Early Birds

I am up early, 4 am. Kori should be on her way over here, she said 4:30-4:45, but it is now 5:21. I feel good, I am on my second cup of coffee, and I stretched, though not thoroughly. I am wondering why this new setup doesn’t automatically spell check, and how I can alleviate that situation. It now occurs to me why so many writers get up this early and turn their phones off, it’s cool out and the mind is lucid. This SHOULD become habitual… and most assuredly it will contribute to my growing nap habit. The hottest part of the day should be spent in a dreamy haze anyway. With the extreme temperatures yesterday, and little to no circulation and a temporary blackout; the only way to survive was to take cold showers and minimize movement… dreams really didn’t come, but reality was as stagnant as the air. I even considered going to “test out” Sam’s Clubs Freezer section. OHhhhh the thought.
This is good, I am writing, just like I promised myself I would once I got this computer. PRODUCTIVITY. So I just got a voice mail.. Kori-bean is sick! OH no… no clover picking, up early for not no reason, but I guess a different reason than suspected. I should fill up this page with words, you don’t have to read them. Pretty much I need to just get back in the habit of writing, writing, writing… and this typing thing goes a helluva lot faster than script, which I love to do, but is starting to effect my wrists. This is better for you, right?
I live in a place where a rooster crows. It is not restricted to the butt crack of dawn, though he is quite consistent with that as well. I really hope it cools off today.
So, a bird flew in here this morning, all the bright lights attract the barn swallows and since I live in a barn, the swallows run the joint in the summer months. The rafters are kind of like their summer home. I enjoy the damage they do to the bug population that would otherwise crowd the scene. Luckily the little buddy found his way out just about as quickly as he came in. It doesn’t always happen that way, most times they freak out and fly around looking to land on something, just to rest their over active heart. If it’s dark out, I find the only way to get them to leave is to turn the light on outside the door, and turn off all the lights inside, usually they fly to the light outside and you shut the door being more cautious next time. The quirks of living on a farm. The bat I found on the fly sticky trap wasn’t so lucky with his escape. The thing was pissed, and who wouldn’t be if they found themselves going out to dinner only to end up in sticky damn near impossible to escape situation. I really wanted to help it out, give it a hand. Especially since was obviously still struggling to get off. I think the barn swallows and the bats do their job for our little community. They damage the bug population, leaving me with one less thing to worry about. I also know bats have rabies, so my inclination to try and handle this little angry flying rodent. He ends up hissing, and I literally kind of holler and step back four steps with my ass puckered. Why am I puckering my ass? What do I think is going to happen to my by means of this little black thing stuck to a adhesive tube? His teeth are miniscule. And I wonder if the programming and association of bats to vampires has somehow effected my psyche. It’s harmless in it’s present state, but somewhere at the back of my mind, it’s going to magically transform into a vampire and be pissed I didn’t help it out of it’s predicament. I don’t even really read or seek out vampire based entertainment. That must just be a run off of the collective consciousness. Especially with all the current hype around the True Blood series or what ever it’s called… like I said, I wouldn’t know.
This week seems to be a folly of plans gone awry. Kori obviously needs to slow down, and her body is telling her that through the voice of vomit. This is a sign to me to attack some things around here that have been negligent, such as the mounting pile of dishes in my sink… And believe it or not, there are more mice to kill. I need to set up my “studio office,” which only means now that I have the computer and a printer, there should be a place that I use it in order to keep it clean and free of debris, and a non cluttered place to encourage good behavior like 4 am writing sessions.
Other work, move more shit, clean more shit… take a nap? I want to go back to bed, it is almost 6am, which is when one of my sleep cycles kicks in… perhaps…
Doesn’t that sound ideal? Get up at 4, start some coffee, do some stretching, sit down and write for about an hour and a half to two hours? Go back to bed for a little while, get up and start the day for real? Or just stay up and kick ass into overdrive and go for a walk…The coolest part of the day lately.
It could be the fact that winter is usually longer than the summer, and getting out of bed when it’s cold out is a million times harder than when it’s warm. All you can think about is the warm covers, and perhaps the shared body heat of the someone next to you. You ignore the fact you have to put your warm feet on the cold ground, because to acknowledge it, only makes you shiver, and you are still warm under that blanket, dreading the imposing dilemma of getting up and warm.
I only learned recently that big birds have a hard time circulating blood into their wings when it is cold out. It takes much more work for them, and they can appear sluggish in comparison the when things are warmer. It makes sense then that birds would migrate for more than just the reason of food. Cold weather really bothers their response time. In turn be careful when you see large birds near the road on cold days, on coming traffic startles them and in response they move, but not always in the best direction, and not always as fast as you would expect.
I had a large turkey vulture damn near hit my car. It was a cool morning, and there was a dead deer alongside the road that him and some buddies were munching on. As I approached they started to scatter, and most of them flew in the opposite direction into the forest. One however, headed right for the passenger window, and with an increase in speed on my part, he barely missed me. The sound of birds hitting a windshield makes me a little sick.
I remember going driving with my step mom right after I got my permit. We were driving down Road 22 off of Happy Jack toward Otto Road, and this flock of small birds was coming directly for us, one hit the window, I took my hands off of the wheel and ducked. I suppose that is a natural response to something flying at you at eye level. Karen grabbed the wheel perhaps kind of freaked out because riding with a new driver is scary enough. I think I might even have made a loud “AHHHHH!” noise, rough on a parents nerves.
This spell check thing, or lack there of, is annoying. I am ready for a nap! End of transmission….

