5 august 2001

dead heat.

 

The breeze is usually still, though i can see the tops of the trees bend and waver where they push against the sky. There is a sheen of sweat on my face, the air is hot, sticky and the sun feels like sharp needles pushing through my skin. A bead of sweat accumulates on my temple then falls.

The cicada's sing their endless song, the grackles parade suspiciously, yet defiantly with their bills open and the yellowjacket nests are increasing... as is their population. The grass that was green and lush a few months ago is lethargic, dying, dead or has been replaced with a patch of black soil that's absolutely void of life. Trees are starting to wilt.

And driving around town, the charred spots where the self centered assholes who toss their cigarettes out and end up catching the ground on fire are starting to increase in numbers.

It's summer again, and it's this time of year that makes me think that the heat will never go away and the rain will never return.

---

I'm not sure what to say here. There are a swarm of thoughts in my head, some good, some deep, some dark, some filled with desire and some of those are filled with passion. There is someone i used to work with who's now going through the same betrayal and abandonment that i went through while living in SF. I've been thinking of trying to talk to him, to see if he's feeling some of the same things i went through but i don't know him all that well.

I'll think about it.

Oh, speaking of things past, i was at the Austin Land and Cattle Company friday night. I was there to see Mikey [drums] and Jonathan [trumpet] play. It was some pretty good jam and... well, the waitress' were mostly pretty easy on the eyes. =) I was feeling pretty good [thanks to the Bass Ale] until they played, My Funny Valentine. I guess it just caught me off guard more than anything else. See... it was my ex who turned me on to Chet Baker. I turned her onto Lyle Lovett and Pat Metheny.

Oh well, let the sands of time ebb and flow and fade into the horizon of the past and let the wheel of karma come full circle. Maybe it'll take summer with it, 'cause Lord knows, it's been around here for long enough.

oyasumi nasai.

 

12 august 2001

the needs of time.

 

We're at that time of year where no amount of air conditioning can stop you from sweating. I tried to practice my horn a little while ago, but between the constant accumulation of sweat building on my forehead and the hole in my lower lip that i made last week, i couldn't hold my concentration for 5 minutes.

And i'm tired. The kind of tired that sleep doesn't get rid of.

There aren't enough hours in the day, either. I need to answer some folk with e-mail, i need to talk to some friends that i miss, i need to send a thoughtful apology and explanation to a guy that i haven't spoken to in months [JL], i need to write more CD reviews, i need to play less Diablo II, i need to write more stories, i need to practice my horn more, i need to study music theory more, i need to get out more, i need to get working on my 2nd t-shirt design [details will be coming and yes, they will be for sale], i need to buy a pair of tabla's, i need to get a vasectomy [this is a good time since i'm not dating anyone], i need to invest more money in stocks, i need to clean my car, i need to find some cutesmartfunnysexycurvey brunettes who like jazz and house music, i need to keep my room cleaner, i need to wrap up some loose ends at work, i need to buy some paper, brushes and watercolors [i intend to start working with gouaches and watercolors again this autumn], i need to archive all the crap that's on my hard drives that i don't use anymore, i need to add more galleries to my galleries page, i need to get my motorcycle fixed and insured and i need to get the hell out of this town more often to enjoy the sunset, the sheltering night and the canvas of stars.

It's gotten to the point where things seem like a blur and whatever little happiness there is for me to get out of life... i'm letting it languish and wither. It's time to stop being stupid.

---

On an exceptionally bright note, i received some nice e-mails this week. Perhaps the most surprising was from Stefan Pierlejewski, from A Positive Life. In case you missed it, A Positive Life was the inspiration for my choosing the name "synaesthetic" for my domain. You can read my review of it here. Anyway, Mr. Pierlejewski is one of those folk that i haven't had time to write back, but that'll change in the next few days.

I have much to share tonight, but as you might have suspected, time is not my friend. I've promised myself that i'm going to crawl into the futon [yes, i'm 35 and sleep on the floor] and see if i can finally digest the concepts of major intervals & perfect intervals in the context of diatonic and chromatics, harmonic/ melodic/ natural minor scales, blues progressions and all that other wonderful stuff that makes my brain hurt.

Then on top of everything else, 6am comes early. But you want to know a secret? The sun is slowly but surely starting to rise a little later every day.

