flows

Like an infinite time warp I spend this life in an endless stream of thought. bubbles bursting across the river in a blaze of peanut butter and popcorn. there is no sense in the order of what you think is right and good. there is more sense in what you think is chaotic and meaningless.  you and me and all of us we try to bring order to that which we don't understand but its the kind of order that only makes sense to us. then we because we are all weak minded and foolish grasp on to whatever order flows the direction that most often intersects with our own.  top hats and cherry trees and people running around in naked photo shoots on cherry wood stair cases in apartment buildings converted from old homes backed by stained glass windows. please hide him from me. i don't want him to see me like this - she says...  i should have known - but it doesn't matter i was crippled as I am now.  i run into corners and cover my face in plain site for every one to see but not notice.  she did.  i don't like that she noticed my face - that she knows my name that she looks at me with those eyes.  that i think - that she is on my radar - that i can't help that among that millions she creeps into the ones that i latch onto.  there are days when the blackness would have been much simpler when the flows would be easier if they didn't come out like a thousand branches of a very complex tree that grows in and connects to every tree in the world and sees every branch that it connects to.  i know it's not really like that it just feels that way. every clear day in the world should generate cupcake colored clouds that pour liquid happiness into our brains like an opiate so that when we have the cloudy days we can always be happy when it's raining.  I love the rain. I love thunder.  I love when the condensation in the atmosphere becomes too heavy to maintain it's vaporous state, falls, and hits me in the face.  I walk in the rain without an umbrella...  I laugh at people who use umbrellas when it's only sprinkling.  Like water is the worst possible thing that could touch them - and they get wet anyway...  my jacket might not be made of bacon, but it keeps me looking nice enough. i guess.  I suppose I have image problems, but I don't think they are based on some kind of psychological issue. anthropology...  I'm not a good looking person. I take comfort in the fact that a lot of people are in the same boat.

A first at first

A week of firsts has left me feeling just a little more lonely than I was before.  Over-thinking, wishing, trying...rince; repeat.  My nerves are frayed; my hands are shaking; typing this seems impossible; I'm having serious trouble understanding why...

From all fronts my mind is torn when it comes to how I feel and what I should do. I honestly didn't know it was possible for me to feel this way. A big part of me thinks (knows) that any step I take other than "do nothing" will be a mistake.  I'm not keen on  putting people into awkward positions for the sake of getting something off my chest.

My friends say that I couldn't possibly know he outcome of putting myself into these situations.  "What's the worst that could happen?": has been bounced around a lot the last couple weeks.  Also posit the situation where I get what I want...maybe too much of it...measure your happiness  vs the angst of possibly loosing a friendship that isn't even a real friendship.

I look into her eyes and feel the pointlessness of my endeavor.  "Prove me wrong," I think, "and I'll prove you wrong."

The first time I really considered being wholly honest with her.
The frist time I looked hard at someone for a long time.
The first time someone made me feel special.
The first phone number.
The first date, though that's not what it was.
The first time I didn't feel completely alone.
The first time someone made me feel really wanted.
The first time someone saw what I was really feeling.

It wasn't the first time I hid.
Not the first time I thought too much.
Not the first time I was confused about what I want.
Not the first time I made someone run away.
Not the first night I didn't sleep.
Not the first obsession.
Not the first time I felt like disappearing.
Not the first time I kept it all inside.
Not the first time I didn't act on my feelings.
Not the first weekend alone.
Not the first Monday running away for some time alone, wishing that someone was here to interrupt it.

This is how Alex would see you.

He sat by himself in the corner of the room away from the loud crowd that filled the old pub.  This was his normal routine on any given weekend evening.  He blocked himself away, hiding in one of the busiest and most social places you can be at this time.  He usually went unnoticed by the general populous of the bar; even to the regulars, which he was one of, he was a complete stranger.  Part of him liked it that way, but he admitted to himself that it was obvious he wanted some kind of human connection or he wouldn't come to a place like this.  He worked, as normal, on finishing his only beer of the evening.

When she walked through the door he couldn't help but notice her presence.  She looked quiet and unassuming, but not really approachable in his mind because he saw instantly the power behind her eyes.  She paused as she entered the room and looked around.  Her head shrank slightly into her shoulders as she measured the general attitude of the people in the room.  Alex noticed a few other men looking her way.  She also noticed the glances as they were much less subtle than Alex about when and where they were looking.  The awkward stares and obvious ogles made her feel uncomfortable; not only because they made her feel exposed, but because she was internally unused to this kind of attention.

