Thursday, December 25, 2008

not like a line at all, but a cave exploration entry

clever, how a wave will trill upon earth's surface
like stuck mud in a tire tread
willing its way away from the puddle

(even at its own expense)

stretching to seep into something
other than its destined path of pond swallowed stillness

the way a wave reaches inspires,
like it's alive to find the beach's periphery

upon this edge it crashes
as it knocks on the door of fragments dripping,
sifting in an endless hourglass of stimulation

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

dag


Dagny passed this morning with the support of Ed at Boulder Veterinary Hospital. Ed was very helpful and understanding of the situation Dagny was in. After a rough night back here at the house (not eating, moving or drinking), Dagny slept in my bed with me and mewed sporadically into the night. In the morning, I gave her a hug and brought her back to the vet when her symptoms worsened. They ran some tests on her and found out her red blood cell count was at 10% which is 20% below normal and 3% away from death. Her tongue was nearly grey and she wasn't responding to anything. Although we are not 100% sure, the predicted diagnosis was feline leukemia and that she probably wouldn't make it to the end of the day.

I made the decision only with the help of Ed and Jen, who talked to me on Monday about her thoughts on euthanasia. At the time, it was the last thing I wanted to think about, since I still had my hope filled heart that Dagny just had a fever. But Jen explained that we are lucky to have that option for our pets; when they are enduring so much pain to stay alive and keep us happy, it is our option to not let them make that sacrifice for us. Dagny was doing just that. She was clinging on to dear life for us. Twice she tried to hide and die, embarrassed to have the ones that loved her so much see her in such weakness.

Last night, I kept her on a pillow next to a low blowing fan to keep her fever down and make sure she wouldn't quit just yet on us. But this morning, when we found out what was wrong with her and that her body was fighting itself to death, Ed helped me come to the decision that she shouldn't be in pain any longer.

She was a brave cat. I always said she could take a mountain lion. Unfortunately, there are diseases and viruses that attack our vulnerabilities. It is impossible for me to find a good reason or explanation for Dagny's passing. She was two years old and the happiest, most active, loving and coolest cat I have ever known. I know everybody says that about their pet. I don't think that diminishes the sincerity or truth of the statement when one makes it.

When I calmed down this morning and thought about all the people in this world who Dagny has touched, who would want to know, it made me happy that so many people loved her. She was the kind that cat-haters ended up liking. And anytime hate can be turned into love, there must be a special soul in the works to create such a drastic change of heart.

I want to say she will be missed and at the same time I'd like to say she is always with me. Neither of these statements are completely accurate. Right now I am suspended in between grief and love of my little buddy who blessed my life with her presence.

Monday, December 15, 2008

pyrexia comes from Greek 'pur', which means 'fire'

i am staring at the seafoam green botched paint job wall of my cell. at least that is what i feel like i am in. i am trapped in this rectangular room with jovial voices behind the employees only door, muffled enough to keep my ears from hearing why or how they possibly could be high-spirited while these adorable, obviously loving creatures are aching, possibly dying, at their fingertips. the portraits on the walls are trivial, failing at their attempts to cheer me up.

i switch positions on the bench. i stare at the poster board of the anatomy of my cat. why didn't they be more specific when asking for her symptoms? i want to burst through the employees only door and see what they are doing to her. if she is laying on the hospital bed next to that barking dog. she hates dogs. i am sure that in her hot little body, that insistent little mind of hers will simply give up fighting for life... it just might not be worth it to live through this night listening to this incessantly yelping dog.

the doctor says his piece to me about how bad her fever is and that they cannot possibly know what it is without a series of tests. he sends his technician in a few minutes later to outline the thousand dollars in costs for tests of every kind. of course it could be anything when they haven't asked me about any symptoms, behavioral changes or factors that might have led up to the fever. i ask if they may do one test at a time to see if anything shows up and then we can proceed to medicate, decide how to treat her illness. she has to ask, she says.

