fifty twenty five twenty three

oh what a large and small year.

I'm realizing that growing up entails mostly just little disappointments adding up, until you get over everything enough to not care enough to be disappointed after all.


why do I still feel sad?


I must confess, I just want to be loved until I don't remember how to open my eyes. And not worry about anything, and recognize beauty in every moment set before me.

happy last twenty two.

within, without...or perhaps breathing out, and breathing in

So in the great cosmic pulse, I once again pull up roots. Somewhere in the background OTR plays a melancholy song, and the sun shines brightly enough for me to take off my tattered brown sweater. We are all doing what we do best.

Leaving Manitou is at once harder and easier than I expected. Yashah and I talked for a long time down at the Maté, about my being humble and submitting. Sometimes I wish I was a different person, and that I could just give in and join cultish groups like it was nothing. More often though, I am glad I am me. I am glad that I can surprise people by seeing good in the world; it becomes an alien concept, that there is anything good. But I know it is true. I know art and beauty are true just as surely, and I cannot turn my back on them. God created me to see, to hear, to hurt and sing and cry and grow wide eyed in wonder at everything. And live with a broken heart. And I am so glad to be alive.

To all those that read this, and even those that don't, know this. I am growing, hopefully not just up, but out as well, and I am not scared of what comes next. The joy is in living each day of this divine adventure, keeping fingertips lightly pressed to this great cosmic pulse and at once to my own. I am at peace with my maker and my world.

thieving

I've gotten to be an expert at pilfering these last few days.

I can go without eating for some time, the only drawback being a sickness to the stomach/other gastrointestinal unpleasantries when food is suddenly abundant and I gorge myself. I house sit, I house squat, being a visitor of varying degrees of welcomeness in my attempt to try to get a paying job rolling and a new place to live. I sneak granola bars, perhaps a package of ramen noodles from an unfamiliar pantry. These are items easily overlooked- the owner can't remember how many Nature Valley Oats & Honeys they had in the first place. I use other people's shower supplies because I can't afford to buy new for myself, should my own dwindling shampoo stashes run out completely. I offer massage constantly, hoping a trade or a meal or a couple of bucks will turn up. I thought breifly the other day of panhandling on the sixteenth street mall, but for now that idea remains a back up plan.

In all of this, I am not dejected. There is a sort of frayed desperation of coming-of-age about it all, as if this were my right of passage, and now I could perhaps be an artist again. I take long showers in borrowed bathrooms, and think about characters, and rape, and plotlines twisting away into oblivion. Perhaps I can write a collection of short stories about everything I haven't thought of yet, while I am penniless and unemployed and it will perhaps be better because I have been so. Nobody I know is any better off. I'll probably try to hock my mixing board for next month's rent and deposit, and everything will be ok until the next string of bills is due. There is something desperate and wonderful about being alive right now. I oscillate between wanting to stay inside and read all day, and wanting to just go outside and look at everything. Or write about everything. Or listen to the spinning disc in my box, shaking and shaking and shaking.

Every little thing is going to be all right, as Bob Marley would say. No, woman. No cry.

I go up and feed the dying cat, and then I leave, to parts unknown. And always, I travel west.

bam chicka bam bam

So while I've been in Denver, I've mostly been sleeping at Beth's apartment. Beth is this awesome chica, best friends with Brooke, who lives across from Buddy and whom I also hang out with on almost a daily basis anymore. Beth lives in the same building as everybody, and she is out house sitting forever, so she's letting me sleep in her place because Buddy's place is about 5 inches big. And now Stephanie, Brooke's girlfriend, is moving in to the front apartment of the building. And I am moving into the attic. And the other apartment, occupied by the building manager, contains a middle aged lady, her smelly cat (it's not your fault! you're old and rotting!) and dozens upon dozens of trinkets. Chris, as this lady is called, is a dream analyst. I am house sitting for her this weekend, but I think I will continue to sleep in Beth's place, because the cat is so gross.