She walked over to the bar and found a spot nearer to Alex than he would have liked considering the amount of looking he had been engaged in.  She smiled and spoke very clearly to the bartender; she ordered a Coke and shuffled into a seat near the corner end of the bar.  From his table just catty-corner from where she was sitting Alex could see her clearly.  She had a very pure and natural beauty.  Long dark brown, almost black, hair tucked into a bandanna that was tied back like a headband.  She was wearing a tee-shirt and very close fitting pants with some comfortable looking yet stylish shoes.  It was clear to Alex from her fatigued demeanor, the clothes she was wearing, and her purposeful attitude, that she had just gotten off work from one of the eateries near by.

She didn't have to try to look beautiful.  She has those unique qualities that make her appealing without all the pretense that comes with the dolling up our society expects of women.  One could measure the exactness of her figure in micrometers.  Her ears were perfectly round at the top and formed a drawn line to her jaw which curved at precise angles to her chin.  Her neck flowed smoothly to her clavicle which was just showing through the neck of her tee shirt.  Something about her face looked incredibly familiar.  Her features were symmetrical to the point that no noticeable flaws could be found in her form.  The curve of her nose and eyebrows gave the appearance of well placed brush strokes on a brand-new canvas.

Alex could see that the familiarity he felt came from her eyes.  Something about the way they were shaped, their size, the position of her irises when she looked at something, reminded him of something or someone that he couldn't quite place.  He realized when looking at her eyes that he would divulge himself to her if she asked; something he was extremely unaccustomed to doing.  As she smiled the brightness of her eyes stood out even more.  Alex felt himself mock a grin when he noticed a smile approach her lips.

She stood briefly to adjust herself and get comfortable in her seat.  As she stood Alex's eyes followed her long neck across her square shoulders and down the length of her arm to her delicate but well used hands.  This thought made Alex smile; someone who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty.  As she turned to adjust her shirt back to its proper place she placed her profile exactly in Alex's view.  She arched her back slightly in a long awaited stretch.  Her back ellipsed to her backside which was unbelievably perfect on its own and incredibly hard not to notice because of its definition that kept with her general shape.  As she stretched her shirt raised slightly exposing enough of her abdomen for Alex to derive that she put at least some effort into her physical fitness.  He did his best not to speculate on her bra size, but the alluring proportions popped into his head before he could stop himself.

She sat as Alex took the last pull from his glass into mouth.  Satisfied that he had gone unseen, he stood  and draped his jacket across his arm and onto his back swinging it slightly to seamlessly breeze his other arm into its sleeve.  He kept her in the corner of his eye as he walked by; she never raised her eyes to meet his glance.  He approached and turned close enough that he could smell the sweet aura she let off, informing Alex's senses that she was a genetic match.  He shook it off knowing any advance would be met with skepticism and antipathy.  He finished circling the corner of the bar and walked to the door where he had seen her enter.  He glanced out the corner of his eye to see her finish a sip of her Coke, her other hand resting on the bar in front of her.  A brief sigh of relaxation passed over her that indicated this was the point at which she was done for the day.  Alex smiled and continued out the door into the darkness;  the thoughts of this stone beauty carving into his memory forever.

Place behavior

Individual behavior and dynamics are fun and interesing to analyze.  Something else that's really fun to do is sit and measure the dynamic and behavior of an entire group of people. When that group has something in common, like the love a particular place, the dynamic moves in a sort of syncopated dance that is really interesting to feel.

Think about music for a second.  Rhythm, melody, harmony, flow...  a place has these same things, especially when filled with the people who devote a part of themselves to that place.  The real interesting places are the ones that have a very dedicated following, like the place where I'm sitting tonight.  The people speaking to one another creates the melodic harmony that I'm talking about.  The room fills with the sweet flowing sounds of a hundred conversations and crescendos to a plateau of rolling sound.

Individual conversations tend to take on a really specifc rhythm.  This is something I've noticed while listening and talking in a couple of deep, long conversations.  We tend to match tempo with the other people in the conversation. It's subtle, but we all have a pattern built in to our speech.  The pattern depends on the words you use, the length of sentences, accent; every syllable has a place in the pattern which creates a rhythm. We alter our patterns based on who we're around, topics, etc. In the long run we all, in the conversation, will end up speaking in time with each other. Listen for it next time you are in a long conversation you'll never be able to unhear it.

Multiply that by 20 conversations in a small room.  They come and go like waves; they have accents, drop offs, brass and the quiet wood winds; each has a chorus adding to the whole with its own set of rules but ultimately they all fall into their place.

This is a good place. Sophistication mixed with boystrisness.   The hunt, the prowl, the lonely sole, the leaders, the belongers... some basic common interest brings us all together.  Something more interesting keeps everyone here.

Wow - Did I really just start my book?

The story of my birth isn't fantastic in any way.  I was born in a hospital in the middle of the night with doctors, nurses, and my father hovering about.  I realize at this point the effect that I've had on the world and what it could mean to the people who don't really know better.  The thought popped into my head that in the future those same people might wonder about my birth and then make up some ridiculous story.  I wanted to put it out there that my birth wasn't anything magnificent.  My mother and father were married, my mom and dad had a daughter before I was born, and I'm the youngest of my father's seven children.  I popped out; that's it.

