quiet rivers

Talking the Walk

2004-12-02T12:37:00.000-09:00

Once in a while, when I'm too tight to think straight, I sink into imagined scenarios where I just, you know, let go, and just do the unexpected. Some people find it hard to blame themselves for the situation they find themselves in. I don't. Others rationalize the circumstances into that very same position of blame just to exonerate themselves. Sometimes I do, most times I don't.

I do blame myself all the time, you know. Of course, things do happen for one reason or another, and beggars can't be choosers, and I could do the song and dance until I end up confusing myself for someone else, and vice versa. But yeah, my problem is not other people -- it's me; myself and I.

Man, I really feel crappy today. I want to talk; well, I tried to, anyway. But somewhere along the synapses connecting my brain to my mouth, the intent got bogged down into the second-guessing I usually put myself in, and I, simply, tapered into the wrong end of silence. And that's so lame, you know?

So yeah, I went home. Strapped myself in front of the computer, powered it up like you find me now, and I just started typing into that same silence. Drip, drip, drip. Like a leaking faucet, I dribble my bitterness into this cybersink. Who cares, huh? I can't even dignify this tirade with what's bothering me. I'm just exercising my right of firing loose cannons, is all. So, sue me!

Yeah, home. I'm home. Wanting to cry, but why should I? Wanting to break something -- and have to buy it again? No way!

Pretty soon, I'll have to go shower. Got to go work -- need money to feed my one vice. And in case you see me out there, particularly if you can match my game face with this piece of shit I just wrote, then just walk by, hey? My world's crashing down, and I'm the only one to blame... but I don't have to like it, you know?

Aargh -- nothing quiet about me today!

Blah..

2004-11-17T09:34:00.000-09:00

Two hands; that's what I have. One hand is always reaching out, one hand always reaching in. One hand grasping for cotton-candy and blue sky, one hand grasping for straws. One hand out for beauty, one hand buried in the soil. One hand with a mind of its own, saying it doesn't want to post anything here at all, other than the one happenstance; one hand typing something, saying there's something to be said here that I don't, somehow, feel comfortable saying in the other medium.

It's all nonsense of course. The dialogues I hold inside my head are full of fluff like this. And that's me, saying something one day and saying something different the next. Yup, that's right, I'm no different from you. There's a few people, quite rare, who are into self-discipline so rigid that they need to pattern their thinking into a template, and to deviate from that self-imposition in any way was to ruin a lifetime's worth of principles. But that's not me. And that's not you, if you're here, reading this alphabet-stew I'm serving up.

So yeah, take this as a warning. I'm gonna be dropping by here once in a while, and depending on how I feel, I'll have one of my hands dipping in here, serving up some more soup to boggle your mind. And maybe it will be crap I'll be leaving. And maybe it might be something else. But this won't be the last post at all, no Sir.

The Sound of One Hand Clapping...

2004-10-29T20:49:00.000-09:00

Sometimes, one needs to hike a thousand miles just to see a friend. There are people I know who use blogger. I go visit them and I want to say something...and I can't...not unless I open a blogger account.

A part of me tells me that this will be the first, and last, post on this spot. But I'd be the first to add that nothing I usually say can be considered truly set in stone...I'm the proverbial flat stone skipping across the waves and one of these days I'll probably just sink down in one spot. But hey, in your drifting and surfing, if you find me here, then...well met! Drift on or come back; whatever the inclination...

If this spot exists at all, and obviously it does because you're reading it now, then let it be the flash of a falling leaf you see from the corner of your eye, while you are occupied with larger things...and if your eyes must follow that particular fall, then let it lead you to the sight of it falling onto still water. And maybe you'd like to stay here and help me stir up some more mud, but if you're the kind with eyes that must persist further, let them follow the ripples thus stirred, and let them "tiptoe" to where I usually sulk...in this particular Now, in the context of this particular Time...

quiet rivers

come...drift by my misery sometime :)

ree