not too much.

I had to check the date on my computer. More than a month.

Time and things.

Lacks of worthwhile words?

A knocking at doors.

Met someone. I hope she's worth it.

a word from our sponsors.

Remember dreams and things. 11pm and nothing. Good boring day. Roadside Frisbee. Let loose and torrenting down streams of streets. Closer to something.

Or nothing at all. Wake up thinking dreams and horror show scenes. Beat to the metronome. Thinking.

One two three one two three one two three one two three clack.

The sound of staplers upon slides upon tables surrounded by giggles.

Another punch through the seams.

nothing but an update.

Moments like these remind me of childhood and the aggravation of mid-Saturday afternoon whinings of "what should I do" to my mother. Invariably her response was to suggest that I clean my room which always drove me outdoors or into books or anywhere other than towards the process of cleaning. These days, with cleaning my room and the apartment and doing typical chores being the types of things that I do not mind doing so much anymore, I find myself starved for things to rally myself against.

Perhaps it has been too loud in this house lately and the sudden silence is more than a little overwhelming. I have bought some gym clothes and finished a book and fixed some dinner-lunch and for some reason I find myself at a loss for what to do. Perhaps this is the answer. Perhaps writing is the solution these dull hours and I have just been wasting away avoiding it.

Everything feels rather plain right now. No particular miseries or joys. A simple sense of being. Some floating thing held up by its own buoyancy in a placid lake.

There is a sky above us and it is a welcome grey after too many days of ultra-light. The cold wind blowing into the room in our night time hours and the lamp posts acting as the stars I can't see past the clouds. In the morning through my open windows the constant whirrrrrr of automobiles and the scarcely audible conversations of passersby. The dogs clacking their nails down the sidewalk and the skateboard kids falling down again. A cold wind ushering in our open eyes. Reminding us of something we can hardly touch anymore.

The book? Oh, it wasn't that great.

rock songs from a distant past.

The walk happened like this:

Maybe a rushed need to get out of this house and into the streets. A silent fury building up too quickly in the area of my lungs, my larynx. Places where wind and sound accumulate and blast out not asking questions but demanding answers anyway. Whatever it was I thought I was sitting contentedly reading and then something clicked and I felt my muscles pushing me out of the chair and then leashing the dog and gone.

Into a quickly pooling avenue of dark. Up and down cracked sidewalks whose sides do not meet evenly and threaten tripping and have more than once followed through on that threat. Through the dark Epsilon and myself made our steady way forward one foot or paw at a time. And the neighborhoods only echoed the faint sound of far away places and cars on pavement that had no idea of our existence but only a somewhat dimly aware idea that certainly something must exist past themselves. Some things are simply not worth considering. Epsilon ran after cats he would never catch and I followed the ghosts of the bodies who had walked these streets thousands of times before us and considered the faint residue of self I left in my wake.

After a while when the dark was more than dark and there was no future to be seen in the sidewalk we carried ourselves along I found myself welcoming the idea of this endless corridor of thick plant life surrounding us. I fell into a pattern of steps not knowing where or if they would land at all but taking them anyway.

But the darkness faded. And in its place I found myself sitting in the parking lot beneath a bowling alley. I listened to the rolling fervor of 14lb balls careening down slick wooden alleyways and the loud smash of pins. Separated by a ceiling and whatever else was up there a person loses the distinct sounds of the alley, individual pins dropping like a cascade are lost and instead it is just like a loud muffled explosion. The sound of the ball rolling is as if it is from very far away, and sitting where I was, it sounded as if it kept growing treacherously closer. Only the sounds of explosions making my safety feel more ensured.

I wondered how at even so late a time of night I could not seem to run in to more than 4 people in this large city on my walk. I wondered where there rest of us are and understood then that perhaps I am not a pack animal. I am not one for large groups and never will be. I miss the comfort of small, trustworthy comradarie and feel as if a bit of that was chipped away tonight. Perhaps I am being overly sensitive. Ah but to the off hour walkers of this city I wish we didn't miss each other so often. That our paths crossed every now and then and we could all realize we are not so lonely or alone as we may believe ourselves to be.

a request for dreaming.

Today happened with little to note. I spent time reading old blog entries from older journals and missed certain aspects of the way I once wrote. Something now feels cold and sterile and the old writing, while in no way taken seriously, at least felt as if there was some sort of passion to it. The trouble here is isolating incidents and figuring out what it is that has closed that small part of me off. I feel as if it has been tucked away for some time now.

I find myself focusing on songs in my head these days. A refusal to consider perhaps, or a refusal simply to look. My dreams take on the image of foreign objects and when I touch them, rather than disintegrating into vapor they instead feel uncomfortable and make my body ache. I dreamed my father was a writer too; a better one. I walked into walls when they should have not been there or my dreamstate should easily have been able to penetrate through them. I consider creating a secondary journal, something private, just to take on dreams and collect them. Something that perhaps might help my memory more.

Just anything at this point.

no answer to a query.

Work is fine and I feel happy to be around more people at all times but now and then it gets to me. For instance someone trying to haggle a dollar off an already used book because a cover is lightly bent or someone not understanding that sometimes a book appreciates in value and that this worth is dictated by demand, much like they are demanding it then. And that when this is explained to them via the baseball card or comic book parallel they look hurt and angered as if their intelligence has been insulted in some way. Well, don't ask the question then.

But even though this problem is unique to the book scene and a few other industries that deal in used merchandise, it has its parallels in the problems of other stores that are just as irritating and also fleeting. They by no means ruin a day but certainly they make me sit back and wonder at just what point some of us got to be so tired of acting congenial to one another.

Taking the dog out I find myself dismayed at an inability to really walk anywhere barefoot. Perhaps I should have done this more as a kid, felt soft grass underfoot, or cold streams or anything really. Or perhaps I did as much as I should have but now the consequences and risks have grown apparent and my feet no longer as brave against the rigors of ant bites and stone pricks. Perhaps cowardice takes strange shapes.

I feel very transitory right now. And this is probably because in less than two weeks time I will be moving once more and I am having a hard time feeling settled. I find myself feeling jealous of happy couples and of happy people in general and today I felt the depression sweep over a number of times and i had to go to pains to remind myself of what it was. It went away reluctantly, but not without leaving the marks of its cold tendrils up my spine.

Need to start really writing.

just some small details.

Been moving around. New digs and new roomates. Better ones. People I care about.

Things worth mentioning:

Tried to shave the dog. Maybe got him halfway through before I gave up and realized I am no good at this. He looks awful. Pictures soon?

I have a few people at work I consider myself grateful for. I'm not sure they realize this and that's fine. That's quite alright. I like having them there not knowing they're people that I entrust my day to. It makes them a lot less conscious about it, that's for sure.

Been reading but not really. Back to Mexico history. Not been writing a lick. Not to say I haven't thought about it, just been looking for the right spots in the day. Haven't found'em.

There's a dog on the bed, he's waggin his tail. Won't be in a moment have to give him that ear medicine. Not so happy about that.

Need to be more settled but just moving again in 15 days. What are you gonna do?