finishing certain things, starting certain others

I'm taking a break from completing massage homework. I intend to re-begin this finishing in about 6 minutes.

Other things I've been in the business of finishing as of late are things like David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, which I really enjoyed. Laughing at someone else's satirical writing about what at times amounts to be an impossibly sad life is comforting in a detatched-sadistic way. It reminds me that other people are as odd as I am, and I will grow to be more so as I get older. Knowing that somehow there is still art imbedded in this stark ugliness of humanity is one of the more beautiful parts of being alive at all.

I'm also about 20 pages off from finishing Uncle Jack's On the Road, which I should have read long ago. I feel like a long lost neice, following in the footsteps of a man I never knew, but share genetics with, of the mental sort. How many times I have lost myself in those pages! With the whole world creaking and shaking in the mad glory of the Denver or San Fransisco night, I find myself entranced, if only sitting on the silent porch swing preferring his words to the mountain view set before me. In discovering Kerouac, I discover myself.

As to beginning things, my life with IAC is definitely off and running. I attended again yesterday morning, and enjoyed an hour long sermon that seemed to only take about 10 mintues. This time the ceremony was held at an outside botanical gardens on the west side of the Springs, facing the mountains. Though I may love them, stained glass windows had nothing on our backdrop yesterday morning. I feel so blessed to find truth in an intellectual setting, this is the marriage of my two natures that I long for. Not the black and the white, but the heart and the mind.



Other beginnings include a torrid love affair with Mr. Sufjan (SOOF-yan) Stevens, with whom I am beginning a low-level obsession. Yes, I know I've already written about him, but there is so much good going on here BEYOND BELIEF that I feel the need to yawp a little more. I plan on buying a couple more of his albums today. I really need to save money, but I keep buying books and music. They're just so important.

I feel stupid and contagious

There's this massive hurricane coming in to eat the Big Easy for lunch. It sounds like a McDonald's commercial, but no. Many people will probably be killed, and up to a million could be homeless. I don't understand numbers like a million when it comes to people. It's too many. We're going to start understanding in a fractional way what the tsunami was like, or how it feels to live in a war zone.
The worst part of this situation is that we created much of the problem ourselves- the levees meant to keep the city dry have eroded the land by keeping valuable silt out of the marshes. In conjunction with this, a vast system of pipelines that is responsible for pumping oil out of the Gulf has robbed the coastline of over a million acres of land which would have acted as a buffer against the storm surges and headwinds. These might not have helped that much, but we will never know now- all that remains to be seen is how powerful this storm is really going to be when it hits land early tomorrow morning.



When I was a kid, shortly after moving to Charleston, South Carolina, a category 4 storm called Hurricane Hugo slammed the coastline of my new state. It had top winds of 160 miles per hour, and my family elected to stay in our home due to advice given to us by several Carolina lifers in the neighborhood. My parents, 34 and 31 at the time, and my brother and I, five and six respectively, barricaded ourselves in a windowless, interior hallway of our single-story house with a transistor radio, oil (hurricane! ha!) lamps, and blankets. I think we may have also had peanut butter sandwiches, and maybe some bananas.
I remember my parents arguing as the night wore on, long after we lost any kind of radio signal, about my father going outside. He wanted to go out of our big double front doors, he could swear he heard a woman screaming. My mom was pleading with him, saying it was only the wind, and everyone knew she was right, but he was going nuts. And then the wind stopped, and it was the eye, and we went across the street to our friends the Mackey's house, where several other families were gathering, and I remember my father carried me and there were already a couple of feet of standing water out in the yard and in the street.
The next day this kitten was out in the front yard of their house, walking in circles, meowing at nothing. It stayed crazy forever. We were out of school for two weeks, and I turned seven during that time, which was the best because I had a party in the middle of the day with all the neighbor kids when we should have been at school. Chainsaws cost 500 dollars, generators 2000. People tried to steal our coleman lanterns, and there were maggots on the garage floor because there was no garbage service for weeks. All in all, it was pretty cool, and there was lots of wood to play with everywhere, and dangerous diseases to catch in contaminated water.

The horror and the grace

Yesterday I went to church with my friend Jocelyn. We attended the International Anglican Church at Shove Chapel on the CC campus, downtown in the Springs. To all of you who have watched my struggle throughout this year to find a church with some authenticity, some relevancy, some redemption present, my search is over. This is going to be my new home.