Autumn is coming.

[oyasumi nasai]

14 august 2001

the last moment of life.

 

I'm driving down Loop 360 this afternoon. I have a doctors appointment to keep and i'm surprised at just how much traffic there is at that time of day. I'm approaching the first intersection when i see on the other side of the median and the far side of the road, two large brown eyes and four points on a small rack. More eyes... it's two bucks and a doe. They're looking for food maybe, maybe water, maybe they just got disoriented and strayed too close to the road.

Right now they are scared more than anything else.

Now you may be a part of the country where deer are rare. I admit, they are beautiful but they are pests as well. And at 100-500# apiece, they command respect. Well... they command respect for anyone who's paying attention and knows what kind of damage they can do to a windshield or a radiator grill [i've seen deer shatter both].

I slow down, much to the chagrin of those behind me. To me, it's not a matter of IF they'll bolt. They're going to run and more times than not, they run the direction they're looking.

And in a flash, they're off. The first two lanes are clear 'cause those cars are at a red light. They hit the median and pause. The people behind me are starting to see why i'm slowing down. The lane of traffic next to me are oblivious. It's lunchtime and by gawd, nothings going to keep these herd of cappafrappachino sipping weenies from getting to Chili's in the next five minutes.

They pause, but they're still determined. Everyone should be able to see them now... especially in the next second that they've decided to bolt.

The first buck goes safely in front of me with no problem. He's flanked by the 2nd buck. The doe is still hesitant and is crossing the road with trepedation.

The first buck is run into by some oblivious idiot in a blue SUV of some insignificant sort or another. They do not brake, nor slow down as the animals legs and ribs are broken. He falls to the ground between the lanes and i see his eyes.... He is trying to stand, but his legs won't work anymore. His torso is shattered but there's life in him. I see his eyes and it breaks me. He knows only that he is hurt, his friends are gone and his life is about to end.

And he does not understand why.

The cars stream by. There is nothing i can do but feel my heart plummet. I hate to see animals suffer and his eyes will always be burned into my memory. I feel anger towards the self centered SUV shithead who didn't take the time to look at the road, nor even feel the need to apply the brakes after he/ she had hit the deer. But who cares? They've got an important fone call they're on and besides... Chili's [or insert other dull, generic, predictable and bland corporate restaurant chain here] is just a few minutes away.

I do my U turn to get to FM2222 and i see the inevidible; the buck is now dead, his corpse resting on the 100+ degree asphalt. The cars stream by but someone in a truck has stopped on the side of the road. Hopefully, he took the carcas home for meat [yes, i realize that the State of Texas considers this poaching, but no one has ever accused the State of Texas of making laws that were consistantly intelligent] or gave it to someone who could make use of it. I know that may sound shitty to many of you, but if no one had stopped and picked it up, the city of Austin would have picked it up and it would have been carted off to a landfill to rot.

Anyway... it just broke my heart to see this animal die at such a young age. I can rationalize it with "survival of the fittest" all i want, but if you haven't seen an animals eyes as they realize they're about to die, then you wouldn't understand.

As for the other buck? He made it, though he may have been clipped as well. The doe? She took off and ran back the way she came from.

18 august 2001

time to heal.

 

It seems like it's the only thing i've been able to talk about for the last couple of weeks. I knew the day was coming years ago, but the times when i went to stand and my right leg just collapsed... those times were becoming more frequent.

Ever since i was a kid, i had been able to make this cute little clicky sound with my knee. That didn't hurt, though most people cringed and moaned when they heard it. As a kid, i'd keep time with music with my clicky knee. When i wanted some attention, i'd whip out the clicky knee. Now that i'm older and more mature, i usually just whip my cock out when i want attention, but that's neither here nor there.

At any rate, i served 6 years at the Institute of Socially Retarded Engineers [aka Motorola] and much of my job required that i stand on a steel grated floor. The pain started then. Then when living in SF, the pain really started in. But it was ocassional; never acute nor chronic.

A year or so ago, i finally knew my knee had given out. The pain started being more constant and the few times i tried running [people actually do that shit for FUN ?], my knees paid a price.

I finally visited Texas Orthopedics in May. Dr. Bergin had a look, and frankly her response was pretty much the same as the first Orthopedist who looked at me. That is, she was amused, perplexed and baffled. When i convinced her that i had never injured my knee, she was even more amused, perplexed and baffled. A week or two later i had an MRI done. I'd love to post some of the images; they're cool.

