Lenses

A rant: The University is behind the times by 30 years in the humanities studies. All classroom discussions focus on cultural diversity. Gay and feminine studies dominate the curiculum. The word "sterotype" is the college students favorite word. Every sentence starts out... "i find it intersting that---". Sorry but the cold war is over, and although a play about homosexual vietnamese lovers is "intersting", i do not understand how that is going to bring me a paying job in 2 years. Why aren't we talking about blogs in class. Look at this new medium of human communication--the internet. what has that done to humanity? what about nano tecnology, space exploration. People don't smoke grass anymore, they swallow lab chemicals-- what does that say about our culture? my friends are hard working people, why don't we read literature about carpenters who struggle each day on skyscrapers to pay off thier credit cards? My friend Heather is on leave from iraq. Apparently it is a common practice for adolescent iraqi boys to hump donkeys. why haven't i heard this before. There are so many ways to look at the world. it is such a rich and vibrant place. i am so curious and constantly in awe of life. I find it interesting that in every class we examine the world through the same rainbow colored lens... and yet we (at the universities) never turn that lens inward and ask what it is about the university culture that preocupies us with minority sexuality.

Cricket Hair

If I could make a movie it would express one condition: excruciating awkwardness. The movie would make the audience as uncomfortable as characters in the diegesis, and in that moment fantasy and reality would be spliced together, one a mirror of the other...true art.

Midnight with Tom Petty

I almost have enough money saved up to fix my car. The hippies in this town put such a guilt trip on drivers. But it is time for me to push aside the marjiuanna smoke and idealology and face reality. Cars are a convienance. The few errands i had today on my day off, which would have taken less than an hour with a ride, took up the majority of daylight on foot. It was a beautiful day though.

I hoofed it for pleasure this evening and watched the sunset by the bay on my favorite slab of cement behind Jalepenos restaurant. on my way home i ran into rob and we decided to spend the rest of our evening drinking beer and playing videogames. It was fun. I haven't played guilt free video games for ages.

after the virtual killing spree, we headed out to the porch and discussed the best stradigies to seduce the checker girl at fred meyer. i guess the easiest way would be to buy groceries and act like a human being. But that can't be right. What about the alpha males in gorilla tribes? they are a variable, that based in human reality or not, i haven't quite figured out. rob and i decided that life is too unpredictable, that no matter what direction our lives take, we will meet in vancouver for the 2010 olypics and have a drink in a pub. if our lives haven't turned out like we planned, if we don't have fred meyer checkers, we will streak the games.

it is passed midnight and i am listening to tom petty. good night.

Melatonin

My dreams sure have been weird lately. In one of my dreams last night two polar bears were set loose to create mischief in france. i saw them being flung from heaven down to europe. And then, like rip vanwinkle, i followed a ghostly guide up an ice shelf. We climbed up the steep glacer as if we were ascending a great stair case into heaven. On the way up we refreshed ourselves by snacking on dvds the way a runner might drink gatorade from a paper cup. i got to the top of the shelf and came upon a group of laughing people jumping off a high bouqiney. the dream changed and i found myself on a school bus.

A kid behind me kept slicing my neck with a collection of pocket knives. i continually told him to stop cutting me but he just laughed. So i turned around in my seat and grabbed all his knives, which he kept in a tackle box. The knives were made of flimsy plastic and i broke them all and threw them out the window. I then gave a speech about preemptive strike and how America attacked iraq to prevent a similar incident. i turned back around, victorious, and then woke up.

Naked Conversation

I'm out of the shower because my skin is red and itchy. Being a male maid is tough business, dirty too. My hands: raw from chemical burn.

In the shower, whistling the theme to "Bravehart", I think about pecking orders and my spot in the hierarchy of things. Daydreams of wealth and power. Daydreams of dropping out. A disruption in thought. A voice. It isn't introducing itself. It is deep in inquisitive conversation. Can't locate source of voice. Is it in my head? Turn off shower.

My voice: "Hello?"

His Voice: Aum Yah... Hello!

I have discovered the voice is that of my landlord. I can't see him. He is outside. I am naked and talking to my landlord through an open window. The curtain is ruffled by the breeze. The curtain is a country of mold.

His voice: "Did you talk to so and so about the such and such? And what about that dog I heard yipping over here yesterday. That poor cotton picking dog, shouldn't be in a cage. He should be running in a field. Now what about that broken window?"

Confusion.

"Mr. Landlord...I can come down and talk with you in a minute if you want. I'm, I'm trying to take a shower."

"oh yeah matt, ok, I just heard the whistling, yeah, ok, bye now."

Eyes blink. Did that just happen?

Coffee Mug

Outside it is cold, like winter, not at all like September. Inside protected from the drizzle, full of nervous energy and feet sweating in wool slippers, i have little else to do but think. Thinking must burn calories, and god knows after my trip to the pizzaria for lunch i have calories to burn. In searching my thoughts, i have yet to find the solid center and fear that my thoughts and beliefs are an eternal mist without a core. All my beliefs stack on top of each other without a foundation, without support. i don't know anything!