the technician comes back in with a new "quote". i feel more like i am haggling with a peddler. like i am negotiating my cat's life. this this and this will cost blah blah and blah. she is using technical terms and when i ask her what she means, her descriptions are equivocal, like she is defining a word using that word in her definition. her explanations are circular and obscure and i feel like i am being given the runaround. i am not doubting her basic knowledge of what it is they are doing... i just want her to speak in layman's terms for me, because i am asking what we can do to help dagny, what we might do to diagnose and treat her without just stabbing at the issue from a thousand different angles, and eventually, maybe not ever, concluding which angle it is that is poking her so to make her lethargic, feverish, piss herself in the basement and sit in it. . .

i am crying again and it is impossible for me to explain myself or clearly speak to this technician when i feel so vulnerable. i am angry and spastically depressed that i might possibly be spending more on my cat than i spend on my own health. i am ashamed that i am thinking this way. i am angry that this process, these doctors are making me feel like this. she continues the negotiations, eventually telling me that we can do a shot and send her home with me for a fraction of the price, but this is highly unadvised by the doctor. i ask her about the sliding scale of testing again. she responds that the doctor advises all testing to find out the trigger of her fever. she doesn't understand. i am not against trying to save my cat's life. i just feel like i am being robbed. used. i am feeling dagny's fever through anger, shaking and irrepressible sniffling.

the doctor is okely-dokely-ing behind the employee's only door. i suddenly hate him. i want to take dagny and drive her to denver. find a doctor who wants to save animals, not poke around with my cat all night. i want her to sleep in my bed with me tonight. i don't trust these car-salesmen vets.

i leave dagny locked up to her IV in the pet emergency room with those cackling vets and obnoxious dog. i hope she hangs on because so many people love her and because i would and will spend more money on her than on my own health. she is the light that brings me home when i am on the road and the breath that susurrated me to sleep last night. i cathect her.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Prop 8 - The Musical

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die


I wrote a paper in college against a similar proposal in New York back in 2005. I wish I had just written a musical with Jack Black as Jesus. Genius!

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Duck Conquers Colorado, Then World!




This blog began as a place to type up and store my poetry. It has proven very useful for that, as I have had to deal with the death and disappearance of two full-loaded laptops.

When I moved to Colorado, it started to morph into a virtual world of "what's meghann up to?"

Then it again turned into something new... I wanted to make it a place where Leland's adventures were drafted, organized and subsequently turned into a miraculous series of Duck Conquers Colorado, Then World! He has also since disappeared. (Check every single Crane-Operated Claw Animal Vending Machine!!!! He was produced by Sugarloaf Creations and they said all their ducks are specifically sold for Crane-Operated Claw Vending purposes...)

Since I lost my buddy, it has become more and more about posting up photographs, random thoughts, long blusters of uninsightful meghann-head and whatever else a blog can possibly be. To put it simply, this blog is out of control!

It has no discipline, direction, exact purpose... and the reason I am concerned about these things at all is that I want it to have a purpose and direction - which can only be achieved through discipline! I will save my "This is how life is going" for mass-emails or whatever.

I almost think this blog site has had it's day and might continue to be the babble that it is, for my own enjoyment and a few scattered readers out there.

However, a new project is in the making. I want it to be a webSITE, not a blog. So I am projecting it will take a few months. I have started to look into learning more about computer graphics and HTML and anyone (that means you George, Tim, Kansky, Patrick...etc.) who wants to impart their computerly wisdom on me, I am all ears eyes and smiles.

I just want to take this inconclusive conclusion to thank everyone who has read and commented on this raggedly ole blog all these years. You all mean a lot to me, which is why you were invited to read my scattered thoughts in the first place.

Cheers!

890 sq ft of Reality surrounded by Boulder

As has been stated recently on this blog, I am hardly ever in Boulder anymore. There is a huge part of me that feels incomplete and sad never seeing Dagny, hanging out at my house with my awesome roommates and just catching up with old friends in town.

Late last night, I flew into Denver from being home for a Thanksgiving visit with family and Dan. I say these two separately because it was definitely my intention to visit both of these people I love very much. I had such a great time spending time with them and enjoying endless leftovers, not to forget dad's famous turkey stew.

And on the plane ride home, I read and read and wrote and wrote. I am reading a book called The Road Less Traveled by Scott Peck, and anybody who has spoken to me in the last few weeks is familiar with the summary of it. In a sentence, it is a depiction, through the eyes and experience of a well-educated psychiatrist, of the attributes that make for a fulfilled human being through the application of genuine love. There are a few reasons I've delved so deeply into it, one being that he breaks down and defines terms we all too often believe have an umbrella definition, when they are actually inherently interpretive: Love, Discipline, Balance, Suffering, Truth... etc.