Her prognosis [the short version]: the Anterior Cruciate Ligament [ACL] in my right knee was lax. This was causing a significant amount of mobility in my tibia, which was slipping in and out of joint. This had caused my interior meniscus disc to be torn.

An MRI is a pretty damned cool thing, but it can't tell you everything you need to know. In my situation, i faced one of two options: my ACL was lax naturally and if that were the case, she was hoping to go in, scrape out some or all of the interior meniscus disc and heat the ACL up to cause it to contract. Though most people cringe when i tell them this analogy, just think of a steak or a chickenbreast that you throw on a grill. If you don't tenderize the meat with a meat hammer, the proteins in the meat will contract and you'll end up with a chewy steak/ breast. Though a ligament isn't quite the same as a steak, the principle remains: heat it up and it will shrink.

Oh... the 2nd scenario? This one scares the bejeezus out of me and caused many a restless night. Basically she also anticipated going in and see the ACL was composed mostly of scar tissue. If that were the case, she would remove my ACL and transplant it with a donor's. This would be in addition to the partial or complete removal of the meniscus disc. The ACL would be tacked to the femur and tibia with a nail composed of a thick, hard starch that would eventually be absorbed by the body in a few months.

It goes without saying that the latter scenario would be MUCH more painful and would require MUCH more therapy and time to recover.

---

I went ahead and made the appointment. St. David's, the morning of 17 august 2001. I did find comfort in the words of a friend of mine who said, "Think of it like this: it's your first step to recovery."

I don't know why i was being such a pussy and putting it off for such a long time. No, that's not true. I know very WELL why i put it off. I can deal with the pain of recovery; that kind of pain doesn't scare me [unless we're talking bypass surgery, or something else equally invasive], but the thought of having to rely on others... i simply CANNOT deal with that. Part of it is stupid pride, but if you know my history, you know that virtually everyone that i've ever depended on has ditched me eventually [especially in the context of girlfriends]. I don't find it hard to trust people but i find it nearly impossible to believe anyone is going to be more reliable to me than i am to myself.

---

I went in. They had me fill paperwork, take all my clothes and put them in bags. I was laid down in bed and poked and prodded and given more questions to answer than a homocide suspect. My mind was at war with itself. Growing up with my uncle and aunt, i was familiar with the culture of medicine and science. It may seem cold at times, but when you're dealing with the art of healing, the passion has to be reserved for the work itself and not too much empathy with the subject. I understand i am a machine composed of meat, blood, brain and bone. I understand parts of it are broken and need to be fixed. But i am scared. I'm scared of what she'll find when she gets inside me. The fear of having an ACL transplant is making me a nervous wreck. The anaesthesiologist comes in to talk to me first and asks me if i'd like a sedative before i'm wheeled in.

Yes.

Fuck yes.

He does... and the world is a better place.

I remember talking to Chad, Dr. Bergin's assistant about what he does [Physicians assistant]. I talk to Dr. Bergin about mules versus horses [the competition she puts her horses through is basically to make them perform cowdog duties]. And then i wake up. I start vomiting a few minutes later 'cause that's apparently what some people do in reaction to the anaesthesia. Nothing comes up 'cause i haven't eaten in 16 hours. I can't focus, so i start to slap myself in the face. Nothing hard mind you, but the pain helps me focus. This causes some level of concern with the nurse who doesn't understand how much i hate to be out of it [this is the same reason i don't get drunk]. I gain enough conciousness and breathe a sigh of relief as i'm told that the ACL was shrunk and not transplanted.

I can finally sleep.

[oyasumi nasai]

a very special set of thank you's/ danke schön's/ domoo arigatoo goziamasu's to Dr. Bergin, Chad, the staff at Texas Orthopedics [esp Colleen], the nurses at St. David's, my sister for taking me to the hospital, my boss Darrell and his wife, Pam for driving from Austin to Round Rock then back to Austin just so they could pick my groggy ass up and schlep me home. Oh... and another set of thank you's to my sister [again] who brought me some cereal and fruit [since i couldn't go out, i had been living off the pizza i ordered friday morning]. Of course, i need to also send some gratitude to the letter "M", the number "4", to the guy who invented crutches and the country of Khazikistan. Thanks to all of you....

