Thinking of restarting, or starting a new blog
Issue with Blogspot is, at least at this point, blogs never actually get DELETED - to bury a blog you no longer want - for fear of employers perhaps - what you have to do is change up your name and contact info...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
It's been a while...
Just started on Twitter - LawrenSee - this weekend -- interested in starting a "twitter novel", imagining an ongoing realtime story lol. But Twitter allows only one account connected to a cellphone at a time.
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A half-hour ago, when I was getting a coffee at Sweet_Ness 7, a new coffeehouse around the block on Grant and Lafayette, I knew exactly something I wanted to write about here. But now it's fled my mind...
Just started on Twitter - LawrenSee - this weekend -- interested in starting a "twitter novel", imagining an ongoing realtime story lol. But Twitter allows only one account connected to a cellphone at a time.
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A half-hour ago, when I was getting a coffee at Sweet_Ness 7, a new coffeehouse around the block on Grant and Lafayette, I knew exactly something I wanted to write about here. But now it's fled my mind...
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Thinking of Marilyn
Since last night I couldn't stop thinking: Marilyn would have LOVED Barack Obama.
As a politician, as an idea, and as a man.
Sorry she didn't stay around enough to see this happen, this ideal fulfilled.
As a politician, as an idea, and as a man.
Sorry she didn't stay around enough to see this happen, this ideal fulfilled.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
09.20.08 2
what to write about...
Create the page, place the words on the page.
So many thoughts, the white noise of it, rather my mind be empty.
An open field, to play and dance in.
Like Peter Max told me personally -- yes personally, during a college paper interview where we sat in the little lobby of the campus station, his manager off to the side arms folded glancing pointedly at his watch every minute - when you prepare to create, your mind should be an empty bowl. No restrictions, like a dancer who lets himself step anywhere, do anything.
But at the same time, structure is needed -- and here I almost types 'destructure'. Discipline and structure, what I meant?
John Updike admits that when he was starting writing, in college, in high school, he wasn't interested in writing, in fiction, necessarily. He wanted to make a book. The physical object of it. Is this what I want too? To have something to hold out on my hands and show people, prove to people, prove my worth. But then what does this mean, this moment typing? These strings of moments? Are they pearls I lace, when other moments are scattered as dust that very second? I don't know.
Do these moments that leave a slug-trail as words mean more, are worth more, than those moments where nothing is left behind?
Am I looking at moments wrong? Life, Time, like movie frames and not like an outflowing from the Now? Am I trying to capture something that is not capturable? Or does not even exist? The sadness of the little moving box I think I am living in.
Maybe I should just get drunk, like every other guy on the planet on a Saturday...
Create the page, place the words on the page.
So many thoughts, the white noise of it, rather my mind be empty.
An open field, to play and dance in.
Like Peter Max told me personally -- yes personally, during a college paper interview where we sat in the little lobby of the campus station, his manager off to the side arms folded glancing pointedly at his watch every minute - when you prepare to create, your mind should be an empty bowl. No restrictions, like a dancer who lets himself step anywhere, do anything.
But at the same time, structure is needed -- and here I almost types 'destructure'. Discipline and structure, what I meant?
John Updike admits that when he was starting writing, in college, in high school, he wasn't interested in writing, in fiction, necessarily. He wanted to make a book. The physical object of it. Is this what I want too? To have something to hold out on my hands and show people, prove to people, prove my worth. But then what does this mean, this moment typing? These strings of moments? Are they pearls I lace, when other moments are scattered as dust that very second? I don't know.
Do these moments that leave a slug-trail as words mean more, are worth more, than those moments where nothing is left behind?
Am I looking at moments wrong? Life, Time, like movie frames and not like an outflowing from the Now? Am I trying to capture something that is not capturable? Or does not even exist? The sadness of the little moving box I think I am living in.
Maybe I should just get drunk, like every other guy on the planet on a Saturday...
09.20.08
The air is pregnant today, with... something.
Thick.
In a way, maybe holding the threat of autumn oozing brown from its clutching fingers. The mud of somnambulism, gentle rotting, and yes Death.
Fall hangs over my mind like a tree whose leaves are dying, dead, brown, tumbling dry about to bury me.
Thick.
In a way, maybe holding the threat of autumn oozing brown from its clutching fingers. The mud of somnambulism, gentle rotting, and yes Death.
Fall hangs over my mind like a tree whose leaves are dying, dead, brown, tumbling dry about to bury me.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
09.14.08
Went for a bike ride this morning - a warm, actually summer-sticky, Sunday morning, here in mid-September. Around the Delaware Park ring road 3 times, looking at all the beautiful women in their tank tops and bare legs and white ipod wires, walking jogging working to become more beautiful or to keep beautiful; the mothers and fathers biking with their children clustered around them, or pushing strollers; other bikers more serious than me, leaning forward precariously on their racing bikes, in streamlined helmets and their spandex shirts and shorts.
And I wondered, that I am always just watching myself, like my life is an apathetic movie, the moments and thoughts of my life the cells blurring into fake movement as time speeds the reel down to its end.
Shit. I just want to pull the plug on that projector, shout "Fuck This!" into the empty auditorium, jump out of the booth and run down the aisle - "Fuck This! Fuck This!" - and push the doors open and bolt into the sunny daylight.
And I wondered, that I am always just watching myself, like my life is an apathetic movie, the moments and thoughts of my life the cells blurring into fake movement as time speeds the reel down to its end.
Shit. I just want to pull the plug on that projector, shout "Fuck This!" into the empty auditorium, jump out of the booth and run down the aisle - "Fuck This! Fuck This!" - and push the doors open and bolt into the sunny daylight.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Changing how I look
After a 2 hour+ bike ride yesterday afternoon, I looked at myself frontal in the mirror dressed in a black t-shirt and new slim-looking shorts -- and I looked odd, different.
Only after, driving in my van, did I realize why --
I did not look fat.
For the first time in memory, I did not look doughy. Maybe for the first time in my adult life.
Only after, driving in my van, did I realize why --
I did not look fat.
For the first time in memory, I did not look doughy. Maybe for the first time in my adult life.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
I'm just not getting this, Life
Of course, I haven't been on here for a while.
Taking a 6-day weekend (and I still have over 6 weeks vacation and sick time through next June...). And of course, I feel unsatisfied, as I'm just trying to relax. I am terrible at relaxing. Always feel like I should be doing more in my life.
Wish I knew how to go and and get a woman drunk and just use her -- so tired of caring. I just wish I could be a thoughtless man like all the other men on the planet, and just get what I want. But it escapes me. I just feel like the alien
Taking a 6-day weekend (and I still have over 6 weeks vacation and sick time through next June...). And of course, I feel unsatisfied, as I'm just trying to relax. I am terrible at relaxing. Always feel like I should be doing more in my life.
Wish I knew how to go and and get a woman drunk and just use her -- so tired of caring. I just wish I could be a thoughtless man like all the other men on the planet, and just get what I want. But it escapes me. I just feel like the alien
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Life in the online world...
After several months absence from Yahoo IM, P has begun popping up again. After chatting this past week for the first time since Spring, it because obvious to me that it is G/L.
Why doesn't whoever it is just come clean? He or she obviously feels something for me, if he or she will keep communicating with me, after he or she created a storyline that made G drop off from IMing me.
I am torn between just never replying again, to L or P; and wanting the veil to drop.
But even if he or she does come clean -- and I now assume they are a guy, because all three have asked me pointedly if I like men, and acted like they wanted me to say I did when I told them I didn't -- here, online, there is no way to tell if what he or she says is the truth is the truth.
I have been trying to re-orient myself to the real.
Why doesn't whoever it is just come clean? He or she obviously feels something for me, if he or she will keep communicating with me, after he or she created a storyline that made G drop off from IMing me.
I am torn between just never replying again, to L or P; and wanting the veil to drop.
But even if he or she does come clean -- and I now assume they are a guy, because all three have asked me pointedly if I like men, and acted like they wanted me to say I did when I told them I didn't -- here, online, there is no way to tell if what he or she says is the truth is the truth.
I have been trying to re-orient myself to the real.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Quote from French novelist and journalist George Bernanos
"I have thought for a long time now that if, some day, the increasing efficiency for the technique of destruction finally causes our species to disappear from the Earth, it will not be cruelty that will be responsible for our extinction and still less, of course, the indignation the cruelty awakens and the reprisals and vengeance that it brings upon itself...but the docility, the lack of responsibility of the modern man, his base subservient acceptance of every common decree. The horrors which we have seen, the still greater horrors we shall presently see, are not signs that rebels, insubordinate, untameable men are increasing in numbers throughout the world, but rather that there is a constant increase in the number of obedient, docile men."
Saturday, July 26, 2008
My response to a Wall Street Journal op-ed piece comparing the appeal of "The Dark Knight" to George W. Bush
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121694247343482821.html?mod=opinion_main_commentaries
The appeal of films like "The Dark Knight" (and "300") is simple -- literally: they are simple.
The world they depict is one of simple stark contrasts: good guy vs. bad guy, a moral code vs. anarchy; inner fortitude vs. concupiscent abandon. They are popular with a broad swath of Americans for the same reason that John Wayne, "pro wrestling" and Rush Limbaugh are. And why Christians gravitate toward the cut and dry rules of the Old Testament instead of the subtle self-awareness that Jesus himself preached.
A lot of Americans -- maybe the majority -- like things simple and easy. The worldview the dry-drunk George W. Bush offers ("you are either with us or against us", there is no appeasement with those we label our enemies or even recognition of their human equality to us, the comforting "American Ascendancy" that Rush conjures up) is easier to think about than the more demanding worldview that Barak Obama admits we need to embrace (all other nations and people are no lesser than us, the developing global interconnectedness demands we understand and appreciate the tenuousness of America's position and the real long-range effects of our actions).
"The Dark Knight" and "The Axis of Evil" are like comfort foods. Easily eaten, yes. The wisest choice to properly take care of our lives, no.
The appeal of films like "The Dark Knight" (and "300") is simple -- literally: they are simple.
The world they depict is one of simple stark contrasts: good guy vs. bad guy, a moral code vs. anarchy; inner fortitude vs. concupiscent abandon. They are popular with a broad swath of Americans for the same reason that John Wayne, "pro wrestling" and Rush Limbaugh are. And why Christians gravitate toward the cut and dry rules of the Old Testament instead of the subtle self-awareness that Jesus himself preached.
A lot of Americans -- maybe the majority -- like things simple and easy. The worldview the dry-drunk George W. Bush offers ("you are either with us or against us", there is no appeasement with those we label our enemies or even recognition of their human equality to us, the comforting "American Ascendancy" that Rush conjures up) is easier to think about than the more demanding worldview that Barak Obama admits we need to embrace (all other nations and people are no lesser than us, the developing global interconnectedness demands we understand and appreciate the tenuousness of America's position and the real long-range effects of our actions).
"The Dark Knight" and "The Axis of Evil" are like comfort foods. Easily eaten, yes. The wisest choice to properly take care of our lives, no.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Today is my birthday
Today is my birthday - I think actually a little past noon on Saturday, July 21, 1962. I was two weeks overdue: another day and the doctors were planning to induced labor. (Another argument for "karmic tendencies" -- I didn't even want to leave the womb, lol).
I actually have 3 birthdays: today, July 21; July 24, the anniversary of my traveling to New York City three days after my 20th birthday, where I received my Gohonzon and officially became a Buddhist; and now the anniversary of my quadruple bypass surgery on April 18, 2007.
Anyway, I was just biking home, from my parents' house in which I grew up in Kenmore; I dropped off my new van at my mechanic's near them to do a tune-up (hopefully that is where the misfiring and blinking "Service Engine Soon" light is coming from, and not anything deeper), and had biked over there (I can stow my bike in the back if my new van - standing up!), and they took me to breakfast. Now just waiting for the call from my mechanic that he is done so I can bike back up there.
Anyway anyway --
I am biking down "The Horsepath", that half-road down Kenmore between Wilbur and Military -- now paved, but still closed to cars except for residents pulling in to park in their driveways. I used to bike it all the time, then gravel and old asphalt, when I was in late elementary school and junior high school.
As I was biking down it today, I passed a man trudging along it. A man - chubby and bearded, about 30, already a bit worn from life.
And I thought: "The last time I biked here, you weren't even born..."
Wow! Just crazy, when you think about life, sometimes.
I actually have 3 birthdays: today, July 21; July 24, the anniversary of my traveling to New York City three days after my 20th birthday, where I received my Gohonzon and officially became a Buddhist; and now the anniversary of my quadruple bypass surgery on April 18, 2007.
Anyway, I was just biking home, from my parents' house in which I grew up in Kenmore; I dropped off my new van at my mechanic's near them to do a tune-up (hopefully that is where the misfiring and blinking "Service Engine Soon" light is coming from, and not anything deeper), and had biked over there (I can stow my bike in the back if my new van - standing up!), and they took me to breakfast. Now just waiting for the call from my mechanic that he is done so I can bike back up there.
Anyway anyway --
I am biking down "The Horsepath", that half-road down Kenmore between Wilbur and Military -- now paved, but still closed to cars except for residents pulling in to park in their driveways. I used to bike it all the time, then gravel and old asphalt, when I was in late elementary school and junior high school.
As I was biking down it today, I passed a man trudging along it. A man - chubby and bearded, about 30, already a bit worn from life.
And I thought: "The last time I biked here, you weren't even born..."
Wow! Just crazy, when you think about life, sometimes.
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