Trudging the road to happy destiny.

Had a good Christmas.  Got tools and clothes.  Gave the family books.

My thoughts turn to the stuff I don't wear anymore, mouldering in my closet.  Black turtlenecks, sweaters that shrank and stuff with butterfly collars.  I load them up and zip to goodwill, which is closed.

Do laundry, do dishes, listen to Henry Rollins.  Make a mental note to myself that catering to friends would be easier if I had more than two metal forks.

Going crazy over a girl, never heard from the other.  Try to keep my mind off of love because it hurts to feel unsure.

Lord & Lady; bless us men who don't understand(the ways of the woman), and might not ever, but try anyhow.

    Working hard enough and going from event to event quick enough to get wind burn on my knuckles.  I do stop and smell my coffee.  I pray to be on the path to help who I can help.  I get down on myself about the deadlines I have to meet, and the meetings I've gotten myself into.  Then again- would I have any if I hadn't given things up to a higher power?  So here I am, with the liquor obsession no longer.  Given a choice to run my own show, what would I do with it?  I'd be stumblin lost grandios without the will to go.  Why should I be afraid for the heap of work I have upon me?  The Createss does not choose the qualified, she qualifies who she chooses.

7m' 22d'

I've been long absent but not gone.  Still trucking along.  Read a passage the other day in a great book called 'Coyote Kings of the Space Age Bachelor Pad' by this cat writing under the name, Minister Faust.  He was talking about walking.  How his feet are feeling the souls of his shoes, and his shoes are feeling the pavement, and the pavement is feeling the ground underneath that hasn't seen the sun, with the weeds bursting through the cracks demanding their light to live by.  My train of thought zips from Minister's E-town, Canada; to Puget Sound where Ginsberg is talking.  "Let the straight flower bespeak it's purpose in straightness, to seek the light.  Let the crooked flower bespeak it's purpose in crookedness, to seek the light.".  Delicate and resiliant, a frightening reality.

This is a ramble, sure, but I've got a track to roll on.  All us folks out there, concsiously or unconcsiously seeking some kind of light.  Some have dancers shoes on, some wear sandals, and (well) some of us have old boots with encrusted puke spots. 

No matter, lots of other folks are out there staking a claim on the earth with their straws to suck what they can out of it.  Me too.  I have to to live.  But it strikes me, a hole in my stomach that can't be filled, an obsession for delirium that nothing could satisfy. 

It was filled today by taking joy in my work, by giving back, and seeing a kid's triumphant smile.

His Grandmother told me, "He picked out his own book from the library for the very first time today."

I wish never to forget the quiet pride he took in the book he chose ('Dinosaur Roar!', one of my favorites)... or the thanks his eyes showed without a word.  I don't just sling info anymore; I am set before&n bsp;'the way'.  Bless this mess, and may we meet the right folk at the right time.

6m' 13d'

  I went outside the other night before getting ready to go to bed.  It was not bitter cold out, but rather sharp.  So I was taking my time smoking, looking at the stars, and mulling the day over in my head, when I saw a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye.  I first saw the cat.  The black one of the neighbors with the white chest and socks.  It was having an interest in a rabbit who was sitting completely still.  I watched for a time, then suddenly saw the cat creep close to it.

  For a moment, it confused me why the rabbit was not running away.  The cat pounced and swatted it, causing the rabbit to thrash about.  The cat jumped away and I noticed something was wrong with the bunny.  Just a few days before I had seen it chasing around with another rabbit in the front yard playing.  Now it's ear was twitching kind of strangely, and had still not fled.  The cat had wounded it, and was toying with the poor creature.  The way it had flopped about a moment ago seemed seriously wrong and disturbed me.

  Here's where I am, apparently, nuts.  I quieted my mind, and let it stretch out as if it were the wind.  I tried to feel the cat, the rabbit, the space between them.  To send the picture of pounce, kill, and feed.  I sent the picture that if the cat did not want it, something larger would come along (me) and take this prize for its own.  The cat watched the rabbit with mixed interest, creeping up, then getting distracted and looking about, or smelling the fence.