So after I pulled in tonight, I came upon the house right at the same time that Brooke was getting home. She told me Chris was throwing crap away from the storage area in the garage, and so I gleefully went out to the trash can area with Brooke to see what kind of goodies I could find. (After the move I will once again basically be furnitureless.) I am now the proud owner of a rather dirty, quite used Black and Decker toaster oven/broiler. I was going to leave it be, because it looks a little skank, when Brooke thrust it into my hands and said, "It's free, g-d. It will clean up. Besides, I totally knew the chick that owned this. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was hers, and she's totally not shady." I didn't really protest too much, but investigated the other trash halfheartedly, not finding anything of use. The entire time, Brooke was on the phone with Stephanie, who is currently in Michigan for some weeks, and saying, "No, I'm totally talking to you.... look in that can over there.... oh, nothing, what did you say?"

On a parting note, I will transcribe verbatim here a typed (as in old school typewriter) message/song that has been laying on Beth's computer desk next to the keyboard all week as I internet. I never cease to be amused.

Tonight I will meet my true love
He will be wearing a pink mustache and have o
light green tube socks I an very haaaapppy
Bam chicka bam bam
V

Scum

Hello friends.

I am just tying up another sojourn to Denver, which will soon enough be my home if everything keeps rolling. I think I am going to really like living here. I know I alluded to that in my previous post, but its getting into my skin and I'm ready for a new beginning. A new favorite.
The move should be easy enough. One trip should do it- I have to remember that I fit everything into Al not so very long ago, and it is certainly possible in my big white box. It looks like I'm going to be moving into the attic in Buddy's building, which is delightful, has a gas stove and a claw footed tub. I think those are going to be two requirements for me on my journey that I can never live without. Plus! There is this great fire escape. Now I can be just like McDavid, and look out the window onto my fire escape, and down the three stories into the backyard garden. I really need to break down and buy a digital camera (if I ever had more than six dollars) and take pictures of all this crap so I could just show it. I suppose I will have to continue on with my thousand words, however, for now.

SO I went to this great church here in Denver Sunday night, called Scum of the Earth. It reminded me so much of Ft. Wayne's very own Come to Go that it was unreal. The same soup-kitchen concept, the same posses of homeless people and hipsters shuffling around. It was an unusual service, due to the fact that it was an ordination service, but I kind of liked it- it was like I got to see them in action performing a liturgical function, and they weren't trying to win me over because it was all about something else. I definitely felt the Spirit there. I want to go back on a "regular" Sunday night and see what its like; however, unless it is drastically different than it appears to be, I think I have found a spiritual home of sorts here. I am interested in checking out Light & Life over in Lakewood some Sunday morning, and then Dean Cowles' church down in Littleton sometime after that. It'd be nice to finally put a face with a name- Dean and I have spoken since I've been out here, he tried to help me get a job with Compassion International, which never hired me. Dean is good friends with my spiritual mentor, John Hay Jr., so naturally he must be nails as well.

Well, that's about it for now, friends. Keep your eyes open- I have been blessed so much this weekend by simply taking what is offered, and reacting to the situation presented to me. Don't get too busy.

bolder boulder bowlder

So dudes I totally got a job! That's right, goodbye medicaid. Joking there, don't have any medical insurance actually, government funded or otherwise. But I was for real hired last Friday, picked up by this totally swank massage place, called Body Massage Center. Go here to check it out.

In other news, I've spent the majority of the last couple of days lonering it; driving around, riding my bike metro style (my troops has a new yakima hat), reading The Hobbit, hanging out with lesbian massage therapists, and spending time in that mecca of Colorado, Boulder. I've been doing chair massage on the Pearl Street Mall, and while it is not quite as lucrative as I'd like, it really has been great. The weather has been stellar, and I've talked to quite a few street musicians, homeless guys and hare krishnas. Occasionally I give massages, and in the spare time I read Paul Theroux' The Happy Isles of Oceania. Today I pondered at how easy it might be to be a transient, and hated on all the crocs I saw on stumbling little kids, their parents pushing their physical safety in pursuit of FASHION! HOW'D YOU KNOW!

In general the Pearl Street experience, and the last couple of days in general have been great. My nerves are going to be taxed soon- I can feel it coming on, and am trying to beat it back, just like Gandalf weilding Glamdring against the Goblins in the Misty Mountains. I like being nomadic, to a point. I'm spending lots of time alone, and it's good- I almost wish there was more of it, because I'm just randomly crashing on people's couches while they're out with chads, you know, living it up and all. And I wish I had my very own little hole, or attic, or whatever, where I could really live without fear of leaving or forgetting to make sure the window is shut quite tightly. My mind has already moved out of Manitou, or I might be sad about leaving it. I will miss the Mate and Shelly and Joanne and Draco and the mountains.