I think though that people will find my childhood to have been quite interesting.  My very first memory is that of my father teaching me something.  "Don't mess with the new dog or it will bite you.  You're not fast enough to do that yet."  I watched as dad carried the kennel with the German Shepard/Timber-wolf mix pup in to the pantry.  Then I sat in the middle of the living room when he let the dog out of the cage and it ran circles around me. Then I watched dad grab her paw and pull away quickly when she started to bite.  Dad taught me this lesson because I thought what he was doing looked like a lot of fun, so I decided to give it a try.  When I told my mom this story she didn't believe me; because dad picked up Lobo from the airport just before I turned two.  It's funny because I remember understanding everything that was going on; something that adults tend to think very young children can't do.  I have flashes of memories after that, about our animals mostly. Opossum the three legged cat, Fluffy the miniature golden lab, her puppy "Puppy", and of course Akita Lobo.  I remember camping as a toddler and some of the important things that happened, like Puppy running off a cliff to what we were sure was his death 50 meters below, and him running back up a path a few moments later because he landed on a ledge after falling about 3 meters.  I remember finding out what a nettle is - the hard way.  I remember camping in the middle of a field, without a tent, with nothing between us and the stars but a doubled over army surplus sleeping bag.  Then I remember getting ready to go to school.

I learned some valuable lessons before this point in my life.  I knew what breasts looked like because of the poster of a naked black lady in my dad's study.  I knew that my sister was my worst enemy and my best friend.  I had a decent understanding of general language.  I knew and was pretty damn good at hide-and-seek.  I had a good concept of things like privacy and secrets.  What I didn't have were any kind of social skills.  My next most brilliant memory was walking up to the school for the very first time.  I balanced myself on the concrete ledge as my mother and I walked up to the doors.  I met Mrs. Romeral my kindergarten teacher, Mr. Stern the principal, and the school nurse.  Then I met my new classmates; Matt, Johnathan Caps, Courtney Romeral, and Cathy; my kindergarten crew at School 58 in Indianapolis Indiana.  I learned what city we lived in when Mrs. Romeral had us make up emergency contact sheets to take home.  That's also how I learned how to write numbers.

Kindergarten at that school was amazing.  We had exercise time every day where we learned how to do push ups, sit ups, and jump rope.  We had music lessons a couple times a week with a teacher who specialized in teaching young children about music and art.  We had art time every other day.  We had nap time every day; I was more intrigued by the way Mrs. Romeral held the books with one hand while she read to us then I was with the generic children's stories she was reading to bore us to sleep.  We watched PBS every day where Le' Var Burton and Big Bird taught me about thinking, reading, and being a good person.  I also learned that people can be vicious and mean and that I was willing to take any measure of abuse from people if it meant that I got to understand more about how they work.  From  the time I was 5 years old I was obsessed with people's motivations.

What happened when I was 5 was the basis for how I was to live and be the rest of my life.  One of the kids in the class asked me about this thing called "church" and wanted to know which one I went to.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you believe in God?"
"What's that?"
"You're going to burn in Hell!  You're going to burn in Hell!"

I had no idea what this "Hell" thing was, but I sure knew I didn't like burning.  Burning was that thing that wood does when you put it in the fire pit where it turns into grey dust.  It was also that horrible thing that happens when you touch the red thing on the stove while Mommy's cooking. And where ever and whatever this "Hell" thing is, apparently it's where you go to burn because you don't know what "God" is and you don't go to this "Church" thing, and I didn't like it.  I also didn't like the way that kid was talking to me about it at all.

Dad was  home when I got back from school.  I remember this being a pretty rare thing and I really needed him to help me with this.

"Dad, what is God?"
"Hmm."  He walked to his bookshelf sort of nonchalantly and grabbed a book. He continued, "Here read this and figure it out for yourself."
I had interrupted him reading and listening to music, sitting in his black leather chair near the fire place. I sat in bewilderment looking at this monstrosity of a book he had just handed me; the biggest book I had ever seen.  I opened it and didn't understand anything; there were hand written notes along the sides of all the pages, with lines pointing to various passages.  I looked at him; surely with the look of a person completely lost and confused.  I played with the studs that decorated the front of his chair while he responded to my oblivious stare.
~Sigh, "Why are you asking, Alec?"
"Some kid told me I was going to burn in Hell because I don't know what God is."
~Deeper Sigh, "That's not how it works son, they don't know what they're talking about."
"Why'd he make fun of me and say I was going to burn?  And what is Hell?"
~Sigh, "They don't know any better, son, that's just what they've been told.  Don't worry about Hell, everything you need to understand it is in that book."