Nick, this blogs for you

Well, I had plans tonight, but it seems like a day full of “Of Mice and Men” type circumstance….”The best laid plans…”
One of my employers birds died today, she only had two. This wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t in charge of the farm while their gone… Little yellow, young canaries. At about 10 this morning, I found one of them dead in the cage. I had only seen it happy and chirpy hours before, the temprature in the room was too much for this fragile animal. (Heat from skylights are lethal to canaries…) This is the second animal to die on the farm, on my watch, the last was a lamb who died quickly of fly strike, ( wherein a fly lays it’s eggs in the wound and the eggs hatch, the maggots basically kill the animal from the inside out.) Both of these circumstances are ones that a person can only attempt to prevent with no garentee their effort will work. This is my job. Only months ago the Ewes were pregnant, and in my strong desire to do a good job, I stayed up late and woke up early to make sure the new mothers were able to deliver with help… one of the lambs died in a multiple birth, it inhaled the mercomium (poop in the fluid that releases during birthing and is toxic to the animal and when the animal is not delivered soon after, results in death…) There was little I could do about the situation, a sheep will only birth so fast, just like a woman, and new mothers have the disadvantage of having a less flexible baby exit,(that is unless the mother has a history of fisting… she may not have as many problems…). I hated having to deal with this dead lamb, I did it, but it seemed to be something I never saw myself dealing with, and disgusted somewhat at the reality. I seem somewhat desensitized to the death of humans, but dead animals; even mice in a trap, gives me the willies. I will throw the traps with the mice in it away, I do not have the patience or stomach to release them with their little crushed heads, I refuse to put my fingers near their dead bodies. I would rather, pitch it while looking the other way. Not because they are cute, not because I feel bad; but because they are filthy little animals that shit on everything. They attempt to sneak in my fridge, which is a terrible place for a mouse to hang out. They had some cousin connection to the black plague. They are gross, and though I don’t feel that way so much about the bird or the lamb, it makes me feel that animal death is something I would rather not to have to deal with… oh yeah I have a dog, whom I just found out, is not going to live forever… so I guess it may be inevitable.
So dead animal, and then a stupid sting by a stupid yellow jacket. This is a new feeling I would compare to a localized zap from an electric fence. Unacceptable in my current state of mind. Icing on the cake, but I was ready to go, looking good (not that I feel any need to try and impress this Nick Johnson, but rare is a day I feel so off {went to bed at 5 am} and still look good and find myself trying to get things done faster)
SOOOO I was suppose to meet for drinks and nonsensical reminicence with Nick Johnson, but he made the mistake of leaving his contactl lens’ in far beyond their que to exit, and coupled with the local pollen allergies and his brothers cats, his eyes are too swollen to drive the drive. So Here I am. Sitting at the place we planned on meeting… typing this, a consolation prize to the other piece I was working on, and deleted. How is it with all this technology you can still inadvertantly delete 45 minutes of consistant typing? Either way, the loud college kids next to me, are disrupting what was a very quiet and prime location, and noting their age, I am sure the liquor will catch up fast which usually means “less than mellow”… Oh, it’s always interesting to see what the consolation prize will be in an active effort to cohese, be hip, social and “out” (not gay, just out in public, I tend to hermitize for those who don’t know…)
The chicken fingers are good, I am glad a place around here found chicken with fingers, wings are ok, but fingers are the best. My favorite is the one in the middle.