20 august 2001

rant-o-rama.

 

I haven't done this in a long time. The truth is that most people totally don't understand the art of ranting. These are the same people who believe that repression and denial are the best forms of dealing with bad experiences. The irony is that the loud people are often the ones who are the ones who are most at peace with themselves. The quiet ones are often the ones who go off like nailbombs; without warning, without discression asto who they hurt and it's always without remorse. These are the same folk who see that people with something to say must be angry, when in reality the quiet ones are the most brutally angry and violent people around.

So the rant starts like this... i found out a few days ago that the Industry Standard is going to cease publication. This saddens me in a way because i worked at the Standard for three months when i moved to San Francisco. It was the first job i had there and i started working there before they even had their first publication. Yes, it's true that they lived off the bloated, obese body of the dot com culture, but i knew them. Many of them i considered friends, many of them i helped out many a times and many of them , i made laugh [but mostly Bill and Diane]. Of all the people i knew there, it's Bill, Diane, Nicole, Daniel and the incrediblysexysmartcute Aimee that i miss the most. They were all kind people. There were others: Jennie, Mark, Todd, Emily, but i remember Bill and Diane and that crew the most.

When i moved back to Austin from SF, i felt the bloody nose of defeat. Moving to SF was my stake in the ground; it was my statement to the world. I would not allow myself to live my life in one place [Texas]. I would not be too much of a chickenshit to not take the chance to do something monumentally huge. That would end up being the understatement of my life. Nothing has been the same since i packed all that my ex and i owned and moved to California.

I had a mild expectation of what SF was about. It was basically what Austin was supposed to have been in the days of the Armadillo, 'cept better weather. It was a place filled with diversity, tolerance, and a place where the straight and narrow was tacidly frowned upon. Instead what i found was a consumeristic, indifferent, spiritually void and violent place where the biggest moral dilemma was if that SUV still fit your image and if yellow tinted sunglasses were going to be passe' as rose tinted might come into style. I watched so many people... including but not limited to my ex [the best friend and best lover i had ever known] lose what little soul they had as image replaced substance. One day the staff of her company, the pixel jockeys and other "creative sort" had gone to Angel Island or Sonoma or wherever to spend the day. I asked if the Desktop Support guy was going to go. She got flustered and said "No, it's just for the creative people."

As a side note, i'm going to guess that the IS/ IT/ Telephony people are working these days, but that's a point i expect to be lost on those i'm ridiculing tonight.

Some days ago, someone forwarded me this link which chronicled one man's leaving his dream of living in SF. I couldn't agree more with what he said, either. On the other hand, i could never be as kind as he was. After all, he still has his wife.

So here's the rant to you soulless fucks. Here's my eternal scorn for raping the city of San Francisco. Here's to you intolerant, self-centered, materialistic, spiritually void fucks who thought you were just the neatest thing since the advent of fire. You pseudo intellectual wanks with your high school degrees and a few semesters of college are 30 or so years old and the best years of your life are already behind you. It's all DOWNHILL from here on out, you bloody wanks. Your pixel monkey/ marketeer/ Conceptualist/ CEO for a year/ existance has been cast as chafe to the storm of economics [and horribly misspent venture capital] and all you've got to show for it is what? A legacy of culture that's the laughing stock of the world [i.e.: the dot-com boom and bust].

Though i do not live where i'm supposed to be [see my comments on Paths], i have made the best of my situation. I laugh at you pretentious, empty wanks and your spending sprees at Urban Outfitters, your yellow tinted sunglasses, your gaudy, whorish off color contact lenses [the ones that are supposed to change the colors of your eyes, but in reality look fucking creepy... and yes, i can spot them across a room], your silly little SUV's that will only see dirt when you're leaving California and crossing the desert to go home to your mommy and daddy. Go back to your Starbucks. Go back to your Virgin Megastore. Go back to your silly wardrobe that was purchased mostly at Diesel, Urban Outfitters, Old Navy and the Fucking Gap. Go back to your drinking parties, your weekend trips to Tahoe, your day trips to Sonoma. Go back to walking past the hoards of homeless people that you never gave your leftovers to, or bought a meal for. Go back to saying what a bright wonderful future you're making through web banners and your "multimedia, multi-tiered, portal buzzword bullshit thingy" that you're so goddamned proud of. Go back to your hollow friends who will only care for you as long as you have money, a cock [or a pussy] and are worth a fuck and only a FUCK [and i do mean that to be taken literally].