Movie Night

All I wanted to do tonight was stay in, undisturbed and watch "The Red Violin" and eat a large Chicago style pizza from the take-n-bake joint. My brother popped in the movie and we prepared to eat until we couldn't eat anymore. Three bites later there was a knock at the door. Andy opened it. Our nieghbor Monica comes in full of smiles and laughs and asks us why the hell we are watching movies. She says we should be outside drinking vodka and laughing.
"Hey uh, both our toilets are clogged next door do mind if i take a shit over here?" she asks... totally nonchalant.
"Yeah go ahead Monica." there goes movie night.

We turn the movie back on, louder this time to drown out the grunting sounds coming from the bathroom. Into the second piece of pizza--a knock at the door. I opened it this time. Justin comes in wearing a scraggly beard and wants to know if Andy wants to play music. Andy reluctantly said "sure" and went next door to drink vodka and play drums. Monica was done by this time and i was finally alone with my movie... with the Red Violin.

The phone rang. I made the mistake of anwsering it. My very old and very thrifty landlord asked why Andy's rent is late and then started gossiping about how the nieghbors almost burned down thier house yesterday with a smoldering cigarette. "Two fire trucks had to come." I was trapped in that conversation. Like a good serf i agreed a lot with everything she said until the line went quite and she said goodbye.

I layed down on the couch and pushed the play button with my opposable thumb and sunk back into 18th century England and was again following the story of the violin. It didn't last long. David was at the door. He came over to apologize for something he told me this weekend. I made the mistake of bringing up politics late Sunday afternoon with the people on the porch, all of whom want to destroy George Bush. Anyway, David, a long haired hippy archer, told me that if i voted for Bush he would shoot me in the heart with an arrow. At the time it sent shivers up my spine but i had forgotten about it. In my doorway, he said that he felt really bad for telling me he would shoot me in the heart with an arrow and he had felt bad all week and wanted to appologize. I was touched and told him not to be silly.

After that was cleared up i sat back down on the couch and again pressed the play button. The damned thing was at this point, Andy came home and wanted to start the movie over from were he had left off! So he started the whole movie over and that is why i am typing on my blog. How hard it is to watch a movie in peace.

No Trespassing

I took a different way home today after work. I got off early, right about lunch time, so instead of going home and eating a tortilla peanut butter wrap I treated myself to a subway sandwich to go. When I left subway I was smiling, happy about the healthy lunch that was 12 inches long that I would be eating on my afternoon of freedom. So when I looked up a side street and saw a F.U.B.A.R trailor park hidden from the public view, I thought what the hell, I am going to cross through the shanty village on a quest for a short cut home.

I followed a long haired man who limped briskly through the parks entrance. I had the feeling that both his knee caps had been busted long ago in a whaling accident or possibly by an angry meth dealer collecting debt. The man turned behind a painted brick wall and disappeared into trailer that was missing a door but in its place hung a thin pink cloth (possibly an old night gown) to keep out the weather and the burglars. I can't accurately describe this place... It was a very poor trailer park, on a hill, behind the subway and McDonald's dumpster. Little Mexican children scurried into their trailers, hiding from me as I walked up the dirt path that wound through their filthy ghetto. There were clothes lines with laundry blowing in the wind. A big dumpster served as the town square. And toys were scattered everywhere.

I briefly pondered how people could live in such poverty in the middle of such an affluent city but honestly I was more concerned with my subway sandwich and the quest to find a middle passage to my luxurious apartment.

I continued walking until I came to a dead end. A head of me I could see what used to be a gate but had been fenced off. It had a sign facing outward to the street which I couldn't read from my side of the fence. It probably read "no trespassing", or "keep out", or "vote for Kerry"... I stared at the fence for a while wishing I could press a titanium communicator badge on my left breast and ask Scotty to beam me to my living room so I could wolf down my sandwich named after an underwater killing vessel. Eventually though I turned around and started for the main road and my conventional route home.

A man was in his yard about 8 feet away from me blocking my way. I said, "hi" and he nodded back. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was trying to find a path to the high road. He looked at me coldly confused and then shook his head as if I were a giant disappointment to the human race.
"this is private property, you are trespassing right now."
I was stunned. I am not sure why I was stunned. Perhaps I didn't like the fact that a poor man living in a dilapitated trailer was questioning me--a middle classer. It could have been be because the guy wasn't the sort that would invite me in for a cold beer and tell me war stories about Nam. Or maybe I was mystified by the concept of land ownership and property rights--that is probably what I was thinking...

I looked the man in the eyes as to say, "we could have been good friends, you and me. All of human history has led to one moment and it is this one. Appreciate this blessing and do not ruin it all with law!" all this cheesy brotherly love stuff was going on in this look I gave the guy and then I politely nodded my head and apologized and he nodded his head in acceptance and I went on my way though shanty town and out the other side.

