. Almost always it sometimes does. Except...
The second thing that happened today was my nephew arrived--I'm an uncle. And all this talk 'bout everyone bein' an idiot seems rather inappropriate at the mercy of life'n'death.
Goodbye Zyggy
(7.14.10)
S L O W L Y D O W N W A R D
(7.15.10)
"Popcorn Superhet Receiver (A)"
"Popcorn Superhet Receiver (B)"
(7.16.10)
"Knives Out"
(7.19.10)
Sometimes I wish I'd four hands so that I could play the guitar whilst drivin'. Cause I've been gettin' lots of practice time in the confines of my car, mostly screamin' my head off to hit those higher notes. Cause I'm aimin' for the opposite of my Dylan voice--in tune'n'up an octave. And I'm findin' the hours I spend on the freeways, where no one seems to care 'bout how loud I yell, to be productive. Last week I strained to hit the second E-flat 'bove middle C, sweatin' as my vocal chords stretched. But now that note's under control--I can sing it nice and comfortably, which means I can choose my own volume, which not always should be uncontrollable. I mean, if I can't hit those notes quietly, I need to abuse my voice more. Of course I realize that I've got limits. Even though I'm creepin' up the scale, there's gotta be a point, I'm sure, where I can't go any higher. So it's in the car where I'll find that out. I'm now shootin' for the next highest G. Without falsetto. I can do it, but right now it sounds like I'm really reachin' with all my might--not somethin' that's easy on the ears. Plus, my goal this summer is to land on the neighbourin' A with ease. However, a nice result of all this over ambitious pushin' of my voice is I'm findin' it so much easier to hit 'em lower notes--there's some cosmic generality that I suppose I could come up with regardin' such, but I'll leave that up to the reader's imagination. As well, I've been tryin' some alternate tunin's on my guitar--D B D G B E is one of 'em. Tonight I played with my eyes closed without too much trouble. If only I could strum as I drive...
(7.20.10)
Have you ever driven from Hacienda Heights to Redondo Beach late at night'n'found most of the highway interchanges to be closed? So you're headin' west on the 60 and you wanna take the 605 south but for whatever reason they've got it coned'n'arrowed off. Now you could follow the detour at Peck Rd, but you've taken the 710 south in the past on these occasions, and it's not that much of a stretch to connect with the 105. However, as you approach that interchange, you read the electronically updated roadside signs and they say "2 LT LANES CLOSED 710 SOUTH" and you think, well, that's not cool. And even though now you're really goin' the long way back you figure you'll hit the 405 south. But sure enough, that's bein' blocked off, too. What the fuck...
If this was a dream I'd say it again, "What the fuck..." Like the gods're conspirin' against you--cock blockin' your every move. Even though you'd ever opportunity to get you back on track, you passed on 'em, and somehow it's more than obvious that things just'ren't gonna go your way. Not like you're trapped, but if you were shut off from one, that'd be bad luck, two and that's coincidence. Three is a sign. And it'd be at this moment that I'd wake up and forget 'bout that nightmare. So you try to open the eye in your mind. Nothin'. You're still cursin' the road crew workin' on whatever they're workin' on that's got the lane leadin' to the interchange closed. As a last ditch, you waste the final wish you've been allotted. And miraculously, the blockage disappears...
(7.21.10)
"Like Spinning Plates"
(7.22.10)
Vacationin' in New Mexico. Resumin' posts in August.
(7.23.10)
Caged Beagle Productions, Inc.
(8.2.10)
I can't say I've seen too many sunrises nor've I watched the movie There Will Be Blood cause I usually wake up way after those natural occurrences and if there's an actress involved in that film she hasn't caught my eye yet. I mean, my memory's got some distinctively cool mornin's where I've specifically caught the sun poppin' up over the horizon--you know, stayin' up all night hopped up some sleeplessness producin' project and beholdin' the beginnin' of another day. And I've got the soundtrack, but saved listenin' to it for the drive to Taos.
It took me 14.5 hours with gas, snacks, and restroom breaks. I left California at 20:30 on Friday and arrived in New Mexico at 12:00 the followin' day--they're in the next time zone. I purposefully wanted to get it done in one shot, partly to see if I had the stamina, which havin' returned the same way I came, I can vouche that I've got, and also cause I'm the sorta person who likes to finish what he starts with as minimal interruptions possible. It's pretty fun, actually, to steer the distance alone. I could've been a starship pilot in another life.