When I returned to Boulder, Chelsea called to hang out and just talk. It was late, but I realized I have been lazy with my relationships, hanging out only when it was convenient or easy for me. Peck says genuine love takes work, and I felt that work in my Boulder friendships has been lacking lately. So Chelsea and I sat in my living room. We talked and listened. I missed her more than I had even known.

I am living three different lives. In terms of spreading oneself too thin, I have certainly done it in the past year. I cannot love everyone all the same amount all of the time, especially because of work, distance and time. I essentially live in three separate realms, all of which are known to the ones I love, but not fully understood. I attempt to slap some adhesive on these realms by inviting people to visit or tag along in my traveling world. I think that this helps, but I am glad I have finally become fully aware of its existence so I may take the necessary steps to actually fix it.

This morning Chels, Tim and I went to The Village diner. We had "intellectual" conversations about the world, life, love, choices, the future... all these things that plague the inquisitive mind on a daily basis. Most only have their minds to marinate it in; I am lucky enough to have friends like these two to spill it all out onto. After the morning enjoyment of each other's thoughts and wisdom, we concurred that it is one thing to figure all these things out and say what we will do, it is all together another thing to apply them to our realities.

And that is when we noticed that we were sitting in The Village Coffee Shop, whose motto is "890 square feet of Reality surrounded by Boulder"

We are in reality, where ever we are. We must live like that. Live our to-do lists. Live our dreams. Proverbs and adages are proverbs and adages for a reason; time and time again they have proven useful and true. And with that optimistic thought, we went about our day of work with thoughtful minds.

I will finish my to-do list today.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

phrase of the day

Gelatinous mass is my favorite phrase of the day. A woman on the discovery channel used it to describe squid genitals.

Yuck, but awesome phrase. Gelatinous mass. Say it 5 times fast. gelatinous mass gelatinous mass gelatinous mass gelatinous massgelatinous mass... squid eggs is fun, too.

Okay, enough. Enjoy the image I just put in your head.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Who knew Salt Lake City would smell salty?

Grand Salt Lake Park is located just west of SLC in Magna, Utah. Drive down Saltair Street to get to the marina, and as soon as you step out of your vehicle, get ready for some sea-smell. It smells like a clam bit your face.

I went to SLC today to find a belt and found a magnificent selection, horribly arranged and difficult to sift through, at Decades, a Vintage clothing shop downtown. This is only funny because I've been actively seeking an article to keep my pants up for weeks now. I couldn't seem to find the right fit or price for my belt-budget. Decades provided me the simplicity and comfort of having my pants stay on my waste.

Here are some pictures of the huuuuuuuge lake. And the sand looking stuff is not sand, it's salt. Salt and cattails.





hello life, i'm back...

Boulder from above


Being that my body only enters my wonderful Boulder life a handful of times a month, I must make the most of it with the people i love there.

Hike with Heidi Malia and Milo and a night of shenanigans with Kyle and Chels.


It was windy whirlwinderson and then stopped suddenly when we saw a frantic tumbleweed, so i told Heidi to blow it for a fun video. It moved with her mighty blow, but i don't yet know my camera well enough to get these things accurately...


Bill and his band Backwoods Galaxy practicing in the front lawn on a late november afternoon... 63 degrees out !


he likes the responsibility of off-leash


so does this guy... leap!


but goat and hoss must remain leashed. they are simple.


everyone takes a stop for a sip


...errr sniff at the dirt in milo's case


Wonderland Lake


kyle and chels kiss after her new lip-implants


we got used to her by the end of the night... very scarlett johanssonesque


...it's contagious


I miss you guys... can't wait to be back again in December - - - >

i didn't die in rock springs

i was apprehensive to make mapquest's requested route from boulder to park city. instead of heading due west through beautiful colorado rockies, MQ said to head north then shoot west through all of wyoming on I-80.

i hate I-80. i thought i hated wyoming (excepting jackson). turns out it is beautiful. jar-dropping sunset, good drivers on i-80, so dark and vast, i could see every star in the sky and pretty lakes and mountain juts.

i forgive you wyoming for what you had done to me in the past. maybe i only forgive your bottom half...









sky striations...