But I get the city in return, and oh, I love the city.

my, my, we're looking thin today

So! I've totally been snobbed an average of 4 times today because of my crappy old Jr. Park Ranger Dell Laptop. Ok, I'll admit, it's my fault. I spilled chai into it about a month ago, and since then it's had intermittent issues. But now, the fan is loud. I mean loud, people. Like, could that be mistaken for a passing helicopter loud. And nearby mac users, confident in their superiority over my klitschy blue number here, look around the room, then down their noses at me briefly, before making an announcement to all: "What is that noise?"

I am confident in my mediocrity.

HEJ! HEJ! HEJ! So I got a phone call today! and some spa on the 16th St. Mall and Welton wants to interview/recieve a massage from me Friday morning at 10 am. I'm pumped like it's 2005 and I'm unemployed.

Lastly, but certainly of most import, this gay guy with two little lap-dog type dogs came and parked his dogs near me, and his name is Lynn. I know him from previous encounters outside Buddy's starbucks (where I am now) using some free rogue wireless. He is very delicate and ties up his dogs' hair over their eyes with little plastic strips, because rubber bands would pull their hair out. He looked at my computer and said, "At first I thought that sound was clippers."

Support the arts- kiss a musician

So I saw the subject line for this post on a passing car this morning, and I thought I would insert a musiciany picture of myself here.



What's up, my employed friends? Maybe some of you are also unemployed. Buddy. McDavid. Sorry to generalize.

The last day has been interesting. I'm enjoying being able to work out again- I've switched to running up here in the Denver hizouse because I don't have the bike rack installed on my trooper yet. So the trek stays in Manitou. I'm feelin' good in the neighborhood- Buddy's neighborhood has this park with really nice dirt trails that are mostly shaded, and a kind of parthenon in the middle of it all. It's called Cheesman Park and is just a couple of blocks from her house, down past the King Soopers (grocery store, for all you scads of midwestern kids that read this). So I go running in the morning, for about a half an hour or so, then I come home and take a shower and make some pancakes and clean the place up a bit. After all, I'm not working, so it's not really like I'm on a schedule or anything.

I passed out about 6 resumes yesterday. One place definitely had an opening/wanted to hire me, but they really need me Tuesdays, until about 6 pm. Unfortunately, my class at CIMT starts at 5:30, meaning the absolute latest I could leave at that time of day would be 4pm. And that would be cutting it really close. People, I-25 is a NIGHTMARE. Let me never speak badly of Indy's 465 again- that thing is a breeze compared to the only north/south interstate in the entire state of Colorado. It connects all the major cities on the front range, and is only two lanes in some places, and all of Denver is perpetually under construction. A one hour trip can easily turn in to two if you get trapped on 25 at the wrong time of day. Anyway, enough of that.

So, yeah, resumes. Then last night I stopped back by the apt. and changed clothes into a dark ensemble and went and hung out at Barnes and Noble for like 3 hours. I read this really cool book called "How to survive a Zombie attack." I need to get some firearms, a Japanese Katana (a type of sword used by samurai), and get really proficient with Molotov cocktails. You never know when a member of the undead may be ready to eat, eat, eat your flesh, and this book brought my attention to that. Are you ready, people? You had better be ready.

jumping through the window

I am currently unemployed. Yesterday I was "let go" from Adam's for reasons that still seem a bit murky to me. While this came as a huge shock, and definitely shook me up for most of the day, 24 hours later I am already turning the corner.

I talked with Jericho briefly yesterday, and she told me this was going to be another adventure, which I apparently enjoy. This is true. Supposedly, adventure is what I'm all about. And at the danger of getting too comfortable at Adam's, I thought that was where I was going to stay until I left CO. Apparently I was wrong. The let down of being fired is the only thing eating at me- I like the challenge and excitement of figuring out what will happen next. People are already falling all over themselves trying to get me jobs, places to live for nothing or next to nothing, offering to lend me money or anything I need. This feels really good- to know I'm wanted in some capacity. Losing my job is not an experience I've ever had before. But perhaps in one more way I am being molded to become all things to all men/women/womyn. (ha.)

