DADDY sez...

Last week I just happened to be in the desert. I swung by my brother's house and hung out for a few days.

Somehow I was even more slackadaisical than the way I've been lately in L.A. (if that's even possible.)

My youngest niece, Lei, needed to go shopping for a Prom dress (her first) so I tagged along. I snapped well over a hundred pictures, of course.

It wasn't until looking at the mass of photos today that it hit me: she's grown up. Not ALL grown up, but well on her way.

It stopped me cold. I don't recall much of her growing up years.

I remember when she was a baby. My brother and I were up north in Sacramento on some minor carpentry thing that needed fixing. It actually didn't require me to be there, but we both went just because. His wife called to report on Lei's doctor's appointment that day. They discovered that the soft spot on the top of her skull wasn't soft. In fact there wasn't one and she'd have to be rushed into surgery at the L.A. Children's Hospital to make one by sawing the skull in whatever modern doctor voodoo was required.

It's nights like that one where you don't say much. Hardly anything at all. Because there's nothing to say that would make things better. The drive back seemed longer than usual.

The surgery went well and for months Mom-and-baby were like a single entity: never apart.

For the first time my brother and his wife went out again at night by themselves, I was called upon to babysit. Lei's older sister, all of 8-years-old, was around to help out. Now there's a challenge: a baby, not yet a year old, separated from Mommy for the very first time in her life.

She was okay for a short while until she realized that "Mommy was gone."

She cried and cried and wouldn't stop for nothing. The one word she knew was "Mommy."

She kept crying for her over and over.

On a whim, I carried her close in my arms taking her around the house showing her things and naming them for her; the names of people in photographs including herself. The names of common household items, whatever was there. By the time I made a third pass around the house she stopped crying. I sensed in her eyes a hint of recognition with this "name game", so I kept doing it. And she kept following with her eyes, waking to something larger than herself. Connections.

From then until now, I don't have much recollection of the various things said or done. Memories blur.

But I do remember that night.

She's going to her first Prom in a few weeks and looks so very beautiful in the dress she chose.

I couldn't be more happy-sad than I am right now.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 08:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I wish I was as beefy as Greg.

But I'm not.

Waify's good too, I guess.

Sun is up. The veins in my forehead are "ropey" - got a headache.

Gonna run a super-hot bath and lay about.

After a night of quotable quotes, my personal fave is: "Aren't you Laura's cousin or something?"

#2 would be: "so did you go to High School with them?"

awesome.

muthafukkin Namaste, baby!

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 06:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I tell you what: fuckin around is hard-ass work.

When I'm in the midst of The Grind doing 8-hour-and-beyond days for The Man, despite the fatigue and the typical semi-disgruntled moments - it's all quite easy and codified. A fairly seamless and easy path. Oh, there are those moments when my fangs show, but them is the exception not the rule.

For me, the fatigue hits in those busy in-between spaces that cross over into the loopy: the weeks and months straight of exploration time; the little ever-loping convoluted meandering moments that make it all such a blur.

Not having to be nowhere. Nothing to do. I know most folks pine for that life... or is that 'whine'. But really, it's not what anybody wants. If it was, then everybody would be doing it. Right? We all get what we want. Sure we do.

I find it funny that some preface a phone conversation with "Are you working right now?" That tells more about the person who's asking than about me; where they place value. The assumption that only paying work is valid, and not to be interrupted.

Those who truly know me, know that I'm always working. Just that most of the time I don't get paid cash-money for my services.

I been going through the 5000+ photos I've shot in the past month looking for a shape and finding none that was apparent to me - wondering why I shot so damn many of them. Too much visual info to process.

Friday while hanging out all day with Greg (again... how does that always happen?) , the whole while trying NOT to shoot photos, I managed to pop off over 80 shots.

And, yes, we did eat. and it was yummy. That's what we do. We eat. We take pictures. We talk. We do stuff... whatever. It's a good flavor of Shaman Dreaming - an InterZone of junk time.

I almost did a teenage-mexican-girl thing. Despite the rain, I thought it would be a good idea to go out and about with my pajama bottoms on and a sweatshirt. Greg said, "Umm... just a suggestion: You might want to put on some underwear."

I wore pants.

The subjects of conversation always meander widely from Art, Life to our extreme-mindful-assholishness. One theme that drives itself through everything is 'the people in our lives'. A single dominant thread in that theme is 'the shitstorm of emotional drama'. Within that thread is a small sliver called "why wasn't I there, too? I hate you, Greg!"

How does the simple act of hanging out with Greg doing mostly random-ass shit typically result in some sort of minor strife somewhere? Using a sort of perverse fundamental logic, one could make a very compelling argument that there must be something fundamentally wrong or evil with the act of us mutually slacking in that it causes emotional/psychic misalignment with those closest to him.

I get it. He is such a magical being (beyond the norm for such beings) that any hint of loss can only induce sadness.

Not exactly sure how I fit into that equation. Seeing as I'm just a monkey and based on known past history, I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter who 'the other' is that takes the Greg-attention away. It doesn't seem to matter. For the time being, I'm 'the other'.

