Hello, 2010

It's the New Year and I've a question to ask of it.

2010, are you gonna suck? Because if you are, I'd rather just keep living 2009. Actually, I'd rather keep living 1987, but at least the San Diego Chargers are a good team now. Anyway, please don't suck... I'm gonna be too busy to deal with too much adversity. Leave that shit to 2006, if you don't mind. Thanks in advance!

Let's see... resolutions for 2010... quit smoking, get published (not counting the three pieces in January, since those were commissioned and sold in 2009), and... no, that's about it. Same as every year.

Calendar Musings

Why do seven calendar months have 31 days, but February only has 28? Why not cut a day each from July and August and give February an equal shake? Sure, the knuckle trick won't work anymore, but we're long past honoring Roman Caesars.

Besides, those two bastard Romans are the reasons that September, October, November, and December aren't the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth months of the year, as their prefixes clearly imply. So how about that? Let's ditch July and August completely and go back to ten months in a year! Five months with 36 days and five with 37! No? Too much?

How come the calendar year isn't tied in to the solstices and the equinoxes (is that the plural of equinox?)? Why not make the winter solstice fall on January 1 and the summer solstice fall on July 1? Is it too much to ask for civilization to have some logic?

Can we please, PLEASE get rid of Daylight Savings Time?

There's a lot of hubbub concerning when the new decade starts. Some claim that today is the first day of the new decade; others claim that January 1, 2011 is the first day of the new decade. Well, to be technical, every January 1st is the first day of a new decade, depending on how you're counting your years... but, for the sake of argument: if you're counting cardinal decades, then 2011 is the correct starting year (and is the first year of the 202nd decade). If you're talking about the colloquially accepted "2010s," then, duh, of course it's 2010.

The same thing goes for centuries. The 21st century didn't start until January 1, 2001. But, again, the "2000s" started in... you can figure it out. Millennia  follow the same rule set.

Anyway, Happy New Year. Hope it becomes a Happy Old Year.

The Burning Bridge

It's time to pack up and go
while the bridge can still be traversed
before it turns into ash
and the water underneath no longer has reason to flow
Time, then, to go
before he's going nowhere

Across the horizons
there will be horizons crossed
and called yesterdays
tomorrows, new enemies and old friends
antiquate nascent dreams again
leaving them nowhere

For the weary, rest
they may sleep but he may not stay
lest he watch it all go by
counting the heartbeats she has left
The compass points West
and has taken her nowhere

It's time to pack up and go
while the ford can still be passed
before it turns into mud
and the span overhead can no longer hold
Time, then, to go
anywhere but here

Today

remember when the conversation
turned from orange to violet
an end to ends, all over again
until then
dream that it all happened before
spinning around an axis
spinning around a star
what's spoken was spoken
who's listening is what's different
thinking, therefore being
the mind's eye
the mind's sky's precipitation
an instant within an instant
is when everything changes
it's a new day, today
... feels like the rest of yesterday

Tabula Rasa

a blank page
like blank mind
instinct formed between the covers
before life passes by invented symbols
the story turns
a new chapter
and memories that do not fade
perhaps rewritten
or simply edited
by authors who deigned to choose their fates
it is endings that are published
on slates above heads
whose words stand in eternity
until The End
there are words to change
and characters with new beginnings

A Sunset Backwards

Time's subjectivity makes me laugh. Sleep never lasts long enough and the workday is always too long. Someone once told me that I'm lost in my dreams, but how can a person get lost in something that goes away to an electronic beep at six in the morning? Being found shouldn't happen in a bedroom. Not unless what's lost is a wallet or a set of keys. Then again, who cares about a wallet when there's no money? Screw the credit cards. It'd be a blessing in disguise to lose those bastards.