Confusion, not just a poor mans dis- ease

Do you find yourself confused most of the time? Do find yourself staring into space more often than you should? Have you found yourself neglecting to do your day to day tasks? Is getting out of bed a problem of what to do once your feet hit the floor? Oh good, it’s not just me, then. No, in this dawning of the age of Aquarius, the past paradigm is crumbling. And when once, I thought myself a pioneer; now I wonder if I am but another light ready to blink from view too early. There are no longer any excuses not to succeed except the laziness and confusion of trailblazing a nw path in this day an age. Once upon a time I was an over-achiever who was awarded a scholarship to Christian College. The realization soon came that I had just been out to impress my teachers, and to out-do my peers, but only in the topics I found interesting. This new place couldn’t hold my interest. I became more sensitive to “the bubble effect;” which is the influence that happens to those who are too closed minded to diversify their lives. I found myself suffocating. Why was I here, and who was it for? Could it be a last stitch effort at following a righteous path approved by my kin? Was it the faith based fear that flowed in my blood? The sadness of wondering if those I had loved a lost made it to the higher realms of spirit? These were questions I felt held no answers in this location. In the situation of forcing some spiritual revelation, I felt I was swimming against the current. I left for the next leg of the journey without really thinking about it, I just knew I would have to pursue something that held my attention for longer than five minutes. In the world of no time, my interests have stayed in five minute increments. A challenge over come, and new situation awarded. I have done many things I have wanted to do, to smaller degrees than I would like. I am only twenty-eight I say to myself… you still have time. We live longer, now. We have many opportunities to do what we want, to go where we choose. Women have rights, we have a black president, the future is full of potential. Then why do I feel like I have past my prime by, how come I feel spent? My moods and virility come in waves with the moon. I ache for more, but I am unmoving. I want to wake up with more energy than before, but I can’t seem to make myself move faster or harder or with more passion. I have become somewhat passive externally. From the inside the cranks are working in my mind, my blood is boiling deep, and I am reaching toward the ethers with cries to the heavens, screaming “what to do next?” Anyone can have fame now, anyone can be seen. Those creative souls are searching and like fine cream rising to the top with a sense of purity, ready to teach. I thought I was one of those. Today I am not so sure. This could be another effect of the moon, it could be the sensitive weight that hangs in my heart, I know I was meant for something. I am asking for it to be revealed, I am tired of being tired. I am sick of wasting time. I need a little pocket life coach to send me on my way full of the encouragement I seem to keep from myself. Perhaps if I am honest about these things, they will neglect to stay the same.

If only I had a box of Solutions.