Sunday, October 12, 2008

resuscitation

at this pace, i'll be in love with you by September
from the cadence of the seasons change,
it'll smooth on into November
and the yesterdays will spill into
tomorrow's beating heart
and life will receive an unasked for
recharged start

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Phosphenes


Every year the branches bloom
a veiny version of paper
Each leaf, a sprout shaped unique:
an origami pleated by the maker.

And in the trees are answers for
the one who chooses to look.
It may not read as easily
as the progression of a book...

but life is like a tree of leaves
and leaves have surface area for a reason
They splay and grow in the light
and come & go from season to season

The veins of leaves are distinct lines
as the leaves resemble sentences.
The hidden answer does not lie between
the senses of one's retinas.

Liverpool, NY

I went home a few weeks ago to visit my father after his back surgery, hang out and play nurse. The conclusion of the long weekend home is that my father is a super hero and no body knows it. He is the quickest surgery healer in the universe. I checked the Guiness Book of World Records and he beat it. Yes, I will not be specific about which world record he beat... I forgot the name... but just believe me. Dad = rock star.

While I was home, I was able to spend some time with old friends. This was a breeze of tranquility for me; a breath of cool mint in my face. Jen and I watched top 25 places in the USA to visit on the Travel Channel and the Grand Tetons of Wyoming won first place! I agree, to an extent.

I also had the privilege to reconnect to my old Academic Support buddy Dan. We were the dorks sprinting through the hallways every day after History class, racing to our lockers. Competitiveness never ends, it seems. I beat him in Shuffleboard with some tipsy LeMoyne guy, whose name I forgot and is not important anyway.

It made me think about home in a different way. It's comfort. It's relief.

For me, that weekend was finding a ladybug land on my hand. I believe that ladybugs are lucky, but luck doesn't just come. It is triggered. It was 5 days of unraveling events of happy coincidences.

It is now two and a half weeks later and the smile hasn't left my face. The memory feels like a next door neighbor; I can knock on his door any day and he'll be there to have a conversation with.

I miss home, but not as a physical place. I miss it as a memory. As a unit of me that is somewhere that I am not. I continually wish my family and friends and loved ones to move to a solid place, or commune, where we can wake up and eat breakfast together every morning. Where I can once again see the pattern of their habits and they can learn the direction that mine have taken in the years that I have been away. We can re-familiarize ourselves with all the nuances of the hearts and minds that mean the most to us. It is a place of us. I miss us.


That was a ramble of the sub-conscious. Now, a few pictures from the Syracuse Airport:





The words that come to mind are:

segregation
delay
bandaged due to damage
unfit to live
compiled
denied
left
lost?

I captured and trapped, then plundered his words...

I asked him what he thought about...
Expanding Circles

he said,
they don't stick around for long enough...
and padded squares unravel
from the quadrant's angry angles.
We have no choice but to steal
the memories and dreams of others;
they're the quilt that keeps
our souls warm at night.


A noontime nap can help.
It is a dose of dozing
and dreams are fireworks:
Brilliant powerful ubiquitous images
and then they are gone
Quick glimpses remain
:
A Phosphenes behind our eyelids -
outlines like a bright flashlight
that momentarily blinds
.

We accompany the moon's rays
by following her beams' path
as a guide -
a reflection of reality

trapped in the psyche
of the past.


Our hopes, ambitions, fears,
desires and needs...

These are all things like beams
They are seen and they are there
but to say the word
is like shouting a cloud
into cold air.

These puffs of nothing
and everything
at once
terrify and electrify us
They are the very DNA
of our non-physical existence


If we could deduce a system
to capture...

to wrap it up in a blanket of...
a quilt...
or maybe we're always making quilts
when what we need to be making
is bed sheets.

Layers to lay down on
and wash when dirty.