Think of the store around the corner. Now imagine walking there. Of course you won't, since it's too far and the car runs just fine. Of course, while you drive the two minutes you'll wonder why the fuck you didn't just walk. Distance likes to hide in the mire of subjectivity, too. Swamps have a nasty habit of encroaching my mind when I'm sick of humidity and big bugs. Makes me wish for Wal-Mart to come in and clear out the land so I can get discount prices. But then I'll swap stories about how this place used to be a beautiful wilderness. Maybe that's why so many people choose to live in the desert... the grass isn't greener on the other side, because there's only tumbleweed.

So where does one go when the landscape turns brown? The North Star doesn't point anywhere useful, it just reminds us that when we're lost, we at least know one cardinal direction. If only the mountains weren't blocking my view. Few have the energy to climb, and the burning cigarette lets me know that even fewer have the lungs. Five minutes of life, lost. But are they a happy five minutes? Time that goes by so fast that we don't even notice? If that's the case, then who cares? Light up and smile. And if they're an unhappy five minutes, and a long life is what you're after, acknowledge the fact that your lifespan has increased subjectively. It doesn't matter what the statistics say. We already know. There's nothing new under the Sun.

Can't recall the last sunrise that warmed my smile... Maybe if I remember a sunset backwards.

Before & After

- Before

It was little more than a dream. Well, she was. A hello in passing on the way to somewhere else. There was no intent behind the greeting, only a friendly gesture that should've been lost in time. But that was how he found her. A hello in passing turned into a beautiful smile, a beautiful smile turned into a soft and warm embrace, and a soft and warm embrace revealed a scent that lingered powerfully in memory.

- After

It will be little more than a memory. Despite the time spent together, he won't be sure she had really existed. The hello in passing will fade away into a yearning silence, broken occassionally by the recollection of a voice that may not have been hers. His memory will fail, and he will not recall how he had lost her. He will only know that the embrace was long gone, having mingled its way among sensations of a life filled with other pleasures and other pains. There will be a sudden realization that he is not now who he was yesterday, nor who he will be tomorrow.

- Before

The seriousness of his occupation led him to the conclusion that he was better off alone. Too many moments presented themselves too dangerously to be burdened with the added weight of someone else's thoughts. Still, human desire was ever-present, and the malevolence of loneliness haunted him even in the life of a crowd. Somehow he remained firm, though there were lapses in his solitude which all ended badly. But they ended, at least, and he was strangely grateful for his misfortune.

- After

He will find that a lack of responsibility breeds irresponsibility, and will hold little concern for himself as a result. He will very much want to take care of someone else, and for someone else to care for him, but will no longer harbor the ship and sail with which to do so. His seas will be empty, waves of emotion having been replaced by lakes of glass, brittle in their abandonment. Needs and wants will no longer coalesce, separated by distance and too much time apart. Fear, in the form of a misguided discipline, will chase everything away.

- Now

I watch the seconds tick away, voluntarily oblivious of the shift from past to future. The present happens too quickly to care about, moments and instants caught in between what once mattered and what will matter. Plans come and go - most fail - and I sit there admiring the song in the background. A cigarette dissolves into ash, its embers marking the time when night turns into day. As John and Paul sing their song, I acknowledge them with a smile, remembering her words of wisdom and wondering if she'll ever again stand in front of me. For now, though, I'm content to let it be.

Wanderlust

"What are you thinking?"

The question popped him out of his trance. The wide expanse of West Coast sand had hypnotized him the way only a collection of memories and dreams could. The rolling of Pacific waves during high tide reminded him of years wasted in the wrong parts of the world and the crashing water seemed to taunt him for seeking out calmer seas. His mind was born violently quiet, and it seemed that every part of the world knew it. A pity it had taken him so long to come to the same conclusion. Nature is nothing but progress through chaos, and  he was trying very hard to live up to its example.

"Nothing," he finally responded. Not entirely untrue was the answer, for he could not recall a single word hidden in his mind. Merely emotion. Thought was sometimes a bane to him, and such a sometime was happening now. He hated having to be pragmatic, to make a decision based on logic and not on desire.