A night drive was chosen to avoid traffic as well as that's the time when my mind's sharpest--I guess it's my biological rhythm. So I loaded up on a bunch of Radiohead CDs--all their studio albums, some B-sides, live recordin's, and bootlegs. After leavin' Barstow, it's pretty much nothin' til Albuquerque, albeit I've never traveled in this direction before. And I knew, if I timed it right, somewhere I'd put on Greenwood's score and find myself hearin' and seein' somethin' for the first time. Hopefully I won't forget any of it.
Cause at my age, I kinda feel like nothin's really impressive anymore. I've heard many mind blowin' combinations of sounds and sights, but as I grow older, I've noticed that their impact diminishes. Not that I don't appreciate music or visual arts, it's just there really aren't too many things after those initial discoveries that feel as consciousness changin'. Like that first time a chord changed from major to minor--my world warped forever. But it's a mindless progression nowadays despite I'll always love it. Same goes for the motion of the sun.
Anyways, at 'round 04:30 I noticed an illuminated blueness under a cloud. Immediately I changed discs and tuned into the show. I can't say that anythin' was new--come on, it's another sunrise accompanied by music. But it's the differences and the combinations thereof that gave me that ol' "time's standin' still" feelin'. I had my camera, but decided to enjoy the moment rather than worry 'bout capturin' it. Cause it was far too grandiose for my widest lens to capture. Plus, you had to be there--in the car with the stereo cranked loud.
Not to mention, I hate describin' music and anyone who thinks they can's yet to show me how. But the first track's called "Open Spaces" and headin' east on a dark'n'cloudy mornin' with a spectrum of colours commin' to life is pretty close to a perfect title. It's all primarily monochromatic strings which contrasted well with the glow of galaxies sprinklin' the sky--I completely forgot there was a windshield between me and the view, or that I was in a vehicle for that matter. I could've crashed and not've been more complete soulwise.
(8.3.10)
Hmm, I'm not sure how I'll write this entry. Cause like I tried to promise, I'm not gonna talk 'bout my favourite subject this summer. And despite my desire to break my stupid little rule, I think it'd be more interestin' if I explained why I went to New Mexico within' the confines of my self imposed restrictions. So here goes...
July's obviously the off season at Taos Ski Valley. I was researchin' the area online when a circulation student at the library walked into my office. "Oh're you goin' skiin'?" she noticed. I laughed'n'said "It ain't snowin' now." "Then why're you lookin' at a website for a ski resort?" she reasonably unmistook, but was still wrong.
The day before I left I'd sushi with some music students. "I'm goin' to New Mexico tomorrow," I announced. "Yeah, she told me," she spoke as she folded her napkin onto her lap. The white bottle of hot sake arrived and I filled her similarily shaded small cup. "She's crazy," she described a mutual musical friend/competitor.
Nevertheless the ski lifts were still in operation. You could ride 'em up to the top of the slopes'n'go hikin' on trails. The elevation required lots of water drinkin'. And I lodged in a condo for a ridiculously cheap price, at least in comparison to the winter rate. One night we brought some wine, cheese'n'bread to my room.
One day we visited the local pueblo. Accordin' to the sign, I couldn't take any photographs, so alas, I've got no shots to show. But I'll say it was cool--no electricity, corn dancin', churches, graveyards'n'adobe. Later we roamed the galleries. Man, was there a ton of art. Lots of colourful shit. A bit too not unhappy for my taste.
For most of our meals, we ate at the ski lodge--a facsimile of an alpine dinin' room, with deciduous deer bone, brass'n'tree trunks. French chefs cooked their native cuisine. However, on my last night there, we ate at the village's New Mexican restaurant--chicken enchiladas with mole sauce, Navajo tacos'n'house margaritas.
(8.4.10)
Brilliance beheld before bemusements
Resilience rebels restored refusements
"And so it suggests," said the jester
"And so it guesses," said the guest
Millions of moose made maps avoid
Trillions of truth trade trapezoids
"And so it festers," said the jester
"And so it figures," said the fig you're
Eatin' eagles ain't easy
Seatin'seagulls ain't sleazy
"And so it molests," said the jester
"And so it foils," said the spoils
Of war without crafts'n'balloons
Of whores without rafts'n'saloons
"And so it digests," said the jester
"And so it goes," said the ghost
(8.6.10)
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