Sunday, October 05, 2008

C.H.L

looking to the rafters and the rafters got an answer
but the rafters don't send postcards
or fake magazine exposure photos

the rafters shed some light, but they shed it all night through
they shine it down on everybody -
me, him, her and you
the light, it looks like answers
and it may look like a smile
but I tell ya one thing true,
a smile can be faked from either side

Saturday, October 04, 2008

Cedaredge, CO





It's pretty up here!

See :)

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Mashing

Yes Obama's mellifluous speeches woo the budding rhetorician in me to once again feel passionate about politics, but he sure can dance, too.

The story of Meg(h)an(n) and David




The story according to me* is that David is a trucker from Vermont. Rising gas prices have placed him in a virtual stalemate. It’s too expensive to drive anywhere, but if he doesn’t drive he doesn’t earn any money. The burly trucker is holed up in his cabin deep in contemplation, verging on depression, all triggered by the economic recession.

Megan is a phone sex operator with whom David has been chatting for months. Through continued correspondence (costing him $1.99 a minute) she convinces him to get back on the road again, if only to see her. While he goes about his cross-country journey to end up in her arms, he’ll be able to make a haul and bring in some income along the way. In reality, Megan is a suburban soccer mom with three kids and mini van in Arizona. Hmmm…looks like her husband’s going to have some interesting and unexpected company.

(Full disclosure: I drew inspiration for my story from an article about high gas prices hurting brothels.)

Dave’s take:
David was raised well—the standard life of a good school, good parents, athletic trophies (I’m assuming on the last bit). Then in his college years, David becomes a jihadist. He grows a beard, converts to radical branch of Islam and joins a terrorist sect. He goes about all his extremist duties which culminate in his hi-jacking a plane.

David makes it through the metal detectors, the security personnel and boards the plane. Also on board is Megan. Megan’s a flight attendant. All these principals David has held so near and dear to his heart (caged by his ribs and bomb vest) are erased over the course of the flight as he falls for Megan during her continual trips up and down the aisle and adjustment of his seatback. He can no longer carry-out his suicide mission as he just can’t kill Megan.

Crisis averted!


* An article taken from Willamette Week- (wweek.com) a Portland, Oregon news source.

How the Universe Works

Humanity is needing something other than yourself

a touch, a hug of reaffirmation that the body still exists -
that you haven't disintegrated into yourself, yet.

Getting stuck inside your head
is eventual hell.

& it's easy to let this polluted world
kill bits of our innocence



(things can be taken from a rumble strip conversation)

tamari moderator

We hold on by the pinky finger of cell phone service
to keep our 'to be continued,' continued.

Conversational Jenga
and every time the tower tips,
we build it up again.
Even during a rumble strip
exchange.

That’s companionship.

And friends know when you’ll be home.
Friends think ahead in such instances.
Friends greet you with a tofu curry dinner
and excited story-telling dishwashing energy.

My mind could have used a moderator
on the drive home.

It leaked ideas.

Observations on 9/11/08 on 285

Truck amputee abandoned on the side of the highway.

Comic strip clouds of Colorado
& the dusk smudge of distant mountains.

Lonely cows surrounded by their species -
gathered in such huddles…
what a malodorous example of community tolerance:
everyone's breath and asses
on the same horizontal plane.

It’s filled with imitation cop cars –
siren shaped roof racks
keep me from speeding.

Fog fills the canyon like a split dam.

Shape of a shadow valley is beauty leaking.

Even when valley is vast and empty,
it peels the paper back
on the crayon color of my smile.

Amethyst Necklace

Unsure if we were attempting it,
(sideways high-fives until sunrise)
we fell asleep in the clouds
& woke up to speckled snowflake footprints
of people passing by in the night -
I never wanted our wallpaper windows
to defrost.

Wanted to never need to snooze,
have all the time in the world
to lay side by side and smile.

It wasn't my place to ask what was on your mind -
I listen to the yellow lines,
never pass unless perforated.
So will you perforate your heart for me?

I'm an amateur harmonicist
out of practice with this
so I visually willed you to kiss me
but you didn't quite read me right

I want to write songs about the scent
of your vanilla mint breath
breathing me warm
in my cozy crawl-space bed,
where we worked on our Pilates form.

I'll be your word a day,
your way of learning during mindless counting.

I want to swim with you
in not-awkward silences
& quiet my violently beating heart...

...but instead I spill this
on a Safeway receipt
on the side of 285
going home.