I had to fight back the momentary attack of depression yesterday, being suddenly found so unemployable a week after being found so undateable. But then the truth of who I am rises up, and I know beyond everything else I am a child of God, and he will bring all things together for my good. In the meantime, I ride my bike for 5 hours a day and make phone calls for another 3, and try to be patient and hopeful and full of perseverance. I will get over this- I will not move home, nor will I wire my parents for money.

As far as tentative plans, for any of you that read this, I have a couple. One is to go back to the bux. They want me back, my manager from Colorado & 31st told me yesterday, and she's going to do everything she can for me. I want this to be a last resort, however. LAST resort. But it's still good to know it's there. (By the way, as a conclusion to the previous post, after the worst night at Starbucks in buddy's history, she quit.)

Also, I stopped by my school, and found out I can get a certificate for the number of hours I have completed in the program, well over 500 at this point. Denver only requires 500 hours to practice, so I made a bunch of phone calls yesterday afternoon, and found at least 5 spas/clinics that want my resume, are hiring, and want to meet with me. So, that is the more viable option at this point of anything I have been presented with. It would require a commute, probably twice a week for school from Denver as opposed to 4 times a week from Colorado Springs for work. Buddy has offered to let me stay with her as many nights a week as I need to for work, while keeping my official living status down here. It would be good for her, too, to have help with shows, booking, etc. to have another person around. I don't know what's going to happen yet, not at all. I just want to have an openness to all that is placed before me.

In all things I will rejoice. I will say it again. I will rejoice.
God is good, all the time.

holy smokes

people, my buddy is losing it. I'm hanging out in Denver at her Starbucks compiling college radio mailing lists, and she's going to go postal. Really. She's on the edge of punching everyone from teenyboppers with cellphones to old homeless ladies. It's time to get out of the bux.

This week has been a doozy. Doosey? Anyway, it seems like it was about 500 years long. I've ridden the crazy roller coaster of love, and ended up nauseus when I got off, vowing to never even get near the midway again. It ended up being more of a tilt-a-whirl of ambivalence, anyway. Last night I wanted to go out and a) drink b) smoke an entire pack of cigarettes c) track down that Jennifer girl from the Mariner and see if she was still interested. But, then, I realized I'm not a lush, I don't smoke, and I'm straight. So I ended up going to see "The Constant Gardener" at Kimball's Twin Peak with Shelley, who for once pulled through in a pinch.

Let me say, let me say I really liked this film. There was beautiful love and naked pregnant women and death and african children fading into the dust of a UN relief plane. The music was gorgeous. The plotline was heartbreaking, most likely because it is probably true. It made me hate the civilised world all over again, as if I don't already. I did look at my white, white skin differently this morning at church, and wondered how other people see me. And wondered about how I see other people. What a small and huge amount of difference it all makes.

AIC was great again this morning. Messaging on 2 Corinthians again and being found in Christ was a delicious pastry to my soul. I am finally allowing myself to feel again in church, after years of caustically stabbing everything that got near to my heart. It wasn't even awkward with Circus Boy there, like I was afraid it was going to be. It was chill, I was chill, everybody worshipped and we went home. As I listened to Sufjan on my way to Denver, I realized the kiddie song I learned so long ago whilst playing with a felt-board Jesus is totally, fundamentally, organically true. Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.

Alleluia.

open letter from the maté factor

To my fellow Americans-
To my fellow Christians-
To my fellow humans, spread out in vast innumerable ways across the globe-

My mindset is far too small. After 9/11 I became jaded with the way my country was run. Here we find ourselves again on the shoreline of our understanding, with reality crashing all around us, breaking down the levees long after the flashpoint of the storm has blown through. I do not now intend to claim perfection, but instead come to this: I know very little. Being born a child of privilege by virtue of my citizenship and socioeconomic bracket and even the color of my skin came to me as anything else might. Not that any of these make me superior-- indeed, I am low in this world, among many who are more noble in spirit than I could ever be. But in trying to not think of myself more highly than I ought, I have been throwing away the vastness of who I am, with an equally vast outlook to all that I find around me.
We are not all wrong, though some of our thinking is. My perception of the way things are must be soft, must be open, before I can expect change from anything with which I am dissatisfied. I must believe in the inherent desire for good in all men. Not the ability, but the desire. I must acknowledge that we are all yet redeemable. All of us. And we are even through this process being redeemed.
May I have eyes to see, and ears to hear, and a mind to understand; especially in these, our darkest hours.

Peace be with you.
Liza

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.