Saturday, January 15, 2005

Holy cow! Freezing rain! The roads are ice -- like, take-a-running-start-and-slide-across-the-street ice -- and G & I went out there...

We were going to have our first class at "The Drawing Studio" on Division this morning. The Studio folks, however, did the sensible thing and didn't open today. Can't complain though -- it was neat to see the town all frozen over. Of course, I wasn't the one driving...

Man, I woke up at negative o'clock this morning. I was feeling ill... Which resulted in a mere 3 hours of sleep last night. Back to bed with me! [That is, after I blog. ;-) ]

...Meanwhile, G has been wrangling rsync for me, setting up my new 500 gig Lacie backup drive. [Working on digital movies, you need that much space!] She's over at the studio right now, wrestling with a job that she started running last night.

I made my first quiche last night! Mmmmmmm!! ...And you wouldn't believe how simple quiche is to make. Really, all it is (in essence) is 3 eggs, 1.5 cups of whipping cream, and a cup of cheddar, all in a pie crust. Y'know: It's amazing how the addition of heavy whipping cream to our staples has blossomed our cooking round here. :-D

Thursday I made Israeli Fondue. That's edam cheese, avocado, sour cream, and a white wine base. This is part of my big cheese kick, that was set off by purchasing this groovy little book that describes all the major varieties and has a picture for each one.

...This cheese book has really rekindled my interest in fondue. That, and figuring out that if I do one-fourth recipes, I can make fondue as an appetizer for each meal. You just can't have fondue as a main course very often -- it's too heavy. But as an appetizer? Oh yeah.

The Mirah concert on Thursday was AMAZING good. I'm so sad that mph isn't doing mp3 friday anymore -- I've been collecting a bunch of songs that I'm nigh desperate to share with folks out there. Mirah's song "promise", which is on her new album "C'mon Miracle", tore my heart out at the concert. ...Played it for G and tears spouted in abundance. She put it on repeat while I was out doing errands, and when I came back she was a dessicated husk.

It's that good.

This week has been hard, but in a different way from last week. Last week was family and memorial service and... ugh. This week has been about getting the gears of routine life moving again. After Christmas and dad's death and New Year's at the coast and the memorial service... There was a lot of backlog to deal with -- including psychological backlog.

Those poems I wrote Wednesday were a good sign. I guess they sound more flaily than how I heard them in my head -- I think I worried G a little, there. But then, I have a kind of flaily sense of spirituality. It was good to reconnect with that, after (and I don't mean this badly) being in other people's spaces for such a long stretch. Nice to reconnect with my own.

This upcoming week's big theme: getting the studio prepped for Artist's Way. That's all I've got left! One week, before G starts her new life (tee hee!) as a facilitator. Wow.

On my own end of things, I'm finally getting enough of the vital housework cleared away that I can begin thinking about my own projects. Nothing horribly new: YL and the HPL film are still the big things, just like last year.

But at least with YL, I've got a different feeling about the project beginning to emerge. I've spent years learning to write and honing my basic ideas. It feels like the time has come to transition into a more traditional research mode. Kristian, author of "Our Enemies in Blue" really has me inspired... I need to get my research a bit more nailed down -- but perhaps in 2006 (yes, next year) I'll be ready freddy to start pitching a book proposal to publishers. ...That's the new feeling: "Oh yeah. Books are just product. Knowing what I want to write is important -- but I have to be able to pitch the idea first, and a publisher has to buy it."

So far, the research I was beginning to do at the PSU library on G's work days was really cool. I was getting my theses articulated, and hunting down the historical data I needed to either prove or disprove them. Oh yeah.

The Lovecraft film is also on my mind. I don't have a work schedule envisioned yet -- but the mood to animate is growing. I'm also getting psyched to do the soundtrack, which will be a real task unto itself. Example: "Hm, that would make a great sound effect: to dip cheesecloth in water, freeze it, and then bend and crunch it for the microphone." Not bad, eh?

On that note: I am so excited about the new version of GarageBand! I'm sure it won't be everything I want -- but it does have some interface that deals with actual music notation. The little player-piano squigs just weren't doing it for me. ...Next thing I'll have to figure out: how to get my electric piano to function as a midi keyboard with GarageBand.

Hey -- at the Mirah concert, the band "The Blow" (also quite kick-ass) was playing all its beats from a 12" Mac Powerbook. When I went to see Dahlia with Leopoldo and G, the music was achieved with the same trick. Anyone out there know what software these folks are using?

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Wow. Second poem this morning.

...It's going to be an interesting day.