  I finally became fed up, summoned my courage to do the job, fetched my gloves from my pocket and went over to the rabbit.  This cat is brave to a fault and watched me do the entire act.  I poked the pitiful scared thing with my toe.  It only sat there breathing quick with its head tilted strangely and its ear twitching up and down.  I pushed harder with my toe into its hind flank twice more and it began to thrash.  Terror leapt into the air as its legs and body flailed about, off the lawn, onto the sidewalk and into the street; making a sick thumping sound until the fit subsided.

  The rabbit then layed there and, as I could no longer tolerate it's suffering, took hold of its back feet with one hand while running the other up to its neck, pulled the warm body taught, then twisted and snapped just under the head.

  I felt grief for the creature while tossing it in the outside garbage bin.  So I pulled it back out, set it on the ground in the grass, plucked some up and set it by it's mouth.  I then sat down, prayed my sorrow for it's pain and my thanks for life, and shivered uncontrollably.  The world has reminded me that torment is just around the corner.  I've felt helpless like that before; thrashing about, wanting to be finished.

  Any who read this- breathe, and feel your life.

   Well, the play went off without too many hitches.  I did well with my rendition of the very elligable pig-farming bachelor, 'Wilbert'.  Did three showing for the months of work we put into it and every laugh was worth it.  Acting continues to suprize me each time I get a chance on stage.  It also proves how much of a ham I am, so this part was perfect. 

   Time for a bit of a break, though I don't think I'll take it.  I can hit a few more meetings with the free time.  Also going to join the new local SCA chapter.  You know what that is?  Dress up in armor, take a blunt sword, and try to beat up your buddies.  Physical art-- be it; acting, dancing, freestyle walking, sword play, yoga or pilates --has been calling to me.  I have to follow, as my body has gone stiff from the inactivity that progressed from experimental recreational relaxation.  I crave movement once again.

   A revolution seems to be starting amongst people my age.  Many of us in our mid twenties are recovering from conditions that were leading toward jails, institutions, and death.  Where does the butt-end of gen-x/ nav's of gen-y go from here?  Once again I get the feeling there is more about us than first appears. . . and thank God, I was starting to get bored.

P.S. Five month mark- today.  But tomorrow's a new day.

P.P.S.  Next blog I'll tell you about the act of mercy I committed last night that ended in the snapping of cervical nerves.

   I went to the punk-rock show last night.  Had a blast and worked out alot of aggression.  I'm bruised up and sore all over.  Not often do we get something like this in our small town, and it was nice to see my friends still playing their music.  So glad they came to town and played for us.  Let it be known that at least one librarian isn't afraid of a pit full of flying elbows, shoulders and boots.  It's important I don't forget my youth, to dish it out and take a beating for the release that's in the show.  For a couple of hours, I was once again free in a melee of noise and emotion.  So... 'preciate it- 'Loveletters and Gravestones', the other two bands as well, I haven't had fun like that for a long time.

Btw; I'm 4 months and 22 days straight-edge

...and stickin' to my guns staying that way.

   So the mythic hero started with an action.  He laced up his boots.

  He laced up his boots, and grabbed his stick,

  The door of his hut slammed shut.

  Step...step...step...

  He said 'bye-di-bye!' to the widdershins spiral

  And set off to find 'the good red road'.

  The world was to be looked upon with a refreshed gaze,

  Step...step...step...

  Upon sunrise, he said please to the skies.

  Midday, a pause and quieting of the mind.

  After sunset, he said thank-you to the day he had met.

  Step...step...step...

  Eternal journey and seek, should one choose it or not.

  Upon green fields, or a coal chaulked tunnel,

  He not being born, is busy dying.

It's a black and white text-crisp night as a few scattered dream-monsters approach.  A lonely muppet shivers under the park bridge.  Somewhere a musical is starting between a labrador, an emu and a DAT recorder.