The church is huge, old, stone, and beautiful. Think cathedral, beautiful and mystical and awe inspiring. Not co-multipurpose room with folding chairs. This was God's house. The music was beautiful and understated, a couple of acoustic guitars, a djembe, a mandolin and (egad!) a harmonica. The message talked about Gideon, understanding the gravity of the sin problem, and the gravity of the cross. The horror of our black hearts, the grace of a God who went to death for our sakes. Then we celebrated the eucharist, and sang some more, and the service was over. It lasted 2 hours and felt like 10 minutes, and the people were all very welcoming. This is where I want to stay.

Impossible Dream

This woman is one of the best singer/songwriters alive, period. Yesterday I saw her for the second time, at the Folks Festival in Lyons, Colorado. Good grief. You would have thought someone from the stage offered free pot to the crowd when she came out, the response was so enthusiastic. She only played for an hour and 15 minutes, too; the perfect length of time to get us all hopelessly lost in her wonderfulness, and then have the reality of time punch us in the nuts. She played several of my faves, though I would have outright died if she had graced us with "Mother of God" or "Moses." I would have to say "Useless Desires" from the Impossible Dream album was my favorite of the set, but they were all great.

I saw mate buddies (aka the cult kids) at the festival, let me tell you I was surprised to see Yaqar and Tommim there. They gave me free chai mate several times. We also ate gyros and chinese yum yums, we meaning McDavid and Buddy. Speaking of the latter, it was a great day for she and I. Definitely some miscommunication going on there lately, and while the situations have not changed, my mindset on much of it has.

It was a day full of greatness, glory, and guts. There is nothing nicer than reclining at the southern edge of the Rocky Mountain National Park and listening to fabulous bits of sound as they waft over you. Even when the plumbing got turned off and we had to use port-o-johns it was still ok, there were purell dispensers in them. Buddy bought a leather skirt. I looked at some stuff, and McDavid got a funnel cake. The best moment of the day was a quintessential life completeness/contentment moment, that surrounds your whole torso with warmth and then goes out and sits in your palms. There's just something about being physically connected with people you love with your whole heart while listening to amazing art transcend individual humanity. Mmm. It reminds me of apple crisp, but like your whole body is a mouth eating it.

Well, on that note, I'd better go back to the workshop CIMT is presenting today and learn more about infectious skin diseases. Peace out, and listen to some Patty today.

flatulent cats

Dear friends. Dear, dear friends.

Well, I think it is safe to say that I'm actually pretty depressed in life right now. Having, what you might call, a dark night of the soul should only be done occasionally. I'm moving on, though- sunlight is flooding my room, and cats are jumping through the open window. Trying to decide about next steps can be tough, but I am officially emailing my pseudo-aunt Arlene about Pasadena accomodations, and shopping for airline tickets. I feel good about this Fuller thing, even when I don't feel good about anything else.

Rediscovering the blackness of my heart has been sobering, but I believe it will be good for me in the long run. The truth is, I get jealous. I say hurtful things. I think hurtful thoughts, towards myself and others and the Godhead. I have dastardly priorities and dubious emphases. And above it all, I have to come face to face with the man in the mirror (oh yeah) and know I always will. Or woman in the mirror, as my own personal case would have it.

I have decided that I really have an appropriate name- my last name means Black, and I have to remember that's where I am. That I always be, and no good lives within me. But I am also consecrated to God, and there is a hidden Joy that I even often forget about. But it is there. Always, always, always when I am convinced it is over, there is something good remaining. This morning Shelly left a note outside my door, requesting that we start spending a lot more time together. Friends, that is perfectly ok by me. It's not like I'm trying to fill a void with people where God should be (sick that sounds like a crappy Christian lyric) but more like God knows the desires of my heart. I hate being alone. God is good, all the time. I am not, ever. As only LoCurto could say at Adams, "Praise the Lujah!"

On a parting note, I picked up Draco tonight, and he farted. No wonder he's been squirrely all day and clawing at things. Gas always makes me cranky, too.

two by two

I think my two favorite feelings in the world are as follows:

1. Reconciliation

2. That feeling right after you pee when you can totally relax all of your bladder muscles because you're completely empty

... and so, as to show a contrast, here are two things I really don't like:

1. Looking at dead baby anythings

2. That pukey feeling you get in the back of your throat when you are really worried about something so you gag a little occasionally

Sufjan Shirt

I have discovered a new favorite. I feel like I'm in Paco Michelson's head when I listen to this music. It makes me happy and weird, and I'll confess, I have danced to it in the art gallery.