Going Alone

If you wanna ride with me,
you'll have to sit cross-legged
cause leg space is limited

Little did the thief know, he'd cause accumulation.

A held hose
gets SF
and spews all at once.

I haven't had a computer since Oregon, so these next few days will be flooded by the dam that broke in me.
Nothing a beaver could fix.

*splash*

Monday, September 15, 2008

Cougar Bait

Whoever says it's rude
to ask about calluses,
canker sores and ulcers

is embarrassed because

they forgot to ask
about calluses,
canker sores and ulcers.

"But even when the window's clean I still can't see for the fact that when it's clean it's so clear I can't tell what I'm looking through"

I sometimes wonder what the windshield
of our lives would look like
if we hadn't hit defrost

What if we kept it frozen like
a polaroid icicle,
captured in the pose of love?

...maybe moved to the mountains
as you once had mentioned
and kept me guessing
when it would happen

Was I always wishing or
was it ever a holy love
as I had seen it?

My guess is yes because
one must experience something
to feel the phantom limb of it -
the ache of its absence

You're the only memory that makes
me crumble into a pile
of vulnerability

I need to know permanence
on your end
before I can...

finish that sentence.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Freedom



What's it to you?

I've been mulling it over in my head this past week - what freedom is to me.

It's the fact that I am here in Seattle visiting friends, new and old, and sharing new times. It's knowing I'll never have to be a human mixer for garlic, salt and parsley ever again in my life. Freedom is having the support and ambition to bike for a cause, a cause that one of my most influential friends believes in so wholeheartedly, he has spent countless hours toward. It's sitting at this computer, even though mine has disappeared into a thief's pocket. It's that I have back-ups, ways away from tragedy. Numerous friends, family and co-workers (who are both friends and family in my eyes) who are here for me when misfortune falls.

I don't think it is sheer luck that I am an eternal optimist, or that I have people around me who support me in such loving ways. I know a large part of my blessings come from the propitious life I was born into: a loving, middle class family with a rebellious twin sister to compete with and continuously stir up my own voracious nature. But, like one of my best friend's professors once said to him: "Adult life mostly consists of recovering from our childhood."

We all have issues that we didn't necessarily concede to as children, but they were pressed upon us like labels on packaged meats. The recovering process involves figuring out what our innermost values really are all about; most often than not, they are different from our parents.

In this case, I'd like to say mine are somewhat different. I value my freedom. And what my freedom is, is much different than my parents' idea of freedom, and freedom to most Americans, for that matter.

While I find freedom in the ability to choose whatever path leads me down the most fulfilling road of emotions, they might expect me to choose security and insurance. While I find freedom in not having to pay someone every day of my life to go to sleep, so I camp, or sleep in the back of a van, they might consider freedom to be the ability to pay for lodging, or rent. While I find freedom in using my strong body to do things I am still capable of, they might think freedom is choosing to live in this blessed country we were born into. I understand all the legitimacy behind their ideas of my freedom, but do they understand mine? I understand that worry and heartsick love for one's child can sometimes color a parent's idea of what is "good" for their child. *

But what I consider good for me is following my heart and having an army of allies behind me. A slew of people who love and care enough about me, where they understand my values and good judgement. Who believe in my character and strength. Who will hug me when I come home, whether they think I am failing in life, or prospering.

Because who are we to judge another's view of freedom? Whether it be a friend, neighbor or family member - we live in a country that claims to bestow this gift upon all its citizens. I intend to receive it with open arms, and hopefully one day give it back to others who cannot have it so easily.


* And important note about this post is that it stems from a friend whose father wholeheartedly disagreed with her decision to do something that she has already decided to do. My heart crumbled a little, and then I spoke to my father who reassured me that love is understanding and a family does not react so cold-heartedly.

Monday, August 25, 2008

"Oh, the S.P.O is silent... it's pronounced HELL."

I just walked in to the home away from homes, Seattle World of Sparky Nate and Ellyse.

And it rained. I don't think I would have minded as much if I had changed my clothes in the last 30 hours, but I feel ucky.

