What Is It...

...about this picture that makes me feel/think/wonder a thousand things. Seriously, I'm asking. What do you think?

All in One Day

Muni Line 19 departing Polk & Pine: The saddest blue eyes I've ever seen
on a girl wearing a dirtied black jacket with
the hood propped over her unintentionally
dreadlocked hair. Complete abject senselessness. A deadness.
Right there, in her eyes, not even looking at me, just
existing because eyes do that: they exist. Exist like the scars
on her arms. Exist like the dollars being passed from her
to the junkie behind the man behind the man behind the woman
sitting next to me. She sees that I see her misery. No blink.
I ask myself: "Where did her life go?"

Oakland on High St: My full-time lover spends $315 in order
to reclaim his stolen 1986 Honda Camry located at the Junk Yard 20 miles away
where the police had it towed. The dashboard is open,
all the papers are tossed about, there's a random glove on
the passenger side and the steering wheel is bent to shit. After driving it off
the tow yard, the car won't start again, so he might be late to
work where the other tired shift-workers making $11/hour to take care
of behaviorally disturbed youth are waiting for him. $315 dollars.
I ask my full-time lover: "Why did you have to pay?"

Oakland, corner of 41st & Telegraph: One of the regular
homeless men who hangs around the block is stroking his cock
on the tree outside our apartment building. He looks me
dead in the eye as he masterbates: no smile, no fascination,
no guilt. He doesn't move to cover up as I get closer. I shut
the front door behind me and ask myself:"Did that really just happen?"

Couch: My doctor emails from KP.org. No cancer; just cysts. Thank G*d.
Couch: I turn in my 2 week notice to SafeHouse. A chapter closes.
Marina: Mae and Chris with the water.
Newburry: Pick up Joy Lynn. Go to the gym.

Berkeley, corner of Virginia & Arch: "Em, they just announced their
unanimous support of Barack Obama at the DNC...I never thought...in my lifetime.
These are tears of joy, Em. It's a moment we will never forget.
Call me when you get a chance. I love you." She's crying hard. My mom.
I ask myself: "Really, all in one day?"

Black Cat Blessing

I've always secretly known that animals have the capacity to be great spiritual teachers, but the newest addition to my animal companion list (Huey P. Newton the Black Panther from Oakland) drives this hunch home.

My mom's dog Zoey taught me the art of rolling around on the grass--aimlessly--worshiping the heat of the sun. Talk about a mystical experience! My first cocker spaniel, Mazie, taught me how to let go and let g*d. She was the first thing that ever died in my life. I realized as I watched her slip away that there was nothing I could do, nothing love could do, to stop the tumor from growing. Surrender? As I sit here watching Huey (my new cat) giving himself a bath, I cannot help but think this feline has a much better purification ritual than I do. Actually I don't even have a purification ritual. Do you?

Oh yeah: there's also that lesson filled moment when they can sense, perhaps better than humans (because they don't have the same sensory-distractions as humans) when you're in pain. They come, snuggle up next to you, maybe even nudge your hands a little bit, and retire right there on your lap. Presence, assurance of love, companionship no matter what. Pastoral care?

No wonder g*d was born in a barn full of animals.

Yuck Yuck Yuck

I have often asked myself the question "Where are people my age?" I found out last night: they are at the bar.

Good to know.

I have often asked myself the question "Why don't I hang out with people my age more often?" I found out last night: because they are at the bar.

Having a blog allows you to go on the record, right? Well here it goes...

I'm tired of the lack of substance that seems to pervade the relational matrix of 20/30 somethings. Why does drinking or getting high have to be the catalyst for connection? Why do most conversations consist of mindless rambling about shit that nobody cares about? Why is getting laid, or appearing like you're getting laid, the ultimate goal?

Fuck: it's beyond me, really. Am I totally alone on this?

Further: I'm tired of hearing people say "i miss you," or "we should hang out more often" or "let's be friends" or "i've always wanted to hang with you" one minute and then when I reach out to make that happen, it's flake flake flake. Fuck that. We can keep it casual; miss me with the butterfly flattery.

I guess underneath all this ranting and raving is a hurt. It's difficult to reach out, to invite, to admit that you crave someones company. When that vulnerability gets dismissed, it feels like shit. And honestly, it makes you want to stop doing it. It's like job hunting. After you get turned down after a couple interviews, even filling out an application feels like a set-up for rejection.

I'm worried that facebook, myspace, texting, blogging--all this techno madness that I'm so clearly swimming in--is making us relationally impotent. It's easy to sound off some friendly remarks on a website, but where's the intimacy in that? Where's the facial expression, the voice, where's touch? Screens and sound bytes--that's what we've got. Where the fuck is reality??

Sorry to sound so judgmental and critical, but it's where I'm at this morning.

Phantoms of Transition

Strange how you can be one place one moment
or that one place for many many moments,
and then all of a sudden a different place on the horizon
inches closer until the old place falls away
from familiarity.

Strange how you can touch one body one moment
or that one body for many many years and phases of life
and then all of a sudden that body whithers away
without asking permission or taking responsibility
for the whithering away that happens to you too.

Landscapes and faces,
tonal qualities and sunset stoops,
inside jokes and routes to work,
eye color and alarm-set-schedules,
kissing/hugging patterns and user passwords--
they come and go,
with or without you,
but memory persists,
shifting the shape, size and texture
of what you considered real one minute
and gone the next.