---Just press play--- the symphony of war all about us is like a lover who is mechanical in bed.  She won't let me go, for fear of lack I keep coming back.  We know the steps and the speeches.  We know the postures and the gestures.  Auto-reverse and were at the start doing it over again.  Back in an oily, gritty bed.

Trees grow, slowly exploding from the ground around me.  I am safe downtown when I have my coffee cup with me.  Still a song and a video play in my head.  The boy playing on his skateboard in an abandoned trashed trailer house.  ...I feel fine...

Long ago, the tribes told Him, 'Give us a King.'

He replied, 'but don't you have Me?'

...The scientist narrowed his eyes.  'These populations will not stabilize without a resource scramble.  When that is finished, you will observe that many of them have pecked each others eyes out.' 

Patterns form and repeat and yet the bohemian still insists to live for love and art.  A skinny boy, chasing Amy.

He mumbles stuff about every hero crawling through a dark hole, to a land that is familiar, but he knows not at all until he sleeps.

Sweet Dreams

Happy new year!

    The bonfires are lit in my dreamscape.  Night begins, and this year's reaping is finished.  A huge flock of little grey birds fly south, coming off the river trees and sweeping in a massive wave by the whim of the wind.  Following on their heels is the breath that burns and scatters any berry or fruit left unharvested. 

    & nbsp;He joins no festivals this year; not dressing as demon- with vapour on the breath, to dance the wild dance and chase the maidens.  Instead; a still, gaunt man stands in the whipping chill.  Heavy coat and cold fists, radiating from his heart and gut a gratitude to the pieces of his world that have died these past seasons.

     It will be a winter to tend a new fire, for the first time.  May the core of my bones remember the salamander that keeps them warm...

It lives inside, and cannot be bought.

Happy Samhain --Zeke

Winter is creeping up.  I feel it in my feet and hands, a type of soreness and stiffening.  It sticks to me when I come inside, and waits in my pockets like a dead pet.  The wind has been meticulously ripping the leaves off the trees like wings from a fly.  It drizzles lightly in the evening while small drone bees are pushed from the hive to freeze. 

Business as usual for the animal world.  I inhale deeply the fall air and remember it will get cold enough to freeze nose hairs and blacken body parts.  I think about thick boots, wool bibs, and a my parka with a coyote fur hood.

Down by the river you can see the other animals tracks when snow falls.  Mouse, rabbit, human, dog, deer; all on business, some more sensible than others.

I will be out there too, reading stories in the snow.

It's been about a month since I last wrote.  Well, what's been going on- you may or may not ask.

I'm back with the community acting troup, and we're working on our next production.  It's a vaudevillian murder mystery written by one the crew.  I get to be a pig farmer.  I'm strappin back on my bib overalls and lettin my thick-headed wit flap in the wind amongst the rich, brown smell of pig. . . breath.

I'm also in a bit of a rush preparing for teen read week, and apply for an NEH grant.  The annual booksale just got wrapped up, and am I glad.  Had fun at it, got way too many books.  Our youth dept organized it this year (yup, all 3 of us plus one who moved to circ), and I love it when a plan comes together.  Especially when it's been cooked up by childrens' librarians.

Question for anyone out there.

Who is Kurt Vonnegut's alter ego?

Has anyone else written as this character and gotten published?

   Today I was walking by the river, and I heard an elk bugle.  I turned to look, it wasn't a real elk.  Just some dude with a camoflage hat and pickup truck practising his elk calls while driving over the bridge.

    Mom picked up a murder mystery dinner party game at Level 12 today.  Looks like she might catch the Game Master bug yet.  It's fun going to town with her.

     Got an old marvel "Conan the Barbarian" graphic novel from 1978 for 10 cents while yard saleing. Cover is torn off though.

     Went to a second hand store looking for a rocking chair and a pin-striped suite.  While leaving, there was a little girl reading a book while her mom shopped.  We both agree that is one of the most wonderful things to see.

Now it's time for...name that tune!