The irony: getting shit from the ones he loves creates more need to hang out with me (or someone like me), stepping behind the curtain of drama to decompress - only to step back out to weather a new storm of shit. It's a vicious fucking circle.

If I started the fan-site "I-Love-Hate-Greg.COM", there would be at least 2 solid members and a few part time associates.

There is something playing out here in this space, much of it below my level of awareness. I know enough to barely recognize it's shadow, but too stupid to figure it out. I'm good with stupid.

Solo-slacking back in Red's apartment, a cocoon-like zone of comfort and silence. I'm not sure where that resonates from. Maybe it's not this room. Maybe it's just me.

it feels like "the Road". It feels like distance. Yeah now that I think about it, that's just me: that's me anywhere.

I'm gonna lay about in my boxers. Why? Because I can, that's why. And it's my birthday - every day's my birthday.

Just sitting here alone like a dog wagging his tail.

C'est la fuckin Vie, baby!

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 10:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Just before I went to sleep wednesday I decided that I would spend all day thursday doing nothing.

Well, not exactly NOTHING nothing, anything involving eating or drinking was okay by me. Also kept the phone and pager on to be fully accessible for any emergencies.

I didn't do any paperwork. Nor did I play on the internet or while away the time on the computer in any way.

Didn't put that second coat of tung oil on the new coffee table/shrine.

The shrine is a small table-top I carved long ago and never liked. Wednesday afternoon I started liking it (after 4 long years), bead-blasted it to smooth out some edges and raise the grain a bit - slapped some legs on it.

I build things. I'm a man, I do MAN things. It's what I do.

Anyway... didn't drive anywhere or read anything, just sat around DOing nothing.

Stared at the growing WALL collage for hours. Napped on and off. Ate some chips n' salsa. Made some tea. Drank it.

So I noticed this miniature Hawaiian warrior helmet hanging from the ceiling. I texted Red and asked her when she had put it up. She replied "Um. Its always been there."

Yeah. So... this little helmet carved out of a tiny gourd with feathers hanging from it and grass shooting out the top of it.... hanging a few inches just to the side of a "painting" that I made - a painting I have seen/noticed EVERY DAY for a month.

...this little 'head' thing thas is so light that it is always slowly turning back n' forth in the micro-breezes of the apartment; the ONLY thing there that is constantly moving...

this symbol from my own ancestry / genetic memory - this thing has been INVISIBLE to my eyes, below my threshold of awareness until now.

whathefuck?!

Anyway. I found it can be WAY hard practicing the doing of nothing. Nice though, when you finally drop into it. Must do nothing more often.

A good side effect is that I have now started the habit of walking around the place in my boxer shorts.

I'm a man. I do man things. That's what I do.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 04:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I channeled "Boris Consciousness" yesterday.

Boris, the Buddha cat, that is.

Woke up before the crack of noon. Went to the library a block away. Wandered a bit on the internet. Was supposed to write a few letters and send some "paperwork" to clients. Didn't... got distracted by a few personal e-mails.

That's fine. The e-mails were far more important. Emotional connectivity and social glue are most important to me nowadays. I no longer find the "stickiness" so sticky; all those messy permutations beyond my control are not uncomfortable spaces like they used to be. The shift is internal and subtle. I suspect only I have noticed the change.

Anyway, walked back down the block, not 5 minutes away. Soaked in the tub, water hot and steamy.

Felt completely relaxed so I layed out on the sofa.

It was a little after noon and I was hungry, hadn't eaten yet; blood sugar very low. Somehow managed to pass out.

Deep, deep rest - the kind that feels like it lasts days. Hunger pulled me barely out of it a bunch of times, but the Tired kept pulling me under.

Finally woke hungry enough to get my lazy ass up and cook something. It was sometime after 3 or 4pm, I forget. Put a few cups of rice in the cooker (the new replacement for Red's smoked one), clicked on the rice cooker and then promptly passed out again.

Sometime later I was really freakin' hungry. Woke up, started boiling some white corn and carrots. Threw some onions and a Garden Burger on the skillet sizzling away in olive oil. Got all Mad Scientist with the spices as usual. Not quite as crazy delicious as yesterday's Somen Miso soup experiment, but damn close.

Just as I'm finishing up cooking, Red walks in laughing at me. I foist off on her a few bites of the Garden Burger on account of she never freakin' eats enough actual food despite her claim of being "morbidly obese".

Um.... yeah, "they" have re-defined what it is to be obese. Apparently being strong/waifish/curvy/beautiful is the new obese. I guess I forgot to check my New-Speak dictionary.

chicks.

So, Red leaves and I have 2 things penciled in on my mental Agenda for the evening: 1) Grab her things out of the dryer in a half hour and 2) wander back down to the Library to see if the wireless connection is accessible from out.... ZZZZZZzzzzzzzz,

So much for number 2.

Deep, deep rest - the kind that feels like it lasts for eternities and a day.

She returns around 11 and goes to bed. At which point I decide to START my day. Sure as shit, you can access the internet from outside the Library anytime.

I wander the streets with my camera in the Witching Hours capturing images of it's stillness.

I'm getting sleepy, soooo sleepy. Must hold space for all those many poor ambitious sinners. I'll rest my eyes for JUST a few seconds now.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 02:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)