I just sat there on the floor in front of Dad's chair and thought for a long time while I listened to music and Dad read his book.  This God/Hell/Church thing must be pretty important if it has a book this big to go with it, and these notes, I guess Dad thought the book wasn't good enough so he wrote some more in it.  The next day I went back to school and told the kid that I forgive him for being mean to me, because he didn't know what he was talking about.

Distractions

3 - 2 - 1...  Question of the day:  When I feel good about myself I feel like I'm always waiting for something shitty to happen.  Fuckin' A I'm feeling really happy - What am I forgetting or ignoring that's going to fuck up this feeling?  The theory has been thrown around that I'm addicted to feeling like shit and I am subconsciously sabotaging myself.  Someone in my shoes would say - I've seen so much shitty that it seems like happy isn't an option.  So the question - Am I causing bad shit to happen because I'm addicted to it - or - Am I noticing bad shit because I'm used to seeing bad shit - or - is nothing bad, everything is an experience to be learned from?

I've been having trouble writing lately.  Every time I sit down to write, I smile and try to figure out what's on my mind that's worth writing about.  Well - take a look back in my archives - most of the stuff I write comes from a place of angst.  The stuff that's on my mind right now is big - really big - requires much time and work to write.  The point is - I've been happy.  When I'm happy - all the little shit becomes, well, little.  Mind you - I'm still looking at this chick's shoes out of the corner of my eye - and now I'm back to that point where I really want to learn how to get over my social issues.  Time to turn on the experiment again?

{{~~brain~~  watch out folks, Jason's about to go the fuck off.}}

So I've been reading - a lot - about how to get over my severe social anxiety issues and my over-flowing shyness.  The best answer that I've concluded from everything I've read is - just fucking do it damn it.  They say shit like - relax, be yourself, act natural - blah blah...  None of that stops the feeling that I'm about to pass out when I try to talk to someone new.  Say that I think too much a few more times, I'm sure that will stop happening any minute now.  I know where the feeling comes from - I'm overly self aware and completely over stimulated with data from what's going on.  My thoughts become a constant scream in my head because they're coming too fast.  I get quiet because I'm having trouble filtering out the anxiety from normal thoughts and I'm 100% certain that it would be a bad idea to come out with what ever's on my mind.  {~~brain~~ Within about 10 minutes it's something like - genetics and personality type - clothes and other cultural indicators (like accent and language) - intelligence/memory type - after that it's a cluster fuck of analytics that - in some cases - ends with me having a really good idea what a relationship with this person might be like.  Which I feed to Jason for funzies because that motherfucker needs to learn how to deal with it.}  Like I said before, most people aren't receptive to me knowing shit about them they didn't tell me.  That leaves me quiet, anxious, over thinking myself to no end.  AH!

Reading on - I hear that people like me (Introverted, intuitive, feeling, analyzing) are way happier if they become more social.  (thus the experiment) - this is absolutely true.  The times when I'm happy are the times when I have people around me.  I mean - I escape to one of the most public places you can go in order to be alone.  ((I wonder if the crowd of people around me just got offended when I put my headphones in.  Seems that way - they just walked away...  I'm all about smelling like Sweet Basil being a turn on - and yeah the chemical properties of Arugula are really interesting... Okay now I feel like an ass - quit scaring off beautiful ladies by being unapproachable.))

Shit forgot my point...  - damn that girl is beautiful, tall, slender - button nose - heels (vintage style) - black dress - black stockings -  short pony tail.  I bet she's trying to grow her hair out and recently became really proud that she can now put it in a pony tail. There's an art show going on at Day's Espresso and I'm sitting in a booth underneath a couple pieces of art.  All the patrons and artists are walking around and stopping right next to me to look at the paintings.  I appreciate the look of a draped black dress and a very deliberate look on a woman.  The person who seems like she's running this show is also very lovely.  I think I've seen her before - probably here - I think her and I would get along if I could figure out what to say - how to get into the conversation.  She's wearing stilettos and those pants that look like stockings with this long undulant blouse that looks like it has a flower/butterfly pattern on each side.  She has black hair, a defined jaw line and ample pursing lips.  Her features are very well drawn.  Her personality is that of 'come hither'; if not on purpose then she just ends up being the center of attention.  A crowd of people has been around her all evening - where she's been the one engaging the conversation.

Too many people - too many distractions -  told you - having trouble writing.  I think I'm done writing about down shit for a while - I'm going to try to write more structured things.  Time to go - I'm heading to Sergio's for some yummy beer.

QC_2199 Repost

For my barista friends!  QC is one of my favorite comics - dude me and baristas... It's not the dialog you should be paying so much attention to - its Faye, the chick on the left - and the other characters' reactions.

Linky-link!