So, as you can see, I wrote some poetry in the last week. Yes, poems (whether good or bad) came out of my brain and onto paper. One was written at the Doug Fir Lounge when I was hiding in a corner, away from the socialites and such. The other two, on the train back to Seattle from Portland. I am excited that they occurred. I was getting nervous that I didn't have any thoughts about anything anymore. I do.

The tour was quite an experience. The number one part about it was being able to hang out on a "road trip", and not drive (even sleep some in the backseat!), not be responsible for car troubles, and be around three very hilarious dudes for 4 days straight.

I don't think I said much about Spokane, but I really liked it. The owners of the Empyrean were super cool. Chrissy invited us out to celebrate her friend's birthday and nachoes, limos and potential waffle-fest ensued. We then crashed at her nice smelling home.

I wish I could be Chrissy Riddle. She owns a sweet coffee shop/garage venue and teaches creative writing at a high school in Spokane. And she's funny. Rock on.

Anyway, we then went to Portland where the guys were interviewed by Don Andrews from PDX LIVE Music.

I tried to write up my own interview, but it was all over the place and my notes just look like hilarious left-handed scribbles. I need a tape-recorder.

My favorite parts:

N: It's definitely a step above the last record I recorded, before I met these guys. It was kinda more of a learning experience than anything
D: Kinda like Sesame Street?
N: Yes, yes exactly. 1-2-3-4-5-6…7-8-9-10…11-12
D: Today's episode is brought to you by the letter "L"
N: The letter "L" is a fucking sellout
D: Yeah…I know
N: It's just trying to get its name all over…corporate whore man

and also,

N: We just came in from Spokane. Spoke-an, spoke-ane. How do you pronounce it?
D: the S.P.O is silent, it's pronounced hell.

and also,

D: Here in Portland, we hate Washington.
N: Yeah, Washington did try to kill Jared. Poison him with their Avo Cados

and also,

David Rogers: Yeah, I might shoot myself if they make me listen to Radiohead on the way home, again.
Don: Go to Wal-mart. They have everything. (get it? a gun... ha!)



Anyways, back to regular life. Back to dealing with people who steal and rain droplets falling on an oh-so-not-waterproof sweater.

Pictures of The Avett Brothers concert next!

Horseshoe's a Metaphor for my mental Hobby

He wears horseshoe shirts & a smirk on his chin
it's hard not knowing when I'll see him again

Easier to believe in never ever when
there's distance like priorities and politics

Better to believe in better when apart
Better to see it as a vacation for the heart

Knowing is tragic; I'd rather turn a startled corner
than be warned of your jump-start hiccup scare

I sped up

I walked slow, hoping
you'd follow - run up
from behind and...

but I didn't walk that
slow, and I don't know
how to finish that last
sentence

So I speed up

Poor Foreshadowing

your shadow
still rests on my chest -

pressed taut,
like an eternal silhouette,
meant to never
let me forget

but, like historic news articles,
or smoke from a gun,
it too will fade,
as love often does.

The Avett Brothers

Check

them

out.

Made a bad day happy.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

"Got nothing left but it ain't bringing me down, I'm just gonna follow the sound."

Hanging out with Erin in Portland, we parked downtown and walked to eat at her favorite Lebonese restaurant. It was closed. So was the indian restaurant nearby.

We ate at a Thai restaurant, then went down to the Saturday market to find my favorite little wooden creature that I found there two years ago. It was not there. We watched some drummers drumming and artists humming. It was good time.

We then went to Stumptown. Sweet coffee shop conducive to great conversations about colors and senses.

When we returned to Erin's borrowed car, the passenger side window was smashed in. My first thought was "Ope, wrong car!" But it wasn't. And all the albums and expensive jackets were left sitting to themselves in the backseats. My backpack however, with all my underwear, my laptop, Leland*** and my favorite necklace that David bought me in India, in it. And all my Bumbershoot tickets. That's 12 tickets to be exact.

So we listened to Radiohead's song "Talk Show Host" and smiles returned. Then we got back to Erin's apartment and listened to Human Highway "The Sound".

got nothing left but it ain't bringing me down, i'm just gonna follow the sound

was hardly applicable in terms of having NOTHING LEFT, but seemed appropriate to embrace at the moment.

I could care less about the stuff, but I can't believe that necklace was off my neck. I haven't taken it off in over 3 months.