Though i felt the bloody nose of defeat for the longest time, i stand where i am with callous' on my hands, a firmness in my heart, a confidence in my soul, a 4 year degree [granted, it's a fine art degree -specialty in watercolor- but it shows that i could commit and persevere and write wicked essays and i'm a printmaker these days], and i'm still employed. No, it may not last forever [for that matter, i don't WANT it to last forever 'cause i still plan on going somewhere far and away from Texas. Somewhere cool and damp and close to the ocean], but i work hard, i have a good crew i work with, i don't play political bullshit games and i have a hell of a brighter future than some 24 year old marketeer spouting their meatholes about their newest concept, who in reality has about as much of a clue as a monkey understands quantum mechanics, or some goddamned pixel monkey whose resume' consists of a high school degree, making banners in Photoshop and Flash based ads for other dot com companies that no longer exist.

[insert long thoughtful pause and the sound of a cricket chirping in the distance here]

 

 

I stand where i am, my head unbowed and i have only one thing to say...

I won.

 

 

 

---

That's enough. I don't really like ranting anymore because not only are most people not clever enough to see it for what it is, but it takes an energy out of me... a light of life and living that i no longer have... and that i haven't had since i left San Francisco.

[oyasumi nasai]

23 august 2001

a tide of humility.

 

I don't necessarily feel that i should apologize for what i wrote a few days ago. It's not as though i'm either ashamed or regret anything i ranted about. If anything, i feel pity upon those i set upon with my vitrolicism, but in all fairness, i seriously doubt if any of those people were to read what i had to say, that they'd be aware enough of realize i was talking about them.

But having said that, i think it's sad that i had to say those things with the tone i did. In a way, it was a cleansing... a catharsis of sorts. And frankly, that's what a good healty rant is supposed to be about. Something bothers you, you unleash it in a way that's constructive and then it's gone. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, i have to say [again], that the quiet ones... the introverts, fear and loathe that philosophy. Their philosophy is to contain, repress and then destroy.

They're broken like that. Trust me, i know.

And onto another issue that i might sound like a broken record on, i received yet another semi-literate letter from yet another AOL user who thinks Alex Jones is [Shit, i can't say this with a straight face]... a journalist. At any rate, if you know who Jones is then you know where i'm coming from. If you're like the vast majority of the civilized world, you've never heard of Jones. If you have one iota of integrity, i'm sure you'd prefer to keep it that way too. Just imagine a cross between Timothy Mc Veigh and Ted Kaczynski but with [possibly] more cocaine, a little more paranoia and a lot less intelligence and you get the picture.

At any rate, in my usual form, i basically eviscerated this guy in my response to him. You can see the carnage here [look for the 22 August 2001 letter]. And though it may seem heated, though i may seem as though i'm ranting there as well, the truth is i wasn't. Whenever one of his little anti-intellectual Dittoheads write me, i seem to just say the same thing to them over and over and over. I just go on auto-pilot now, which is... well, boring.

So i've decided to quit responding to these people until they can write me with something a little more challenging then their usual response of, "If you're against him [Jones], then you're obviously part of the problem!" I seem to remember hearing this same logic being used in the witch trials as well as that dark cowardly chapter in American history known as Mc Carthyism.

As i said some days ago, i'm tired... and it's not the kind of tired that sleep gets rid of. Then to top it all off, another storm in my life is headed my way. Two times now i've had the misfortune of being in periphery of it, but this time it's looking a lot less certain. Each time this has happened to me, it has taken a little chunk of life out of me and made me feel selfish for my own personal successes.

Oh well. There's nothing i can do to change the path of a storm, so all i can do is practice what little Buddahist tolerance i know and accept whatever changes come my way and hope i have the dignity and honor to deal with them the best way possible.

Here's to hoping your sleep is better than mine... and that maybe you have someone in your life whose touch brings you happiness and life.

[oyasumi nasai]

27 august 2001

august rain .

 

If you live in the Southwest, you know there is no such thing as rain in august.

Here is to the spendor and wonder known as a miracle.

[sweet dreams]