"As I walk I think about a new way to walk,

As I think I'm using up the time left to think,

And this train keeps rollin off the track,

Tryin to act like someone else,

Tryin to go where it's been uninvited."

here's your hint: TMBG

Ok,

     So  now I find myself fueled by the fact that I'm nuttier than a fruitcake.  Getting along in the world didn't do me so good.  I tried to go out there and mix with the other animals.  Always on the outside looking in.  Got altered for a long time and proved myself hardcore.  Now I've got a brain half scrambled. 

     This is probably my saving grace.  I'm batty enough to accept the Higher Power concept.  I loopy enough to be entertained by simple things.  And for some reason, the plight of the human race doesn't bother me much anymore... like I would have been some kind of savior-hero-dude or something.

     Naw.  I'm just some guy who's learned a bunch of stuff, wrote a bunch of stuff, sat on the devil's horn a few too many times, and got touched on the head in the soft spot by God.  I'm lucky to be typing.

     Here's to a late night rambling, and a bit of jangling on down my darkened street.  Note to self, I think about things too much.  Be here now.  Don't let future/past, never get there/ never be back again- reach out and tug me by the brain, heart and nads.

     Here's to being able to giggle when it gets bad.  Here's to the color black.  Here's to the other circus freaks who now have normal jobs.  Here's to the highlight of my day, helping a kid with his math homework... it got me totally stoked that I can still think and enjoy it.

    That was a close one.  My blog was totally fubar'd for a while.  Finally got in and blindly removed extra HTML until it was fixed.  Dang stuff was like trolling for magic nose goblins.  Anyhow, its fixed and I'm back up and running.

     I've been reading so much lately that the computer hasn't held much appeal.  Not a bad thing, but there's only so much reading I can do, and only so much computer time I can do.  I went totally ballistic today for want of human contact.  Went to see a girl I know today, no answer at the door, even though she was home.  Felt like pounding my head against the aluminum siding.  People must still not think much of me.  I've been antisocial for a reason, to stay out of my old patterns, and she's one of the only safe people I know in this town.  Anyhow, I hope I'm not hated for my long absence, or my past mistakes.

     I'm going to be persistant, so I guess we'll see.

  Ok, I'm calmer now.  I just had one of my flip outs from lonliness.  Had to get out and drive around for awhile.  Not really many places to go in this blasted town to meet people besides the bar.  Shoot, only about 6,000 people live here; so I drive the strip and listen to music like I did in high school. 

Freaking out for lack of feminine company is not what I need right now, but it's what's happening.  Whenever I used to get this way I would run as quick as I could to my "bad influence of an indian princess".  Now I don't dare.  I would lose myself to the empty pit of spiritual death that was becoming me a few months back.  Even now a Disturbed song comes on and reminds me of driving around fast in her loud car and her dark, dark eyes.

  NO!  I can pour myself into something else.  I can type madly until this is out of me.  I can draw a scribble picture, or take a shower, or go out for a cig.  Whatever I do, there's still a sickly memory in the pit of my stomach of the things that happened.  There's still the lingering scents of our musky cave.  A black beetle still crawls around in my brain, tempting me to do things beyond any sanity.

  Time to straighten my shoulders and my back.  I'm brushing myself off.  I've left the smokey places where blinds never get opened.  Time to find someone who isn't afraid to look at the sky.

   I got full time and I'm the frontman for young adult programming at our library again!

   *Puts on wooden mask and does a tiki dance around the big red barbeque.*  I feel like twirling some fire...

  Well, well.  Finally my lucky day rolls around.

Staff meeting at the library this morning.  I get to sit down with our director sometime next week and discuss giving me back more of my hours.  I'm on the book sale commitee.  In fact, all four of us in the children's dept. are in on the book sale... and no one else.  This should be interesting. 

March 5th will mark our library's 100th birthday as well!  Hurray for us and my most grateful thanks to Mr. Carnegie.  Big things are brewing in our little library.  Glad to be where I am.

  I remember a place I used to go.  A place of dreaming.  A place of strangeness.  Scenes of times and stories within me that I can almost still smell.