Nick thinks that Leland got disgruntled about how I have been neglecting him on the adventures and took off with all the stuff.

I hope he sends postcards.


*** Update: While I was giving the policeman my report, I told him about Leland and said, "But the duck was free, so he's not worth anything." In all seriousness, Rillings 1999 responded "Yes, of course he is worth something. I will write down priceless. I have a stuffed gorilla that has traveled around with me for 20 years named Gabriella."

I am glad he understood what's truly worth something. The Avett Brothers closed with their song "Gabriella" tonight at the Oregon Zoo.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Land of Port


Skidded into Oregon around 2 pm, Portland at about 4 pm and I thought right away: I want to move here.

I love the Doug Fir Lounge, the people, the streets, the signs, the parking, the bikes and the beer.

Good buddy from Alaska Erin is meeting up tonight with a few friends. It should be good word games and sarcasm galore.

The boys are leaving me alone to the streets tomorrow, but I kinda don't mind it. I am not used to being around people this long.

Yeah for the northwest!

Friday, August 22, 2008

if tangles of waves bleed between the rocks enough, erosion occurs

If you sit at an unoccupied spot
on the side of a river
you'll most likely be alone enough
to hum all
your burdens to the water

but one was there, as
always

and

we stood across, as if
coast to coast and could
still see every one of her
freckles

each speck, a hex arranged
to emphasize her eyes
as beams, masers in the
sky

on the back of the mailing list for eugene, oregon

vests are the new hegemony
a promise fake to hypocrasy
(I spelled that wrong - don't mock me)

it's all a big head fake -
we (meaning the collective)
wear big headphones
to look uninterested
& stare into our hip moleskins to
feel important

though we're alone
and it matters more
when we care

Soap Lake



It was hard to temporarily leave Sparky and my new buddies Ellyse and Nate behind in Seattle, but it had to be done. Such is life when one is on tour with a rock band.

not an Airplane and I are currently in Spokane WA . . . we woke up early (tenish) to walk down and up many Seattle hillocks and hummocks to go out to breakfast. Some killed the hair of the dog with coffee and mimosa, I just stuck to the Super Mimosa.

I am sitting at the merch table listening to this pretty sweet venue play MGMT.

We're leaving right after the show for a six hour drive to Portland. I am excited to be back in Portland again. The tentative itinerary for me is homelessness in Portland until I feel it is necessary to catch the train back.

- - -

Excitement is brewing in the belly of me: I have officially decided to do the bike ride to Mastatal with these three folks and two more. We plan on leaving December 29th 2008. (And, no, Costa Rica is not an island.)

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

I'm not going to Title this that stupid one-liner T-shirt about Idaho.

I drove through Idaho to go to a show in Bend Oregon. I didn't feel like setting up camp or getting a hotel, so I pulled off into a State Park and parked next to the river. Yes, I slept in my van, down by a river.

I woke up to these guys looking at me. I liked them.



Sunset - Jackie called me while I was listening to God talk radio. Circular reasoning, they have. (Que - This is the picture I told you I wanted to show you)


Woke up when the sun rose and kept on... I hate how I can never capture the moon ...


Lady shadow


Idaho Potato field


Chels, the sky was falling.


Next up - pictures of my Modesto boys: not an Airplane: rocking the NorthWest.

I know the moment I move to Oregon, it will implement taxes again

I don't really want to move to Oregon, but this no tax thing really does excite me.

As do these beautiful pictures...

I have driven over many a mountain pass, and turned lots of astonishing turns. Favorite Mountain Pass of the Summer award goes to McKenzie Pass from Sisters to Eugene in Oregon.



McKenzie/Sanitam Pass


...on my way up


Rock


Willamette Forest


through my windshield... lots of mist


That's my shadow taking a picture of Sea of Lava sign


This is the Sea of LAVA


Thanks to Kansky, I know which way is north :)


People back in the days were so badass...


Puddle of Love, but what puddle isn't a puddle of love?


The top of the foggy pass reminded me of the hyena's Elephant Graveyard in Lion King - spooky.


Green makes me happy!!!


Super Happy!


Lava Rock and Fog


Thanks for tuning in . . . more on Idaho, horses and Turds to come!