I love falling in love all over again for the first time. I'm glad sound was created- palpable, yet ineffable. I wish I could touch it and make clothes out of it. I would wear this music every day of the week.

old songs found, but never written

Last night- 6-6-04

I remember the last night you were in town
You came in after I was sleeping and you laid down
Oh I remember that night
Like it was last night

I used to hate the puddles in the john
After you had showered, dressed, and gone
Now all I want to feel
Socks wet from toe to heel

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

I want you to know
I’ve been fine since the day I watched you go
I went out and made for myself
Riches in friends if not in wealth

I enjoy having my own place
Just three rooms that can be my own space
But that doesn’t mean
I don’t want you here with me

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

I can continue to live without you
I will continue to thrive without you
But that doesn’t mean
By any means
That I’d like to go on without you

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

Goodbye Uncle Peter

Peter Jennings died today of lung cancer. He was 67.

In reading the obit posted on Yahoo! news, I found out some cool stuff about Peter, like that he never graduated from high school or attended college, and that he had dual citizenship in Canada, where his family was from, and the United States. Also that he had his first Saturday morning radio show when he was nine.

My most memorable moment with Peter was during one of the more significant days I have ever experienced. On September 11th, 2001, I found myself in the late morning crammed into the upper floor of the HUB at Huntington College, with about 700 other students, glued to the huge projection screen. We were eager for anything that fell from anybody's lips about the greatest attack on U.S. civilians on our soil that we had ever experienced as a nation. Peter sat there, good old Peter, somebody we could trust. His shirt sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up and his tie and collar were undone and pulled away from his throat. He was sitting there, staring at us just like we were staring at him. And then Peter said it all for us.

"We're just trying to figure out what the hell is going on."



Rest well, you who have kept us in the know so many years. May you find answers we did not.

play-doh, mcdavid, benfolds, and the unimaginable rift

First of all, dudes, let me say how pleased with myself I am at the ease with which I use HTML. Or at least that image-posting tag. Professor Lehman back at good 'ol HC (or HU... what a dumb acronym) would be proud. If he only knew I was reading emails and looking at sound equipment for 90% of his class... when I showed up. Too bad college is over; good times, good times.

I bought play-doh with Brian last weekend, because I wanted it and he encourages me in trivialities. I went over to McDavid's house and we played with it and I made a snowman with a dog. My favorite part are the scarves. I brought her a little tubbie of it, too, as a party favor, and she just made oddly-shaped lumps. This is why I like McDavid. Just when I need it, she lets me feel smart.

I'm hanging out in Kinfolks, an establishment on Manitou Ave just above the creek (which I can hear in the darkness due to open windows- ahh). It is incredibly Manitou. There is live music, beer, hiking shoes, outdoor gear, a bicycle repair area, and dogs are definitely allowed. The only non-alcoholic beverage they have available is french-pressed coffee, which I hate, but I am drinking because it is cold outside. It will also keep me awake until a late hour- a good thing at this point in time. I feel like being up late because I DON'T HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW!

***

So as to add another review on in this time, I'm going to talk about Ben Folds' most recent album, Songs For Silverman. Man, this man is genius. I love people that get better with time, till they just open their mouths and it's like drops of gilded butter fall out onto the floor in a beautiful tableau. UGH! I just accidentally drank coffee without sugar in it. Bad idea. So this album, this album is the first one I have that is a CD on one side and a DVD on the other. It makes me nervous. I don't mean to be but I am really hard on discs, and I'm sure it's going to get ruined in one way or another. The first track starts off and it's like pre-rubber soul Beatles, and then by the middle of the album it's like the Beach Boys and Chicago got married, and maybe Darren Jesse was the best man at the wedding. There are little chunks of time where I can hear all of the other stuff, from the self-titled Five album to Fear of Pop Vol. 1 to the EPs. And everything in between. His stuff is so melodic and poppy yet well-developed while being understated; it's like a buffet in a lunchbox. It is a CD that needs to be played really loud, and often. The one song that almost makes me cry, not because it is the best song on the album, but because I conjecture it's for Elliot Smith. The song is called "Too Late," and whether it's for Smith or not I don't know, but it's really intimate and says a lot of things the speaker was never able to say to the intended party. I remember being really blown away by the first page that appeared at BenFolds.com for months after Smith's suicide. I like thinking about amazing famous people being good friends in real life. And I think Smith's death was probably hard on Ben; I feel like this song lets me sit in on the living room floor and hear about it. Ok, so I just read the actual words, and it says, "Elliot, man you played a fine guitar/and some dirty basketball" so it's totally about him. It just makes me feel sad and clear and good all at the same time.