  The red blazer left a trail of dust along the road.  The plains roll by, the antelope run.  The truck bucks into the dip, then climbs the hill toward the badlands and a huge plateau.  I remember standing on that hill many times, leaning into a ripping wind, looking out to melted cliffs, and releasing my voice like an eagle on wing.

  Walking around that place, you felt like you were on mars.  The convoluted and sagging landscape formed faces and figures from your mind.  There was a hill littered with little orange crystals (calcite).  By this hill was a sandstone table, and upon it was the figure of a man I had made of stones, the top of his head was a cluster of those dirty orange calcites.  It meant alot to me to come back time and again, and see it had not been disturbed.

  I remember climbing the plateau with friends, both in hot and cold weather.  I remember jumping off it's cliffs and running down it's valleys.  I made my body feel true, to lope and dodge and climb, like an animal. 

  Once, the largest valley was snowed and iced over, slick and steep.  We slid down it on our backs, yelling, screaming and flailing.  Our momentum was frightening in those days, while I was in college.  We went down that hill so fast and out of control, I'll never forget it.  Bruised and exhilarated, we regained our cold feet, and trudged through the hard pack in the zero degree weather.  Our breaths mingled and went out to the sagebrush, and the hills, the antelope, the farms, and the slaughter-yards.  We went back to the truck, where we knew we would drive back to town.  Where hot meals and homework awaited.

For one moment though; we were innocent people having fun, climbing a hill in blistering cold, just to slide back down again.

Winter will come soon to the land I live in.  I've felt a tough one in the air already.  Let it remind me of who I was, am, and the stories yet to find.

I've been a little absent as of late, my appologies.

The contemplative lifestyle has led me recently to catch up on my reading.  I've been going through books at a fairly good clip lately.  This is what I've been reading:

Athyra by Steven Brust is a great tale of an assasin's lifestyle, set in a place called Drageria.  Wonderful swashbuckling adventure, and some of the best fantasy mysteries I've read.  Brust is one of my favorites, and picking him back up spurred my latest reading spree.

Pure Dead Wicked and Pure Dead Brilliant by Deb Gliori.  The first in this series is Pure Dead Magic and is probably found in the Juvenile section of the library.  Love this author, some would term her work Cyber-Goth Fantasy.

Circus of the Damned by Laurell K. Hamilton, a semi-erotic vampire hunter novel.  Engaging and fairly addictive; but I've also found a type-o, a blatant, missing comma, and two identical sentences in close proximity (The road dissapeared over the hill. something about the parked police cars. The road dissapeared over the hill.), which annoys me that it wasn't better edited, so I'm compelled to get a pen out and mark them to see how many I can find.  But still a good vampire mystery.

Graphic Novels: The Bone Series, Contract with God by Will Eisner (a classic), Too Much Coffee Man's Guide for the Perplexed (Just up my alley), and # 2 in Niel Gaiman's Sandman Series The Doll's House (By far, my favorite GN author to read).

Non-fiction: A Tribe Apart by Patricia Hersch, is a details this journalists interaction with a group of teenagers.  She found out some startling things about us (I was a junior when she started the book).  Like what kind of crap the adult society is offering us when we grow up. Different ways we are coping with increased technology and population.  As well as insight into the sinking feeling that we belong to a tribe with different rules than normal society.  I'm still reading through it, but it's bringing up resentments and sympathies within me from about a decade ago.  I know I've helped create today's counter culture, and I refuse to leave it behind.

In Praise of Slowness, --ever wonder why computers and machines seem like they should give us more free time to persue our interests, yet is only looks like they've made thing tougher?  Me too.  Still in the beginning of this book, couldn't tell you much but "take it easy" & "stop to smell the roses, they'll be wilted soon."

and a few others I might mention later if my fancy tickles me as such.  I've had a wonderful time re-defining my addictive mind, though I still have urges to get utterly f#cked up.  I'll take the simple, juicy pleasures instead.

If everyone would pardon me, I have some ripe peaches to eat.