Where to find God

God does not live in boxes.
Rarely if ever will you meet
your place in the universe
while trapped in the routines
and subroutines
that suffocate our cluttered houses.

(Meeting God in the dark,
lying in bed beside a lover
wondering if she's awake
and what drastic means it will take
to save your and her connection
from the dehumanizing preoccupations
the sheer absent-mindedness
that's in the nature of a human mind --
That's another matter!)

God is not Redwood Trees
or the Grand Canyon
or Horsehead Nebula, millions of light years away.
Yes: God is every stone and river,
in the pantheistic and animistic sense.
Absolutely!
But looking there is
picture postcards from someone else's vacation.
Sentimentalized.
Turning the divine into a plastic novelty bauble.

Go for a walk
on a very cold day, alone.
When you start to feel small and lonely,
when everything you are invested in seems meaningless
and you begin wondering how tenuous
all your brittle loves are,
clawing the walls of your mind for
some way to get back to them...

Then you are ready to glimpse God --
in each of those splinters of cosmic mind
that you're so privileged to witness.

Like a thousand warm stars.


January 12, 2005
Woke up in the dark this morning, long before the alarm clock was set to go off. Unsettling dreams about feeling distant from G, J, myself. Poetry ensued -- the first poem of the new year.

Yesterday I went for a three hour walk, reading Dune. Best estimate based on mile markers: 7 miles round trip. The walk, and the bit where the Reverend Mother says "Humans are almost always lonely." (p.25) -- maybe you can see their influence. But then, it seems like I've been exploring what loneliness is all about in my poetry for -- what? -- maybe half a year now?

Walking in the presence of God

Loneliness is the origin of feeling...
The desire for another someone, with you.

Feelings are relational information.
If you're on program,
then you are alone
though maybe parallel in program.
Work hard enough
and you'll discover the emptiness of all projects.
Nothing paper has a soul.
Only people.

But even God you don't want,
are cut off from,
don't feel --
until loneliness gets in.
The emptiness of being,
the smallness of my mote of existence --
that existential horror at being nothing.

* * *

I talk about non-ownership,
which sounds like Buddhist non-attachment.
But I do want to cling to people and things:
my ear to your chest.

Compassion
to listen to what's inside you.
Compersion
my joy in you feeling joy.

So while I may say loudest
"you don't belong to me"
or in poetry the opposite
"I am bound to you"
my connection is really like
kneeling at a keyhole.
The line that connects the two of us,
like a tin can and string telephone,
is my ability to hush
and hear what's in your body
(the first language)
what's in your mind
(the second).

Knowing this is walking in the presence of God.

Hushed.
Listening.
Stilled by the coldness of the ever expanding universe
and its unimaginably wide vacuum.


January 12, 2005

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

G has pink eye. Eeewww!

Kristian did a great job last night reading from his book "Our Enemies In Blue" at Powell's on Hawthorne. Go man, go!

And I got a call from Carl yesterday: Pleasantville is just fine, and already he's kicking some ass as an editorial assistant to the monster gods of Tor books.

Today: Read lots and lots of "Dune", because the deadline for the Sci Fi Bookclub is Saturday.

Monday, January 10, 2005

It's difficult to explain.

G pretending to vomit brains into my belly button.

And how happy it makes me.
The Death of Blogging:
  • mph has announced that he's essentially quitting
  • M. Burton deleted his blog entirely a month or two back
  • Leopoldo, busy with filming "Flesh Of My Flesh", has negligible posting
  • Carl hasn't posted since November

Granted, G & I haven't been as consistent as I'd like. What with all the travel -- to Burning Man, to Colorado for Thankgiving, to Manzanita for New Year's -- and then with the family visit for my dad's memorial services -- we've been distracted, to say the least.

Of my regular reads, it seems like the Meadling is doing best right now at keeping up.

Hm. Seems like our little blog enclave really picked up steam when introduced to G. I occasionally wonder if she's the lynchpin here. When life made things spotty here at home, did everyone else give up the ghost? Disillusioned with the medium that she (locally) pioneered?

It seemed for a while there like the blogs were how we were all keeping in touch, volunteering windows in on each other's lives. Is the death of blogging symptomatic of the more general decay of the social circle originally brought together to play the "Werewolf" RPG? Maybe there's no reason to share, because the folks who were involved are wandering off in their own separate directions now.

Or -- noting that all these names are boys -- is there something in the male psyche that can only volunteer a window in so long as the honeymoon is on? When normalcy sinks in, and we get back to being our normal less-than-entirely-charming selves, do our metaphorical mouths snap shut?

Just wonderin'. ...And don't let me off without my share of the blame, either.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.


[From "The Second Coming" by Yeats]