This album spans the gamut of styles- country, pop, jazz, rock. Al Yankovic sings BGV's. It is a musician's cd- Ben is a musician's musician. It makes me happy there are sounds like this out there.

****

In other news, I feel disconnect from a lot of things, and look out over the realm of disconnectedness and see limitless possibilities. All my life, I have placed other people before myself. Experiences, memories, people make you who you are. Do you ever get to the point where you can venture out and just do crap as a completed person? What happens when you are on a different page of reality from everybody that used to matter to you? People are totally crushing, totally getting engaged and having babies and getting married, and I just want to sit on a floor in a darkened room and listen to the spinning disc. Or wander around and do nothing really but everything, and write about it. I feel less cohesive and more coherent than ever. There are several times a day where I am just looking at things and all of the sudden things shift in my mind, like when you flip the hourglass over, and the sand is the same, but coming through backwards, and a new something or other is visible. It's like I look and it changes, becomes more real, but it just the same to everyone else. I really liked waiting tables today, and it was odd to me. I don't want to get drunk, even though it would be easier sometimes to blur through everything, show up to work high and go on just like everyone else. But this bigger part of me wants to feel everything while it is happening, even if it hurts like a little cut on your hand filled with lemon juice. I know that there are more nerve endings in your lips than anywhere else on your body, and I have never kissed anyone. This is the irony of my life, and I am resigned to go through with utter clarity; for what purpose I don't know. But it seems more right than anything else I can find.

Santa Fe- Are you there? Do you swear you won't forget me?

So last weekend I went to Santa Fe with my friend Brian from Denver. The whole week leading up to the event, I had that Newsies song in my head, but I couldn't remember any more than the "Santa Fe" part of the words. I forgot until I grabbed this picture how cute all those newsies were.

We went down because a cousin of mine was getting married, one I rarely see, and hardly any of my family was going to be there. Oddly enough, this compelled me to go more than less; I felt somehow obligated due to our lack of connection. My aunt called me nine days out and asked me if I would play the guitar for the ceremony, which was to be held outdoors in some sort of ruined church. After a half hour of deliberation, I said yes, and ended up playing last Saturday with approximately an hour total in practice time. Thankfully the guitar is like a horse or a bicycle, and even though my fingertips felt like knives were slicing them, I managed to hold on just long enough.

The wedding was at Pecos National Historic Park, and the ruins turned out to be pretty cool, a sun-baked mud-brick sort of structure that had an open roof and back, but the front and sides were mostly intact. The wedding party was small, the attendence was sparse, and the ceremony was short. My favorite kind of wedding. Brian liked it because there was beer at the reception, and he got to say the word "horno" about 97,000 times. [There was a little display type thing set up just across the road from the ruins, with a native type of stove, called a horno, that was used to bake bread.] The ceremony itself was performed by some kind of priestess, who talked about the four sacred elements, and I kind of felt like Captian Planet might come barreling down the aisle at any given moment. I found out later that Lauren (my cousin) had become Wiccan, and so this answered a few of my immediate questions, but quickly brought up more pertinent ones.

So, on to post-wedding activities: Brian and I checked into our Red Roof Inn accomodations prior to the reception, and promptly both felt too tired to go back out like we had planned. So we watched Tommy Boy on TBS and fell asleep. The next morning we went downtown and had breakfast, and walked around a little. Then we stumbled onto the Plaza and the annual Spanish Festival. It was actually really great, and ended up being my favorite thing about the whole trip. We walked around for a couple of hours, looking at art, sculpture, hearing music, viewing beautiful handmade jewelry, smelling foods, and watching live performers of several different genres. We met up briefly with my family to say goodbye before they headed to the airport in Albequerque, and then took a spin around the old and beautiful Cathedral of St. Francis. Then we walked back to the car, making a pit stop at a Cold Stone Creamery, and finally headed in an easterly direction on I-25.

The car ride back was great- a little napping, a lot of reading of Harry Potter, some eating of Swedish Fish. The best, most epiphinal moment for me of the entire weekend was when we got north of Pueblo and I saw the Peak and began to recognize finer points of the geography. I said it out loud before I even realized it to myself; "Finally, I'm home." And I realized it was true- this little hippie, gay, backwoods town has really become my home, as far as I am able to claim one. And I was honestly glad it was true. Santa Fe was nice, but I could care less if it remembers me or not, because for now I'm a Colorado Kid.