If only I had a box of Solutions. Better than the floor mat from Office Space, the one that allows you to “jump to conclusions.” I don’t want to jump anywhere, I also have no interest in staring into the void until I am tackled by defeat… no I think it would be sweet to have a Box of Solutions. Maybe they would be note cards, and when I needed help I would pull one out and follow it’s instructions. Or maybe it would include statues from a Chess board, and the reward would be landing the queen. Maybe my box would have rocks in it, and I could pull one out at random and get a feeling for the hard place I am in, find a solution to the current predicament. With box of Solutions I would only need to give it time before the rhyme and reason of living just seemed to become streamline. No more whining about “what to do…” No more feeling blue over a lack of Solutions.
I imagine the situation I am in right now, would mellow out with an outside solution, one that leads to a healthy resolution, but I am not sure I have any of those in my box, when I asked what I should do; I pulled out an old hole-y sock… what the fuck does that mean?

Growing pains still remain

When did I enter, consciously into this consciousness? This mess of thought forms and emotions ever growing in this whirlwind binding spell called life. Seeing the many lines of writers fall into more than one head and still heading in another direction. How many times have I seen the same lesson taught to millions through a common thread and dissimilar theme… all just beaming with brilliance and knowledge. I have found myself in a cloud of confusion where the only answers lie on a horizon higher than I know,and yet, as I said still growing. I have found myself at the precipice of a newness that cries for some sort of guidance, and still, knowingly I still lack some sort of reliance in myself. I attempt to help others,I won’t help myself and yet help is all I seek. Craving it silently and selfishly, seeing your reflection in me and, helplessly I find myself.I have a talent for self judgment, self reliant, self defiant, self seclusion. I hide in places like small mountain towns shining with my own exclusion, because the hermit card has fallen so many times from the deck that I chose not to regret that at times I forget what it is like to be human, to live in this skin that holds memories and feelings I know I need to transcend. So I take the journey and try to train my mind, rework my heart, admit I can not rewind though at times I admit it must be easier than it is to just exist in in this semi-resistant state of existence. When admiration comes knocking, I find myself blocking the attack, bringing myself back to loathing

Hmmm fond merry making

I wish there was a more subtle way to say
“Let’s hang out.”
But we’re in front of friends and strangers and I’ve got no house to offer
I want to experience winter mixing words with you
dissecting verbs with you
making these hoo doo lazy days flow with you
but even I know it’s too soon to say these things
It’s just that muse speaks in mysterious ways
in a whimsical daze she relays the changes upon the wind
She shares desire and taunts the sin
a winning vice her voice is alive in the weaving of this dreaming
seemingly swimming behind these lines and looks
and all of this reminds me of a book I once read, the title now escapes me
i relate by waiting, no need to be the show off queen
cause i am clumsy, fumbling just to make a pass
attempts at not looking like an ass
i ache to leave a lasting sweet impression
freshly waiting to show this wanting.

The Good Life

It’s easy to under appreciate the ability to live in such a free way. To travel with no short leash; to allow time to be what it is with no push-me-pull-you attitude. Lose the watch, leave when your heart tells you to go, write down memorable moments and tid-bits of wisdom… share some stories along the way. Allow a strangers help and compassion in a vulnerable moment, knowing not why they want to to help, but knowing it must be one of those lessons in growing as a human.
I need to quit referring to this adventure as being “stuck.” I realize the most stuck place I can get, is in my own head. There is a movement of energy each time I step forward, if mindlessness prevails, nothing but confusion awaits; mindful to truth, I arrive to Truths door every time.
My history of celebrating during the holiday season is almost nonexistent. I want to do something, but not the normal thing. Mai-tai’s while sitting next to warm blue waters, would be nice.
The holiday approaches and I am stepping forward, not mindlessly, but directionless. I have spent worse times brooding on Christmas day… This year I do not seek to brood, or moan; rather I want to experience the holiday in a new way, maybe through the eyes of someone else.
I am joyful that I am living and that I have the companionship of my lovely Claddagh… I only require more stability in the coming days. It’s time to pull the journals out again, and to explore the whimsy of words. To recollect the weird ties I have made in recent years. The pages ask me to see where I have been and what I have become, and to ultimately decide if it is good enough. In knowing it will be an unending process of refinement.
I am ready to refine and redefine in safety, security, warmth, and humor.

A portal of inner exploration

%d bloggers like this: