june 29, 2001 - 23:12 (d.3)
oh yes; work, 10:30pm on a friday night? i must lack something worth
going home to..
..........
trying...so...hard....not to go driving. ( i just watched fast and
the furious with r; it is clear, julliette needs NOS! oh yes, she
does! what mad circles i could drive in... )
okay, time to go home. really.
june 29, 2001 - 14:29 (d.3)
i am more stressed returning from lunch than when i left...
feeling eleemosynary because i think i've written some relatively
intelligent code this morning, i invite a couple of my coworkers out to lunch.
"hey, c'mon, i'll drive." ( suddenly,
driving is much more fun, now that i have julliette... )
we go to jacks, because it's friday, and that's monterey-ranch-chicken-special
day. my officemate cc has never been there before, and bg
is along for the ride.
take shit because my seatbelts don't go "whoosh" when you start the car; take
shit because there's not enough space in the back; take shit because the food
takes forever, and it was my choice to go there; take shit because there's no
airconditioning; take shit because ...
"you see cc, it's not my fault that the seatbelts
don't fit when you get back in the car, but your own..." (the vintage
seat belts are straight fabric, like a backpack. they are not automatic,
nor do they have a little pully that dynamically collects the slack, or offers
more room; no, you have to use your fat little fingers to slide the buckle up
and down the ribbon.)
"... did you see me run out here and re-adjust it? no.
that it doesn't fit now suggests that you are fatter sitting back in my
car than when you just got out. guess you should lay off the chips, eh?"
"aye, not like my subaru, now is it? don't crash
see, i don't want to die with these wee restraints on. now, where's the
a/c then?"
ARGH. i guess if he doesn't get it, i just can't explain it.
forget him, see if i ask 'em out again. i dump his arse!
;)
june 29, 2001 - 11:42 (d.3)
email breaches emotional firewall:
-------------------------------------
and i guess i would like my toothbrush...
andi i have some clothes you'll be happy to have back.
sorry i've kept them for so long.
-------------------------------------
boy recognizes that that time, the toothbrush and t-shirt time
has come; cries silently at workstation.
june 29, 2001 - 08:17 (d.3)
last night, while eating dinner with r and kl at the new thai
place downtown, my mobile rang. (well, more like beeped, or buzzed, but
i digress ). i respond, "hello?"
and then it starts....
i know who it was only because i recognized the number, for there was no speech,
only a song. j had come through on her promise, and had called me,
during the middle of their (pa) set to transmit a lovely rendition of new order's "your
silent face," one of my all-time favorite songs. (that has been subjected
to an extraordinary number of cycles on my poor laptop as of late).
a thought that never changes remains a stupid lie
it's never been quite the same
no hearing or breathing
no movement, no colors
just silence
rise and fall of shame
a search that shall remain
we asked you what you'd seen
you said you didn't care
sounds formed in a vacuum
may seem a waste of time
it's always been just the same
no hearing or breathing
no movement no lyrics
Just nothing
the sign that leads the way
a path we cannot take
you've caught me at a bad time
so why don't you piss off
i excuse myself, walk outside. sitting on a bike rack, downtown, people
walk past. they do not get to share this moment, and probably wouldn't
understand it anyway.
as the song began to wind down, i found myself desperately searching for
something to say, some intelligent expression of gratitude that might convey
exactly how much this casual gesture means to me.
then, <beep>. cell phone turns off; the transmission is over.
i whisper, "thanks" into the silent device, though i
know there is no longer a conduit between my locale and her own. makes
sense i guess, she was in the middle of the set...
the point? well, i guess there is no big point, no profound revelation.
quite simply, that was one of the most genuine moments that i have
experienced in a long time; that something from so far away can be projected
to touch me so profoundly? that it did not have to packaged or sugar
coated or explained with an opening dialog; that it was precisely what it was
intended to be; no more, no less. raw. real. heartfelt...
j you are an angel.
june 28, 2001 - 20:05 (d.2)
tonite on the phone, i heard her say, "hi, i'm looking for
geek love." of course, i post it here entirely without context, but
i suppose that helps to exaggerate why i thought it was kinda funny.
why am i still at work, anyway? *sigh*
june 28, 2001 - 11:24 (d.2)
sam brown (@explodingdog.com) has done it
again.
rather uncanny, really ...
june 28, 2001 - 10:27 (d.2)
i had a brilliant time last night; everything seemed to fall into place as
if it had been carefully orchestrated, months in advance :
last minute: r allows s and i to borrow the beetle, to drive over
the hill, experience turbonium. regroup at the work place of r,
eat hamburgers. conversation is light and easy; air is cool with the day's
rains. dozens of typical 'bad mood' triggers seem to slide past,
unnoticed. (late for show, parking miserability, track backtrack retrack)
none of it matters, we are unfazed, in good spirits. the sky is brilliant...
we rendezvous with friends on the lawn almost immediately; no frustrating
searches, no uncomfortable seating. swan song of beta band, then they
are gone, the sun is setting.
twilight. radiohead starts. suddenly claustrophobic, i climb to the
top of the hill, away from the stage. the air is cool here, fresh,
and the sound quality is surprisingly good. the sun sets behind me as stage
lights flash before me. a deep blue sky contrasts sharply with
clouds of orange; cool breeze on my neck, perfectly in time for the hook, as if
nature had previously agreed to choreograph special effects.
i pull out my mobile, dial the numbers; risk ridicule of pretentious
indie kids to project the sound to a distant girl, head groggy with sleep.
she lies in the comfort of her own bed, i lie in the grass, under the stars.
not talking, just listening; we have found occasion to share an
impossible moment.
afterwards, r, s, and i return to the workplace of r, pick up
his other car, the faster one. he and s are gone in a
flash of silver, i trail, a pale blue. freeway traffic is light, and we make
good time.
two cars cut independent sinusoidal paths through slower moving
traffic; it is as if we are dancing. tail lights of others, fall
to the left, then to the right; only one pair moves with me, just ahead of
me. a turn indicator propositions, 'sway when i sway.'
occasionally i look down to realize we are moving at speeds no car of
mine could maintain without additional external propulsion; i cannot help
but to wonder if this experience (it feels like flying) is still
exhilerating to r.
god i love driving; the sensation of moving forward, of actively controlling your
destiny... how rarely i have had exposure to a vehicle that handles like
this. it was all over, entirely too soon.
i had a brilliant time last night...
june 27, 2001 - 16:32 (day 1)
tonite i get to see radiohead and the beta band at the shoreline.
tonite it is raining, and the shoreline is an outside venue.
tonite i get to see radiohead and the beta band, while standing in the rain.
for some reason, this sounds just brilliant to me.
june 27, 2001 - 15:36 (day 1)
a borrowed song, in borrowed headphones :
Standing by yourself.
High on the hills above the ocean.
This is where you'd come to walk with your friends.
Strange how it leaves you with no emotion.
You can't fight the undertow.
Not when you're all alone.
You can't fight the undertow.
How long 'til you let go?
Taking one step back,
Trying to pull yourself together,
No matter what you say nothing you do
can hold back the forces on you forever.
- excerpts from undertow, by ivy
again, j proves she is brilliant with music recommendations.
june 27, 2001 - 14:26 (day 1)
the time has come for the three week visit to the hand doctor; an appointment
to see him today, after a hasty lunch... he looked over the reports from
the therapists, did a few range of motion tests, and sighed a lot.
he tried to mandate that i take time off work; that i go on disability leave.
i had to plea for him not to do that, to let me finish this project...
"please don't, not yet. i will try to observe the recommended patterns,
i will continue with therapy, but i can't be taken out, not now; the time is
critical."
he shook his head a lot, muttering under his breath...
"from this report, i would guess that you arms belonged to a 45 year old engineer
who has been in the industry for 20 years... not a 25 year sapling, such as
yourself. you are headed for a real shock if you keep this up..."
i promised i would behave; i would take my breaks... he prescribed more
hand therapy appointments, asked me to return in another three weeks, and promised
he would be less forgiving next time.
why am i begging to keep on this project? admittedly, an unfounded sense
of obligation... but one that i can not shake. i do not want this on my
employee portfolio, and the manager will not know.
june 27, 2001 - 10:46 (day 1)
feeling some sort of senseless obligation to see it through, to bear it until
the very end, i stayed up until the day was over. at 12:01, i stand up,
walk into the bedroom, and slip quietly under the sheets.
i stare at the ceiling for seven hours, 33 minutes ...
(blink) 07:34 i am awake, without an alarm. not really
awake, as i wasn't really sleeping, but suddenly concious of where i was, as if
had just awoken. the light this morning is flat and even; a sun masked
behind fog is unable to project sunbeam stripes on the wall opposite.
i stand up, walk into the bathroom, stare at my reflection in a dirty mirror.
eyes, heavy with sleep deprivation, seem to betray my age; however,
shoulders seem to be less slumped, as if finally liberated from some great
burden. somehow, i look older and younger at the same time...
in the shower, i am careful to scrub every surface several times, literally trying to peel off the dead parts of me. i shave with a blade, instead of
batteries, trying to get as close to the skin as possible.
i dress methodically, as if i'm ordering from a menu, or reading a procedural
manual: black pants. grey button down shirt, sleves rolled.
blue sock, then grey sock. black shoes, belt, holster.
for breakfast i have a terrible grapefruit (no juice, thick skin), and a
half-soggy bowl of kix (only enough milk in container to wet only the bottom of
my bowl). i eat crunchy spoon after spoon, while reading my book; this
morning is like all others.
the cereal is gone, revealing a rocketship on the bottom of my bowl.
startled by its appearance, i stare it for a while; it seems foreign to me though
i knew it would be there. setting it back on the table, i let the
sugar-milk-cereal residue form a thin veil across the bottom, spread as such by
gravity, ghosting the image.
standing up, i collect my things, turn towards door and start day 1.
june 26, 2001 - 23:53
silence in the air
at the end of the affair, end of the run
( it's just begun )
silence in the air
i don't know if i even care about anyone
( they're overrun )
my head is in the sun
7 more minutes to hide away
fought with everyone
7 more minutes slide away
somewhere in the sun
somewhere far from everyone
my head is in the sun
- excerpts from my head is in the sun, by the rentals
june 26, 2001 - 23:11
<include: 1 year time release req. met:>
i couldn't help but drive by on my way home; i couldn't help but
to loathe that shitbox pathfinder parked outside, nor the hastiness with
which it seemed to have been parked... he must have bounced off the curb
in his excitement to return there. i couldn't help but to fantasize a dozen
cruel things that i could never actually do or say. i couldn't help but to
drive home crying. i couldn't help but to write paragraph after paragraph
here, and then time-lock everything before posting it.
june 26, 2001 - 18:24
as if suddenly defining the endpoint to a previously unbounded equation, she has
done what i previously didn't imagine possible. she always was
amazing that way.
present june 26, 2001 - 17:09
staring at my reflection in the mirror this morning, i could not fathom the
weight this day would carry. i could not fathom that i would be the
last to know. i could not ...
with the anchor severed, the boat is free to drift. fate encourages
it to sleep on the rocks; destiny lures it into the blue ether. which force
is stronger?
boy wishes girl best of luck in new endeavour; remains on mountain,
watching. volvo rolls out, clouds roll in. distant sea remains
unbiased and apathetic. tears finally come when the yellow has gone.
click... off... gone.
<EOT>
june 26, 2001 - 15:47
saw the lovely lovely hand lady lady again today. i love the way she
touches me... the way she sedates me, the way she warms me up, then cools
me down. i love the way she smiles coyly whilst electrocuting me.
/ i love the way she makes me feel /
afterwards, for a few precious hours, my hands work right again. i can
feel no pain again. i can work and laugh and play and type again.
( my dreams of prosthetic replacement forearms start to sound like a terrible
idea again... )
too bad she's married, as this just might be love...
june 26, 2001 - 11:30
at what point must my words be of those constructed by the best friend in me,
and not of the once lover in me? is it possible for one side of me
to betray another, whilst counselling a girl; (an individual whom is also not
entirely external to my sense of self)?
...as if testing the limits of my own reciprocity failure.
june 26, 2001 - 09:12
open window: warm summer air has turned cold with the low pressure system
moving in from the east; the blinds dance haphazardly above my head, silently
projecting orange swathes on the ceiling from the streetlight
below. balled up, off to the side; i am alone in a bed made for two.
i glance at my watch, 2:03am. my phone lies on the pillow next to me,
whimpering the eh-eh-eh-eh-eh of a severed connection; as if crying for
purpose. staring at its glowing LED in silence, i am unable to move,
although somewhat certain this is what has awakened me.
was i trying to call someone in my sleep? had i been talking to someone
and dozed off?
at that instant, i wished i could close my eyes and never wake again; for swimming
an eternity in my subconcious would certainly be easier than drowning
in the haunting loneliness of this room.
june 24, 2001 - 08:32
wrist hurt disease suggests typing on sunday is poor form; i must resort to
'copy and paste'-ing the (highly appropriate) words of another. (i
am really starting to hate this.)
you are a splendid butterfly
it is your wings that make you beautiful
and i could make you fly away
but i could never make you stay
you said you were in love with me
both of us know that that's impossible
and i could make you rue the day
but i could never make you stay
...
-excerpts from all my little words, by the magnetic fields
june has been a hard month for the heart.
june 21, 2001 - 08:35
karma police, i've given all i can, it's not enough
i've given all i can, but we're still on the payroll
this is what you get, this is what you get
this is what you get, when you mess with us
and for a minute there, i lost myself, i lost myself
and for a minute there, i lost myself, i lost myself
- excerpts from karma police, by radiohead.
it used to take hours for my hands to grow sore and weak. hours.
typically, it would be well after lunch, towards the end of the day, when the
long shadows of a falling sun make me sleepy and slow. i didn't mind it
as much then.
now it hurts at 8am. it consumes my day, it defines me;
that bothers me a lot.
june 20, 2001 - 23:57
i've got your voice recorded, on my machine.
as a sort of validation, for my dream.
sometimes we talk for hours, as if threating to come clean.
sometimes i must remind myself, things aren't as they seem.
june 20, 2001 - 14:12
golden ticket, in my inbox.
do i choose status quo; maintain same pedestrian life, same displeasure with
current professional responsibilities... or, cash ticket, board
plane, see and taste and smell new things, but do very little to further future
career goals. ( in fact, possibly negating an recent progress i have
made? )
scratches chin; what to do? does it matter?
june 20, 2001 - 11:47
and for a minute there, i lost myself, i lost myself...
finally. prototype has shipped, marking the end of the rapid-development
portion of the monster project at work... perhaps now, i will find time
for the wrists to heal. else, the hand-therapist-lady might beat me up.
someday, the missing entries below will be inserted into this page.
regrettably, i have no idea just when that might be. (regulated by relative
wrist hurt disease displeasure).
in the meantime, perhaps you'd like to meet my new girlfriend, julliette.
june 13, 2001 - 13:32
wrist hurt disease complications and a big project at work mandates that every
key stroke now be audited. for the interim, beingboring journals have gone
analog, will be transposed here as soon as hand-working allows. sorry.
june 8 2001 - 16:16
morning:
boy sees girl, says hello, they hang out.
lunch:
boy sees girl, says hello, but they do not hang out.
(she is there with another :: so quick)
suddenly realizing that he is infinitey outclassed in a retarded and
unfortunate game, boy cannot help but to childishly wish that he
could at least play at the same caliber as girl; if only to make
it a little more interesting.
instead, he accepts his fate, and scoots away.
june 8, 2001 - 15:07
Friday:
Three o'clock. Three o'clock is always too late or too
early for anything you want to do. An odd moment in the afternoon.
Today it is intolerable.
- another excerpt from nausea, by jean-paul sartre
june 7, 2001 - 20:56
please strike down previous comments regarding 'challenges' as a mere symptom of
my passing insanity ... why else would i still be at work?
subcomment: DAMN, my hands hurt; i cannot wait for the relief of this weekend.
june 7, 2001 - 11:13
i have been working on this project for three weeks. just now,
i have actually proven to myself that the underlying technology was even feasible.
that leaves 6 working days to implement the proposed solution and deliver it
to the customer.
oh how i do love a challenge...
june 7, 2001 - 9:18
Date: Wed, 06 Jun 2001 15:33:45 -0700
From: <jack>
To: <sk>
Subject: Re: newton
<sk> wrote:
> .... i dunno, it just bothers me that you
> compare yourself to a ping ping ball while putting others
> (granted, others who are dear to you) on level with the
> earth itself.
>
> i guess what i'm trying to say is: we know that the earth
> pushes back when pushed by a ping pong ball. Question is,
> who's more hurt by the transaction? Even Newton couldn't
> figure that one out (i think Einstein even TRIED).
as it is traditionally assumed that inanimate objects (such as ping pong
balls or planets) have little in the way of feelings (all digressions
involving spiritualism, karma, and other new age arguments aside), and
are thus less likely to be 'hurt' by the interaction.
for the sake of debate, let's consider 'hurt' an emotional response to a
state change (be it emotional or physical) of the object as a direct
result of its interactions with a system.
specifically, above you mention 'pushing' (where i was only speaking of
gravitational 'pulls' before ... ), this suggests a physical
interaction, thus involving the slightly more complicated physics of
momentum.
as i'm sure you recall, 'the conservation of momentum' is a principle
that suggests that the sum of the system's momentum (a product of mass
and velocity) is the same at the origin as it is upon the conclusion of
the interaction. (minus, of course, any energy that is lost due to
heat, noise, or work involving the 'change of state' of either of those
objects).
in fact, that's precisely what i'd like to talk about... in the real
world, specifically my world, my life: the interactions do not seem to
as well defined as those in the black and white world of academic
physics; systems are never clean, there is no such thing as a
frictionless surface, and there is ALWAYS loss due to escaped energy.
it is also a well accepted fact that in any given reaction, the object
with the most momentum ( defined above as a product of mass and velocity
), typically has least significant change of 'state.'
( picture a mac truck vs. me on a scooter )
i intend not to be condescending in any manner, for i know that you are
familiar with these principles; in fact, perhaps your statements above are
correct..
perhaps it is inappropriate to consider myself a ping pong ball, and her
a planet. when in fact, she was certainly of less mass than i....
what cannot be denied is that this girl had velocity. dreams, goals,
ambition: in the end, the motivation is not important, only the vector.
her velocity far outweighed my own, therby providing a larger
multiplier for her momentum. (following this argument, it is
intuitively apparent that her momentum also far eclipsed my own. )
so. the bodies collided. one with great momentum, one with little.
(actually, i revoke the above statements, in this situation, i'm LESS
significant than even a ping pong ball.. since momentum is a product,
and my velocity = 0, my mass could become irrelevant! (depending, of course,
on your frame of reference))
anyway, again, for the sake of debate, let's suppose i had a little 'v.'
*so* the bodies collided. one with great momentum, one with little.
there was an interaction; in it, old velocity acquired new vectors, mass
changed state (became hurt?), and suddenly it was over.
thus, the mac truck trampled the scooter ...
perhaps it might have noticed the bump, but the scooter now knows the
depth of the bumper, the tread of every wheel, the shape of the drive
shaft, and perhaps (if still conscious) even the dirty mudflaps.
where am i going with this? hell, i don't know. i guess, i'd be
somehow relieved to hear that i provided a bump, a glitch, a hiccup in
the system. some selfish manner of compensation for the way my world
seems to have turned on end. to have been run over ...
simply: to know that she might have been affected by our interactions
as well?
that aside, we have touched on a neat characteristic of velocity,
specifically, its role in systems such as these: through the
interaction, even a motionless mass, (such as myself), manages
to appropriate a bit of velocity (although in a violently awkward
direction) from that of the instigator.
for that, i'm thankful.
so, now i spin... in a lovely new direction. suddenly, i too have
found a motivation, a kind of momentum. (which, in turn, has given me
the burden of creating quite a few secondary collisions ... dramatic
instances in and of themselves, that i will abstain from explaining
here)
.....
my hands hurt. i quit.
> ciao,
> sk
ciao,
jack
june 6, 2001 - 23:32
brief entries tonite, for symptoms of wrist hurt disease are pervasive :
-
as if racing into the final stretch, i find myself hurtling towards the
conclusion of the first day since i met jp that i will not have
spoken to her.
personally, my day was rather lacklustre, and i was unable to think of a
suitable reason to disturb her. perhaps it was the same for her?
( unlikely ... even breathing is exciting for that girl right now )
-
i just realized that i haven't checked my voice messages in over two weeks ...
no explaination really, i just forgot to care. looks like i
get to play lots of catch up tomorrow. eeek
-
spoke to auto-mechanic-guy this evening; "your
car is ready."
a statement that was, of course, followed by an extensive list of 'repairs'
that i should probably consider (for safety's sake) in the near future.
additional repairs exceed cost of original work. ( isn't that always
the way? )
"um, okay.. go ahead and keep it," shit,
i really can't afford this right now, "would friday night be an okay time to pick it up?"
-
can't help but notice myself balking on project blitzkrieg this evening ...
should i go for it? am i being a sentimental fool?
okie ... i'm done. wrist pain too bad: i can't help but wish
that nice hand therapy lady was here to fix them. i just met her
today, but she's my new best friend!
june 6, 2001 - 22:41
i finally got to speak with j this evening ...
admittedly, the night's dialog was little more than a futile attempt to
explain my actions, to provide motives for words posted here, but
i do think we both were able to resolve some level of our disconnect.
you get these words wrong
... everytime
you get these words wrong
... i just smile
- from leave me alone, by new order
i hope we can continue our interactions in the future; i have grown terribly
fond of her sense of humour.
in the end, only time will tell. it always does.
june 6, 2001 - 18:21
last night, while we were talking, the girl wondered what i was
singing, under my breath. ( she asked me to sing it out loud. )
honestly, i had to look at her for a moment, just to understand what
she had asked. it had been a tough conversation indeed, for i found
it terribly difficult to focus since her admission to overstepping
the boundaries.
not upset really, just wierded out i guess ...
so, distantly, as if swimming in my head, i whispered :
....................
we lay on the bed there
kissing just for practice
could we please be objective?
cause the other boys are queueing up behind us
a hand over my mouth
a hand over the window
well, if i remain passive and you just want to cuddle
then we should be ok, and we won't get into trouble
cause we're seeing other people
at least that's what we say we are doing
how are you feeling?
i don't think you can be dealing
with the situation very well
you take a lover for a dirty weekend, that's ok
but when it's over
you are looking at the working week in the eyes of a gigolo
....................
you're kissing your elbow
you're kissing your reflection
and when you can't understand why all the other boys are going for the
new, tall, elegant rich kids
i'll admit it's a bitch, kid
but if they don't see the quality then it's apparent that
you're going to have to change
or you're going to have to go with girls
you might be better off
at least they know what they're doing
....................
we lay on the bed there
kissing just for practice
could we please be objective?
cause the other boys are queueing up behind us
a hand over my mouth
a hand over the window
well, if i remain passive and you just want to cuddle
then we should be ok, and we won't get into trouble
cause we're seeing other people
at least that's what we say we are doing
- seeing other people, by belle and sebastian
if you are cool, or have a cool friend like (s, j, or kl),
perhaps you (or they) can find the 1996 live bbc version... with two
singers, this song has an entirely different connotation indeed.
june 5, 2001 - 23:17
tonite marks the one week anniversary of the evening she rode out of town,
intoxicated with uncertainty and excitement, on the bus bearing blue stripes
and orange arrows.
i console myself by reading physics books.
Newton's Third Law :
(paraphrased from University Physics, by Young, Freedman)
A force acting on a body is always the result of its interaction with another body, so forces always come in pairs. You can't pull on a doorknob without the doorknob pulling back on you. When you kick a football, the forward force that your foot exerts on the ball launches it into its trajectory, but you also feel the force the ball exerts back on your foot.
In each of these cases the force you exert on the other body is in the opposite
direction to the force that body exerts on you. Experiments show that whenevertwo bodies interact, the two froces they exert on each other are always equal in magnitude and opposite in direction. This fact is called Newton's third law of motion.
mathmatically :
F(a on b) = -F(b on a)
in english :
If body A exerts a force on body B (an 'action'), then body B exerts a force
on body A (a 'reaction'). These two forces have the same magnitude but are opposite in direction.
In this statement, 'action' and 'reaction' are the two opposite forces; we sometimes refer to them as an action-reaction pair. This is not meant to imply any cause-and-effect relationship; we can consider either force as the "action" and the other as the "reaction." We often say simply that the forces are "equal and opposite," meaning that they have equal magnitudes and opposite directions."
that said, would it be presumptuous of me to assume that i had made the same
impression on her, (err, an impression equal in magnitude), as she did to me?
is it possible that she is lying in her bed, this very moment, staring
at the ceiling and considering the implications of tonite?
oh, wait; my mistake ... it should be 'an impression equal in
magnitude, but opposite in direction.' laughing to myself,
i cannot help but think, "perhaps this was the
motive behind her rapid departure?"
now jack, don't be irrational; that was merely the logical progression of
events that were set into motion well before you happened onto the scene.
entirely unmoved by this line of reasoning, the passage continues :
Newton's third law also applies to long-range forces that do not require physical contact, such as the force of gravitational attaction.
A ping-pong ball exerts an upward gravitational force on the earth that's equal in magnitude to the downward gravitational force the earth exerts on the ball. When you drop the ball, both the ball and the earth accelerate toward each other. The net force on each body has the same magnitude, but the earth's acceleration is microscopically small because its mass is so great. Nevertheless, it does move!
ah yes, i think we might be onto something here ...
perhaps she was just too brilliant a star, too lofty a goal?
in essence, perhaps she was simply far too massive for me to have had a non-negligable effect upon?
still, i am pleased by the notion that i may have touched her,
perhaps even leaving a lasting impression on her, somehow, in an entirely
imperceptable (and unmeasurable) way.
physics always cheers me up.
june 5, 2001 - 18:32
tonite the phone rang, just as i was reaching for it. on the
screen, i was pleased to find the digits i had been searching for the
courage (or excuse?) to dial all afternoon ...
perhaps after a year and a half of careful observation, my mobile has
developed some manner of precognitive ability? (would i find that
exciting or frightening?)
actually, if my phone could think, i'd be rather wary of hearng what it
really thought of me ... surely, it has received far too much exposure
to the unnecessary drama i seem to constantly immerse myself in.
..........
you do it to yourself you do
and that's what really hurts is
you and no-one else
you do it to yourself
- an excerpt from just, by radiohead
( as usual, it was brilliant speaking to her ... )
again, we somehow managed to exhaust the chemical energy contained within
my nokia's slender backpack. eventually it reached the point where it
was no longer able to generate current, and finally retired with the
telltale beep beep beep of resignation.
leaving me to the silence that signals the end of our
interactions for the day.
recognizing this, i place the ( now useless ) device in my pocket, and turn
on my heel to return to my office.
only in retrospect do i find myself wondering just how much this month's
service bill will be. <shudder>
june 5, 2001 - 13:12
brief conversation with the girl this afternoon; questions concerning
last night's unreturned phonecalls are suddenly resolved...
"let's meet after work and talk some today, okay?" she says.
i love how this sentence is always a sentencing unto itself; only minutes after
the lunch hour, and i already know how the night will end. *shrug*
maybe tonite will be different...
june 4, 2001 - 23:42
when i spoke to jp this morning, she had seemed genuinely surprised that
she had managed to solicit a job offer so quickly.
for me, there was little doubt; surely a woman commanding such a potent
coctail of intellect, charisma, and unassuming 'cute-girl-next-door' good
looks could do just about anything she put her mind to.
i guess i'm pretty lucky to have met a few people like that.
june 4, 2001 - 21:34
once home, jack begins the ceremonial process of cooking dinner for himself.
tonite, he plans to have a steak, boiled red potatoes with parsely, and
an artichoke.
having dropped his bags in splendid dissarray just inside the front door,
"hello honey, i'm home..."
he proceeds directly to the kitchen, and begins methodically removing the
necessary items from their respective storage locations. his words,
misdirected and forgotton, resonate without response in an otherwise empty
apartment.
first he creates a hasty marinade for the steak, then moves quickly to
the artichokes. ( requiring a cooking time of ~ 30 minutes, these
were to be the primary constraint between his currently noisy stomach and its
eventual satiation. )
he was actually rather excited about having artichokes again, for it had been
quite some time since he last prepared them. funny how ridiculous
tasks seem to carry an heir of importance while living alone.
with yellow scissors, he removes the offensive needles, then reaches for
a knife to square off the top. he selects one of appropriate
length, but is quickly reminded of its blunt edge, which forces him to resort
to a pitiful seesawing motion that does little more than insult both blade and
artichoke.
patience perseveres, and he eventually drops the two globes within a
pot of boiling water. their sullen green forms, buoyant and animated
just beneath the surface, immediately remind him of another pot, in another
kitchen, host to yet another set of swimming plants.
it is not difficult to recall just how sad and soggy they were ...
floating, forgotton, in a stew of green tinted tap water. unfortunately
overtaken by events, they had come so far in pursuit of their destiny, only to
be tossed out without consumption.
upon rediscovering their existence, she had originally offered them to him
as an afterthought, a way to justify investment; a sort of casual 11th
hour benediction ...
at the time, his response was immediate, for who wants a cold soggy thing
like that?
this evening however, he feels a sort of sympathy for those artichokes...
having been carefully selected by hand, then invited into the privacy
of her home under the guidance of a reassuring arm, they were thoughtfully
prepared before their submergence in the boiling water.
surely they had unrealized aspirations of consumption? is there not a
degree of immortality achieved when the molecules and
compounds that define you are consumed and integrated into another?
perhaps this is even enough compensation for being unwillingly uprooted,
forced to go in directions you do not prefer, with company you do not choose?
as it was, the unassuming pot had been neglected, left in the corner to
silently percolate its contents, as the house continued to entertain
without it.
jack found a comforting sort of irony in this realization : these
water logged and graying biomasses had once had an opportunity for redemption,
instead, they were discovered far too late, and were helplessly overtaken by
plans already set into motion.
they never really had a chance.
he figures his situation was pretty much the same.
..........
later that night, after jack finished cooking his dinner, he was very careful
to eat every possible part of his meal. he paid specific attention to
the artichokes, for it would be a shame to let any leaf, any opportunity,
go unnoticed or unexperienced.
at this point, it was the least that he could do. literally.
june 4, 2001 - 20:47
why am i still here? it's not like i'm really getting anything done...
( yet again, jack kids himself: "why, i'll just download the files to my laptop,
and maybe i'll work on them while i'm eating dinner this evening... that way
i don't feel guilty about not finishing them today." )
anyone care to speculate how successful this line of reasoning has been
as of late?
project blitzkrieg was unfortunately delayed, i'm still working on this stupid
proposal, and wrist hurt disease is kicking my arse :: just another manic
monday!
june 4, 2001 - 20:30
i wish she did not have reason to write such sad words... i wish i
would not have been that reason. it really breaks my heart to hear her
so.
... but what can i do?
june 4, 2001 - 18:33
DOH! that last update just overwrote the two most recent entries.
*sigh* such is the risk of editing live files directly on the server, eh?
perhaps this is a sign... getting tired and sloppy; i should leave from
work now.
( yeah, i wish )
june 4, 2001 - 18:29
the poetry now playing in jack's headphones:
............................
i wake up
and the day feels broken
i tilt my head
try to get an angle
the evening i've always longed for
it could still happen
how do i master
the perfect day
six glasses of water
seven phonecalls
............................
if you leave it alone it might just happen
anyway
it's not up to you
well it never really was...
if you wake up
and your day feels broken
just lean into the crack
and it will tremble ever so nicely
notice how it sparkles down there
............................
i can decide what i give
but it's not up to me
what i get given
unthinkable surprises about to happen
but what they are
............................
it's not up to you
well it never really was...
............................
there is too much clinging to peak
there is too much pressure
- it's not up to you, from bjork's forthcoming album, vespertine.
june 4, 2001 - 9:48
postcard received from s this morning, text on back reads:
"ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space."
guess that just about sums it all up, eh? ;)
june 3, 2001 - 22:38
this evening, i was re-reading some correspondence i had received last month
from my friend mm; in it, she sets the scene by suggesting that she is
on an eastbound train, collapsing the distance between chicago and ann arbor.
( would i be a fool to discount the pattern that seems to be emerging
here? really: what is the statistical probability? )
in her letter, she writes:
"... i am careful not to drown out the deep commanding whistle. motion
is endlessly conductive to thought. 'train of thought.'
i like this immensely.
i believe that a lot of my current frustration has to do with the pervasive
sensation of being locked down, constrained. i am haunted
by my inability to effect change; to know that i will wake up tomorrow
and see and hear and feel nothing that i did not already know today.
motion is endlessly conductive to thought.
i am deep in the throes of wanderlust. surely, i have had it
a hundred times before, surely, it has always been subdued by some event
that knocks my perspective back into the present, but it always returns.
with each periodic swing, it seems to gain momentum,
to acquire force. i'm devastated by its blows.
motion is endlessly conductive to thought.
i like how eloquently this sums up an emotion i have felt since the
trip of four. in my response, i offered the following
conjecture:
perhaps this motion is merely a tool to help exaggerate the passage of
time? a mechanism to help delineate an order to an otherwise
jumbled sequence of events?
in essence...
if you are moving forward, then you might have begun looking forward:
to your dreams, plans, ambition. ( where are you going? )
reciprocally, this distance also affords the opportunity to look back.
( where have you been? what have you learned? ) past
experiences define our sense of self.
compare this to being stationary...
in this state, the future, the past, the present: all spill ontop of and
bleed into each other. it becomes difficult, if not impossible,
to understand motivation, or purpose behind your actions.
it is as if you are actually being corrupted by attempting to live three
simultaneous states of self.
for me, the implications of this are daunting; for any given action, it
becomes unclear whether or not my motivation is merely the inertia of previous
intent, a shadow of it's former self.
i must ask: am i doing this because i want it, or because i used to want
it?
this realization fuels my desire to accelerate the plan.
( it's time to start looking forward again )
june 3, 2001 - 20:20
un buono giorno per i razzi ed il biciclete...
<#include="all of the things i'd like to say, but never do">
june 3, 2001 - 12:19
pretzel boy slept through his scooter ride this morning.. arms, hands:
arthritic with abuse, curled in upon themselves like the limbs of a dead
spider, remain numb and tingly from hours of being laid upon. in this
state, they sometimes take a while to regain functionality.
at night, i have learned to carefully outstretch both of my arms, hands open,
palms down... in this manner, much of the early morning discomfort can
be avoided.
catch is, i have to be thinking clearly enough to do it.
pretzel boy slept through his scooter ride this morning... his phone,
cellphone, lie together on the pillow next to him. conversations that
carried deep into the night, encouraged him to taunt unconciousness,
encouraged him to go until there was nothing left. ultimately he
succumbed, his body frozen in sleep just as he had laid last awake..
...curled into a ball, with both arms tucked tightly before him.
june 2, 2001 - 23:14
quietly, i sit in my apartment, eating my dinner in the dark.
staralfur, by sigur ros, loops on the stereo.
it is a pretty song. it makes me think of j. it makes
me smile.
june 2, 2001 - 20:19
mars lander, come in, over.
(we spoke again tonight)
jp happened to call while i was standing outside of the movie
theater, bidding adieu to r.
her journey now complete, she speaks from an apartment for which i have
no frame of reference, no mental image, deep within NYC. i listen
while sitting on my scooter, leaning against the flowerstand before the
bookstore.
i am frustrated to realize that she can probably describe my
current environment perfectly, whereas i could only get away with gross
generalizations of her own.
she is like a deep space probe; recently launched, her objectives are
to document brilliant experiences, then forward the information back
to mission control for detailed analysis. poor cellphone reception
heightens the sense of distance between us..
i am growing used to hearing her signal fade in and out.
i find the excitement in her voice to be endlessly endearing...
closing my eyes, i try to picture things that she reads to me from her
journal; experiences documented with ink that is still wet.
she recounts tales of amish midgets, train crush boys, lost monks, buffalo,
compromising diagrams, omelletes, stolen touches, rivers and mount jenn.
complacently, i sit there; although physically surrounded by a bustling
downtown, my thoughts retrace her steps to a destination that is
2987.6
miles away.
i cannot help but to think of the mars lander:
i wonder what criterion nasa uses to determine the success of deep space
probe? designed solely to explore, document and share, there
is typically little thought given to a recovery mechanism.
eventually, the very nature of the thing overwhelms its primary design
spec.. with time, it might become so distant in its explorations
that mission control can no longer receive it's well-meaning transmissions.
in the interim, i am terribly fond of hearing her read to me.
june 2, 2001 - 19:43
i stopped by the girl's house this evening.. i just wanted
to say hello, to see how she was doing. (damn, things have been
complex lately).
she had died her hair today; once dark brown, it is now short and bright
red / yellow. i think it looks cute and pr; a subtle reminder that my
4+ year crush on her remains, regardless of polictics.
we talk briefly in the parking lot. after a few minutes, she mentions
that she has comppany upstairs. i scoot away; she turns for the
stairway...
june 2, 2001 - 10:25
noticed this today:
-rwxr--r-- 1 xxxxx xxxxx 9199 May 23 22:54 blather_0103.html
-rwxr--r-- 1 xxxxx xxxxx 23033 May 23 23:41 blather_0104.html
-rwxr--r-- 1 xxxxx xxxxx 90479 Jun 1 05:17 blather_0105.html
-rwxr--r-- 1 xxxxx xxxxx 29730 Jun 2 05:21 blather.html
basically, this means that yesterday, alone, i babbled more on this
site than in almost all of april and march combined. (no wonder my
hands hurt this morning...)
so i'll be brief:
- stage 1 of project blitzkrieg was a screaming success this morning.
very exciting!! (more info soon...)
- during breakfast, i drew a silly picture of park avenue, because w and j are the best... someday they'll be super famous, and nobody will believe that they actually used to talk to me.
okay, no more computers today. i guess i'll go outside and play, or
something.
june 1, 2001 - 23:51
this evening, i had coffee with a friend; she is a coworker, a 'lunch
acquaintance.' (actually, she's one of the few that i can sometimes
identify with.. i love her occasional rants about the imminent
social revolution; unavoidable, unfortunately delayed).
i think she had picked up on my unease.. my disheveled disposition.
perhaps she did it out of pity, after realizing that all of my
close friends had recently moved away.. perhaps she was genuinely
curious as to why i have been skulking away from the typical 'break room'
interactions?
it was nice talking to her though. it was nice hearing myself trying to
work through things outloud. she seemed taken aback: i think the
direction of our conversation was a little different than she expected...
my reasons for depression unfounded, unconventional, unnecessary.
on the surface, nothing is wrong; in fact, it might be considered a
textbook definition of happiness.
funny, it's hard to express just how wrong things can feel on the
inside.
afterwards, i drove down to the coast. i sat on the bench. the
sun set behind me, stretching my shillouette, painting the world before me.
twilight is the best time to live near the cliffs, for when the sun is
low, the ocean seems to glow a heavenly blue... as if it is
illuminating the sky.
there was no surf. the smooth surface was textured only by the haphazard
criss-cross of minute disruptions, infinitely reflected and refracted from an
incalculable number of origins. sleepy particles of water, animated by
the discrete forces of passing waves; they meet their neighbors, dance
briefly, quietly return to rest.
tonite the ocean seemed content, as if subtly introspective.
..........
it has now been a week since i met jp; and again, the very
elasticity of time confounds me, as it has been both the longest and shortest
week of recent memory.
late tuesday afternoon, when we were down to the wire, (finally
counting off minutes instead of hours), she was just beginning to lose
composure... as if suddenly needing to prove herself human. (i was
honestly amazed it took that long)
"this is a bad idea, i don't want to go," she
said; her chin quivering, eyes welling up behind long lashes...
i replied, "of course you want to go... all of the
hard work is now complete... everything is lined up. this is your dream;
now it's within your reach, just easy coasting from here."
when really, what i meant to say was: "great!
since you're almost done, let's finish packing your stuff, then we can
bring it over to my place, maybe prepare some tea, and then just sit
and talk forever."
i couldn't. i wouldn't. there was no precedent. it was against
everything previously defined within the entire 116.25 hours of our
relationship.
but damnit, i liked her. it scares me how much... it just felt
right around her; just talking to her. as if my body knew something
that i didn't. semantics fail; i can describe it only by suggesting that
something simply 'clicked' into place when i was near her.
NO. stop dwelling. it's better this way. she certainly didn't need that,
on top of all of the emotions that she must have felt, whilst on the
precipice of such a life-altering event. obviously, the last thing she
could use were random complications such as these.
but it would have been so simple...
..........
we met on friday night; that evening i had gone to the redroom, with
the primary intent of attending a 'going away' party for my friend be.
(scheduled to depart the next day, she was packed to move to portland.. )
i had not been there for long, but had already made good on my promise to
be, having consumed several white russians and a peculiar concoction
labeled as an irish car bomb. (evil one, that one)
sitting back in my chair, somewhat embarassed by the rowdiness of my group,
(be's friends were scooter / motorcycle kids, after all), i was
thinking to myself just how unlikely it was that i would ever hang out with
any of them again, now that she was departing... i have long known
that she was the solitary overlap between their circle and my own.
( i'm going to miss her...)
immensely bored, immensely alone, despite the company of these so-called
friends; i happened to look up, just as jp walked in.
(for increased cheese factor, please insert sleeper's rendition of atomic here.)
her hair was shorter, she was not wearing her glasses, but it was obvious
that it was her.
what an unexpected turn of events: throughout the entirety of last year, i
had seen her outside of the bagelry only two times before, and this was
not for lack of desire... with her arrival, the atmosphere of
the room seemed to change, to come alive.
i could not help but stare; i let myself be caught. she didn't seem
to mind. though the room was dimly illuminated, our eyes would occasionally
meet... these moments were exceedingly brief, as i would inevitably
become embarassed and look away. /the smoke, it stings.../
i'm terrible at this game.
isn't it amazing how you can tell if somebody is looking directly into your
eyes, and not just at you? i mean, think about it. surely, it's
quite obvious when you sit at a table, across from someone, but what
about across rooms, hallways, or even streets?
when considered on a scale such as this, focus shifts, of even fractions
of a degree can be detected. typically, even a moderately attentive person
can, from upwards of 50', be able to determine if somebody is looking at
their eyes or their ears.
now try and tell me that there isn't something else going on there.
some sort of inherent intelligence, a gut instinct, something
inside us that is summoned so quietly that we don't even notice it happening.
anyway.. as it was, i was rather content to let this be the sum of our
interactions; a sort of freeze-tag game with the eyes. i am terrible
at walking up to people, and well, i was terrified to discover that
another 'stranger' crush, specifically, this 'stranger' crush
had happened to involve a complete space cadet. (like it always seems to
do)
the night coninued in this manner for about another hour. i drank my
white russian, staring through my group of friends to the table where she
sat. she sipped a cosmo, continuing to catch me. continuing
to let me go.
ultimately, it was her friend that put an end to this nonsense... luckily,
she turned out to be one of those 'social butterflies' that lame people like
me depend on in situations such as these. you know the kind: the sort
of fearless person that can roll up, introduce themselves, mention their shy
friend, and invite you over.
now what do i do?
- option 1 - politely accept, follow the instigator, meet the shy friend.
- advantages : you now have an excuse to finally talk to her, without being written off immediately as some slimy guy, lurking at the bar.
- disadvantages : it looks like you're being dragged over, or being an opportunist. neither really helps with your desire to make a good first
impression.
- option 2 - politely decline, suggest you're not feeling well, go home and cry.
- advantages : much less embarassing.. less chance to make a bumbling idiot of yourself.
- disadvantages : huge risk of sending the wrong impression to somebody that you might really like to meet.
embarassingly, i must admit that i usually choose option 2 in situations
like these.. i can't help it; if i'm really interested in someone, i am
typically intimidated, and thusly reduced to an inarticulate fool whilst
in their presence. it is a curse.
"sure. sounds great." what the hell am i
saying? (must be the liquor talking...) "let
me say goodbye to my friends, and i'll stop by.. say 5 minutes?"
no no no no stop.. you are drunk. you'll make an arse of yourself.
"okay," she half turns,
"see you then," and is gone.
oh shit.
i sit there, quietly, revelling in my thoughts. trying to think of what
i might say.
"so, err, how long have you been working at the
bagelry?"
something that doesn't sound to lame or cheesy or stupid or anything like
what i usually come out with when i'm under duress.
"nice haircut... i almost didn't recognize you."
something that isn't creepy. i'm supposed to be meeting her for the
first time... how could i possibly know that she's had a haircut? that
she wasn't wearing her glasses?
but i did.
i stand up; walk over to my friend be. we talk briefly...
i ask if she's doing okay, if i might buy her another drink.
it is obvious that she is enjoying herself... in her element.
i am momentarily paralyzed with this realization, even jealous.
just where is <my> element?
suddenly, i was there; on my knees, at her table. i introduce
myself:
"hello, my name's jack." hey, this
is not so hard.
every face looks familiar, we speak casually of where we might know each
other from. this town can be soo small.
i start with the easy option, the extrovert friend... after some
banter, we decide that we might have passed each other in the sciences
building, while at school, and leave it at that. eventually, my
inquiries work their way around the table; after iterating through each
red face, i finally turn to jp.
"and you.. i know you from the bagelry, right?"
kindly, she proffers an embarassed smile, as if recognizing the leap i
just took.
we talked for hours.
previously, i thought she was ~ 18; in reality? older than i.
i quickly learned that the bagelry was a sunday-only gig; that she had
recently completed a degree in chemistry, and maintained another job during
the week.
we both recalled sitting on the lawns of our elementary schools, watching
the space shuttle tear through the heavens, dreaming that it was us, up
there.
she remembered the silly programs from the 3rd grade 'gifted'
courses... the ones where you would draw an elaborate picture on
graph paper, plot the coordinates, then write the instruction code...
: plot (2,[10-19])
: plot (3, 10)
: plot (3, 20)
: plot (4,[10-19])
: draw
|
| # |
######## |
# |
| # |
|
# |
| # |
######## |
# |
|
for years, i have been trying to explain these programs to people; nobody can
ever recall doing them. i honestly think that this was where my
captivation with computers originated. i was so fond of how
deterministic the process was. (although, i must admit.. it would be
unlikely if i had a word for it at the time. ;)
we continued, in this manner, in the corner near the jukebox. at some point,
be's crew, about 20 leather-clad, drunk and jolly people walked past;
i didn't notice. eventually, her friends seemed to dissappear as well.
they turned the lights on; dialated pupils raced for focus.
they swept us out. we stood outside, on the sidewalk, in protest.
we kept talking.
she let me walk her home. we walked past my car. we walked
through town, up the hill. once at her house, we sat on the curb,
it was almost 4 am.
she told me she was a dancer, a ballerina. i claimed i was a geek,
a scooter nerd. she said she was moving to NY. i suggested
that i was stuck here. she had a dream, i had only a hope.
"well, good luck in NY. it was nice meeting
you... sorry to keep you out so late." embarassed,
i shuffle my feet, looking down.
"goodnight,"she replied, then dissappeared.
i walk back to the bar, back to my car. the sun is still hiding; i
go driving.
..........
somehow, saturday evening, i was back there again. at her house
again. she was hosting a 'farewell' barbeque, an
orchestrated social occasion, designed as a mechanism to say goodbye to
many of her friends. i think she invited me, but can't recall.
what was i doing here? i am an imposter. i do not
know her, i do not belong here. i am desperately self-concious,
no good at social occasions. i am a random shmuck that followed
her home from the bar. i have miserable social skills,
surrounded by strangers.
they leave. we are alone.
Main Entry: faux pas
Pronunciation: 'fO-"pd, fO-'
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural faux pas /-"pd(z), -'pd(z)/
Etymology: French, literally, false step
Date: 1676
: BLUNDER; especially : a social blunder
okay, great. now, what have i done? first, creepy
guy follows her home from bar... then creepy guy shows up again...
now creepy guy is hanging out, well after the party is over?
i apologize: she doesn't seem to mind. i help her clean up.
she works inside, i stay outside. we are strangers, but we
both know that bottles belong in the blue bin, trash in the brown.
afterwards, in her dining room, she sits at the table, i opt for the floor.
we drink warm soda, flat with age, from plastic cups. we talk
about physics, chemistry.
"i love chemistry's compound diagrams. you know, the ones with the
lovely lines that work together to form intricate geometric shapes."
suddenly embarassed, i quickly wrap up the thought, "i
find them aesthetically pleasing."
gee, can i admit that i'm any more of a geek? "i do not know what they are called... but, i
liked it when the girl would do her homework at my house."
"i do to," she said. she drew me a structure
from memory. it looked like a crab, but she never told me what compound it
was.
"you know what else i like?," i said.
"i like how particularily complex calculus equations
look. it calms me to stare at them." i start to draw out a
definate integral... luckily, she doesn't ask me to solve it; i find
that calming too.
she pauses, for a moment, just staring into my eyes. i think she
understood.
...........
to my delight, sunday and monday proved to be more of the same;
i kept ending up at her house. i don't remember if i was
invited, or if i just showed up. i couldn't help it... it
was as if it were the only feasible option.
"please feel free to kick me out, call the cops,
whatever." i felt terrible; here she was, trying to pack,
and i was over again, needlessly disturbing her. what was
i after? what was my motive?
i offer an embarassed smile; "i know that you are
terribly busy."
i sat on the floor of her room; sometimes in the doorway, sometimes in the
corner... just trying to stay out of her way.
i loved how the room seemed to grow bigger, less cluttered, with each
visit...
i hated how that would force me to count and recount the remaining
hours in my head.
as a voyeur, i knew no shame. i watch as her life here slowly
comes undone, and is carefully broken down and packed away in boxes. i
assist when i can by filling out address cards.
7 times i transcribe her parent's address onto sheets of notebook paper;
the last four come from memory.
i listen as she answers the phone, imagine who she was talking to,
wonder what right i had to be there. i mean, who was i to her
anyway? as she replaces handset to cradle, i apologize,
she smiles, then shrugs.
sometimes, for significant periods of time, we wouldn't even talk...
i would sit quietly in the corner, thinking, watching. she would pack.
occasionally, her eyes would meet my eyes, and the corners of her
mouth would lift to sympathize.
..........
late monday night, rather tuesday morning, i manage to lure her out of
the house and into the night. i proposed a packing break, a slight
change of scenery. (she was starting to look a little stressed out).
she orders a giant hot chocolate, i ask for a strawberry banana milkshake.
they bring her a giant hot chocolate, they give me a chocolate
milkshake (with nuts).
earlier, by the bench, on the cliffs, we had talked about
how gross nuts were in non-nut foods. now, she laughed at me, i
laughed at the irony.
silently, we drink our beverages through straws. i like looking at
her eyes... i see an kind of intelligence, a kind of sparkle in the
way they look back, the way they study me.
..........
the next afternoon, i help her with some final errands... last
minute items that require attention before her imminent departure. simple things
really: the salvation army, the landlord, the bank...
as the day progresses, i realize that we are coincidentally tracing loosely concentric
circles through the city; with time, each one becomes tighter, more focused than its
predecessor.
ultimately, this process ends at the bus station. rounding the
corner, we spot the idling machine proudly wearing the amtrak shuttle logo; its
unmistakable white text, with orange arrows, over
navy-blue stripe. (truly an ironic coincidence)
its door is open, waiting to consume passengers. i find myself shuddering,
for it suddenly all seems real.
again, i question myself: why am i here? what crazy turn of events
has allowed me, a total stranger, to be the one, the guy standing here to see
her off? i considered myself an inappropriate ambassador for the task.
only as the bus pulled away, did it dawn on me... perhaps i was no longer just a
wierdo from the bar, instead, as she was leaving, perhaps she had considered me her
friend?
like a fool, i wave goodbye, though i know she can't see me. i concentrate on
burning the final wavering images of her eyes into my memory.
just before she left, i had the opportunity to sit with her, knowing it was to
be the last time. we stared at each other in relative silence. at
that instant, i was shocked to realize that even though her eyes were right there,
directly in front of me, i could not think of an adjective to accurately describe
their color.
even tonite, i can remember it exactly as it was, although i still cannot define it.
i can vividly recall how neat it looked, contrasted against those sorta-tortoise
shell frames.
actually, i guess that really sums up the entire experience... i can recollect
the events in explicit detail, i can reminisce the uncanny way my body
seemed to relax while near her, but i could never describe it.
i could never offer a suitable explanation for how she managed to touch me
so profoundly, without ever touching me at all.
right now, it's 3:22 am... exactly one week ago, while we sat in
front of her house, she told me about her dreams of NY.
flash forward to tonite: at this very moment, she is doing it.
she is on the train, tracing an arc in the night between chicago and her
dream.
jp, thanks for happening to meet me before you left.
june 1, 2001 - 16:20
so.. i have been asked to fill out this terribly intrusive security
questionnaire for work :: an unnamed government agency has contacted
the company, and would like to implement a solution using our
product, thus requiring my services.
catch is, their system / network contains some manner of confidential data,
so they need to do background checks on me.. to make sure i'm none of the
things that i will take care to not mention here.
this is totally lame, because i don't really want to work on the project
anyway, and here i'm giving them all sorts of personal information,
essentially helping them to populate a database with highly sensitive
details about <me>.
ARGH.
anyway.. among the (60 pages of) nosy inquiries are several questions
about travelling abroad. simple things like: 'Have you visited any
countries outside of the US?', 'What were you doing there?', 'Who did you talk
to while you were there?', 'When did you leave, when did you return?', 'What did
you see?', and, of course, 'Did you accept any packages from strangers?' well,
i sorta made up the last one, but they may has well have.
is it my fault that i can't remember when i returned from a student backpacking
trip, taken years ago?...
'say, wasn't that late in the summer of 98?'
(i strongly suspect that they will not accept a response such as this).
my passport is no help, (according to the stamps contained therin, i have
never actually returned; a notion with interesting implications, but i'll not
digress). soooo... i go digging for the 'bible.'
(basically, this was a small sketch book that i religously used as a journal
during my travels. bursting with paper, patches, postcards; it is
barely held together with tired rubberbands now failing with age..
almost everything i saw, tasted, felt, was documented within it's
worn pages)
ironic, i haven't looked at it for over a year, but i was just talking
about it last week...
anyway.. as i opened it, a piece of newsprint fell out onto the table; written
in blue ink, along the margin, was the following text:
time, or the passage thereof, is a most cunning opponent. it is patient and
unrelentless in its ability to haunt even the most resilient of individuals.
only a memory is truly timeless. the media with which me might record
them; the bodies in which we store them; all must eventually succumb. it is
the moment, the essence of which we carry as memories, that is
truly free, truly timeless.
don't let time win. learn to recognize the moment.
i'll be the first to admit that this passage is rather cheesy..
it was the end of my trip, and i was still super doe-eyed about all of the
amazing experiences i had compiled. what's funny is, i still remember the
coffee shop, the latte, the girl behind the counter, the weekly i was reading.
(admittedly, the latter part was easy, a page from it now sits on my desk)
specifically, i actually remember the feeling.. i remember being
excited about everything. recognizing that anything was possible, if i
just put my mind to it. telling myself that i would never get stuck in a
rut again...
...looks like that didn't last very long, eh?
6/1/2001 - conveniently, a nice even date.. a perfect time for some
mid-year convictions:
- i will, by 12/31/01, be living (or in the process of moving to), someplace
else, someplace outside of this lovely little seaside town. learning to
challenge myself again.
- all time between this and that point will be spent doing as much
as i can to prepare for it. this means pinching pennies, trimming the fat.
i've talked about it before, but this time, this time...
- i am talking to my manager. i'm tired of being postponed... either they
will have transferred me to the UK by that point, or i'm off. out, over and
done. period.
- i must work to remember what it's like to 'recognize the moment.'
- oh, maybe i'll excercise more too. ;)
june 1, 2001 - 11:02
i have just returned from the doctors, fully an hour later than i originally
anticipated. (how casually i forget how many forms you have to read and sign
and dot when you attend a new clinic; how quickly it all comes rushing back)
my manager asked me to file workman's comp, and see a physician about my
case of wrist hurt disease. (i think she was tired of me leaving
ice-bag condensation puddles everywhere).
it sucks that i'm only 25, already this broken; something needs to change.
june 1, 2001 - 6:41
blink.
5:01 am.
i know immediately that i will not fall asleep again; rather than kidding myself,
i get out of bed, take a shower, get dressed. while eating breakfast, i spend
more time working on that stupid security check questionnaire.
i wash my dishes, find my shoes. i grab my laptop, and the trash bag from the
kitchen bin. check. doublecheck. check again. i have the keys...
wrists hurt too bad today to ride a scooter. (they've hurt too bad all week)
i unlock the door of my truck. i place the laptop, white bag inside.
the office is empty this morning. i have to fish for my keys to unlock doors.
(the one nice thing about sharing space with support engineers is that they have
to be early, and usually have everything unlocked before i arrive... allowing
me to sail in when i do finally get here). i shift the bag to my left hand, so
i can search with my right.
in my office, i set down my laptop. i set down the bag. i open the windows,
and sit at my machine.
wait.
the intent was to dispose of the bag, at the dumpster, on the way to my car.
not put it in my car. not drive it to work. not take
it out of the car. not bring it into my office.
ok, then just how did it get here?
embarassed, i stuff it into the small hole in the bin on the patio. i console
myself: nobody was here. nobody noticed.
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