i’m over here saying stuff i’ve never said before

I’ve been listening to THE IDIOT at least once a week for like thirteen years . . . yeah . . . far out . . .

it is always a blessing to receive the wisdom of sister monty

Today was such a bad day . . . something was askew but I cannot quite figure out what it was. I felt like a stranger in my own life, that sort of eerie uncanny phony feeling of being two clicks of the dial away from the real thing, whatever that may be . . .

I spent most of the day completely sleep-deprived in airplane seats and in airports. When I finally got to San Francisco thirteen hours later, I felt a deep sadness. I really do not like being here anymore. It reminds of me too many bad things. And on top of a dismal day, that feeling was heavier by orders of magnitude for reasons that aren’t worth talking about.

So I wandered San Francisco and the East Bay with all my bags on zero sleep all through the evening and into the night. I walked many miles in the dark, my body running on fumes as I had not eaten nor drank anything. I sat on park benches for hours having no place else to go. I felt lonelier than hell until I called Leila from a bleacher next to a baseball field close to my old apartment in Berkeley. Leila made me feel better. She told me to go home and sleep and to stop worrying.

Close to midnight, McCune came and got me along a lonely road leading to the highway on-ramp. I told him I was completely depleted of everything and he tried to cheer me up. Now I am in my room here at McCune Compound in Vallejo and have tears of exhaustion coming out of my eyes whether I want them to or not. I am going to drink a liter of cold water and go to sleep.

In the early morning I have to wake up and drive ten hours north to Portland. I have to be in Seattle by Wednesday morning. I was insane to plan this trip like I did, but I promised I’d be in Seattle, and really I want to be there to watch those cats. I just wish I didn’t feel this way, which is like a fool. Sorry to be a bummer, but at least it’s the truth.

Well! It’s like the fella said: I am bound upon a wheel of fire, that my own tears do scald like molten lead (lol)~

. . . His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.

. . . He saw God’s foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad. So man’s insanity is heaven’s sense; and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, indifferent as his God.

moby-dick

hey i’m lookin at you lookin at me

michael whelan, ‘trantorian dream’

this is what my dreams look like (lol)