Blackberry Wine

I saw a friend tonight. I didn't have to travel far. He was in my backyard--drinking wine from the bottle.

We got to talking about life which always seems to be the subject when passing a bottle of wine. I asked him how he liked living with his girlfriend who he just moved in with. His reply made me laugh...

"It's cool, yeah... yeah it's alright. Not like being an 18 year old at a supermodel convention, but... yeah, I'm happy about 89 percent of the time."

A Voice in my Head

I am reading a book about the life and philosophy of St. Francis. This guy was wealthy, living the high life and he gave it all up to be closer to God. He sold all his stuff and lived simply, loving people and animals.

On my walk to work today i was thinking about how i could come to know God. I started fantasing about selling all my stuff at a garage sale and moving up to the hills with a my pack, a bible and maybe a pipe. i was really getting into how great life was going to be, if only it were more simple--if only i was a homeless pipe smoker, then i would be close to god. I long to live out in the country with high grass around me and tall trees to lay under. but then something hit me. it could have been the voice of god, but more likely it was just the voice in my head. it basically said: "all that time you have wasted thinking about your hut in the woods is time lost for the one thing your supposed to be seeking, God."

and there it is. if god wants me in a hut living with wild animals, then that is where he will put me.

Processing

I have almost reached the degree of tiredness that would allow me to go to bed and sleep--but not quite. I was going to play a game of baseball on the Xbox but decided instead to come add to my blog. I am trying to think of the one prominent theme to my day but all i can get is little flashes of minor events. Was i even awake today? It is interesting how natural story telling is for human beings. I am just a sensory machine and yet feel compelled to make a story out of my days--out of my life. I had a begining. I am here now. And i am on my way to somewhere. I even described my life as a journey today in a conversation with my brother. But is it really? I mean is there really a plot to life? As i reflect on my day, the only things i remeber are flashes of sensory perceptions.

I awoke to the chill of the moring air coming through my bedroom window. I felt an attraction to the redheaded receptionist when i punched my time card in the clock at work. i inhaled pinesole. i nodded my head as a symbol of friendliness to a middle aged flagger woman as i passed her on the busy street on my way to the supermarket. The sky was an eeri thunder color when my neigbor and i were sitting on the porch makeing sounds with our mouths and processing the vibrations those sounds caused in our ears. and now i am typing on a blog. Just flashes, a flimsy memory... but if you were to aske me what i did today--i would tell you a damn good story.

In to the Void

I just watched a movie called, "Into the Void" about a couple of mountaineers who struggle to stay alive after a terrible accident on the top of a very high and very nasty mountain in Peru. I thought about my hike a top the 100 foot hill of Sehome and felt pretty silly. I highly recommend the film.

On top of a Hill

I hiked up Sehome hill this morning, not really planning to but trusting my feet to take me were they might. I ended up near campus and saw an inviting, if not foreboding, dark worn path leading strait up into the woods which was to tempting to pass by. Not outfitted with the proper shoes made the steep slick climb more difficult but I found the perfect gnarled walking staff to help me up the bank.
I was sweating by the time I got up the first ledge but was surprised at how good I felt. I let out a hurrah! To the birds and the squirrels who I could feel watching me from above. Climbing, staying off the paths, I scrambled through the light brush. The sun was breaking through the high branches giving the ferns and twigs a vivid quality of life. I had been reading CS Lewis earlier this morning and had the image of the "wood between worlds" fresh in my mind which made the whole setting all the more pleasant.
Finally, I got to the top and climbed the steps of the tower in the arboretum. From the top of the tower I caught my breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked out over Bellingham and into Canada. I stared for a long while at the scene below, the harbor and her boats, the silent traffic which seemed to be moving slowly northward on 1-5, and to the west, were Mt. Baker rose out of the earth, making everything else seem insignificant in comparison. The hill, the valley, and the bay blurred together, as my eyes relaxed, and the scene became one of those 3-d posters that used to be sold at the malls. All the houses became camp sites in the middle of the woods. I wondered why every night isn't spent outside in the backyard roasting marshmallows and wieners with neighbors sharing adjacent camping spots.
All that pondering was broken up by a frisky terrier who had climbed the tower and began running in circles just feet from me. He did not realize I was there and when he did he charged me with a vicious little bark. Maybe he was embarrassed that he was an excited terrier. Or perhaps he was genuinely startled. A moment later the dog's owner appeared and calmed the dog down and the dog and I became friends. The owner was an old man, with a wrinkled face that captured all the happy moments of his life. He pointed to his boat far below in the distant bay. It was only a white blurry speck to my eyes but I said it was a fine boat and he was happy about that. He said goodbye after a while and him and his playful dog disappeared down the tower steps. I stayed on the tower for another couple minutes breathing in the morning air and said a little prayer and then made my way down Sehome hill and had a great day afterwards.