"Then what are you feeling?"

He laughed to himself. For a woman he hadn't known very long, practically speaking, she held a lot of insight into him. Then again, he found himself appreciating the opinions of strangers more and more, often over the opinions of people he'd known for years. There's something refreshing about listening to people who have no vested interest in something they're criticizing. Friends and family, with rare exception, usually try to soften any blow. But not him. He liked it blunt, so he gave it blunt. Made a lot of enemies that way, but he'd argue that his friends were better friends than anyone else ever had. The ones who were still around, anyway.

"Everything."

She smiled, knowing that such a vague response was also the dedicated truth. He smiled, too, at the brief realization that she would recognize his honesty when she heard it. She had no idea what she meant to him. In her mind, she was just a supportive friend who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. In his, she was both a reason to stay and the motivation to move on. A past and future in a single moment about to be shattered by the requirements of the present.

"I'm in love with this place," he continued. "The now more than the here. But I'm in love with it."

Her smile disappeared, almost imperceptibly turning into a frown. She knew the stories. He wasn't doing what he wanted to do, nor was he living where he wanted to live. Life, as it does to most, interfered so cruelly with his dreams and almost awakened him from them entirely. When she had discovered him - or rather, when he had discovered her - he was a stagnant mess, making mistakes that he had already made. Worse, he had been preparing to make them again, and almost willingly. Complacency had almost killed him and who he wanted to be.

"Maybe you shouldn't fall in love with anything for a while," she said, scolding softly, recognizing that such a course of action would also deprive her of something she may have desired. "You need to keep moving. And forward."

He nodded. He hated being pragmatic. Logic was necessary, but it was boring. Chasing magic was all he really wanted to do.

"Let it go," she said, not entirely convinced that he should. She, too, was aware of her own desire to throw caution to the wind. "It'll be there when you get back."

"But will I?" he asked, in a voice that could not be clearly identified.

She didn't understand the question.

Countdown; Carpe Diem

Constant motion is a human necessity. Not quite like a shark's, but without motion, somebody's bound to take a shot at you. Then again, somebody's going to shoot at you anyway. Those little rubber noises flying past the ears are proof enough of that. People like to compare being still to being at peace, and what a load of shit that is. Being still is being dead, and there's clearly a bit of death in the act of waiting. But, like constant motion, constant interaction is a human necessity, and today's itinerary is dependent on what they do. So the clock is watched; the countdown is underway. Too bad no one knows when it's counting down to. It's just ticking.

Constant thought is a human condition. There's a thunderstorm in the mind, and it never stops raining. A single lightning strike can kill you, but a brain's series of electrical impulses can destroy an entire world. Ideas are the loneliest and deadliest of weapons, and dreams, the most subtle of triggers. People like to believe they're unique, and what a load of shit that is. Stereotypes and archetypes exist for a reason, and "you don't know me" is the biggest lie ever told. There's someone out there who sees things the way you do, and they are the objective. Hunters follow their tracks; snipers lie in wait. The sun may be setting, but there's no deadline. The clock keeps ticking.

Maybe you've met already; maybe you haven't. Perhaps you know what you're looking for, but maybe you're on a need-to-know basis and you don't need to know until she's staring you in the face. If you believe in signs, there will be one. If you don't, it'll just happen. Coincidence may just be coincidence, but the impatient will jump the gun. Coincidence may be more, but those who despise failure from experiencing it one too many times will clear the perimeter first. If it's right, there will be two left standing when the smoke clears.

The target will present itself eventually, never mind what time. Patience is the order of a lifetime. Humans have designed themselves to overcome instinct, so take advantage. The first opportunity may not be the best one. After all, she moves in mysterious ways. Prepare your action and give in to the moment when the moment is proper. The countdown continues to the instant when peripheral vision will not be necessary. Don't wait until you can see her; wait until you can smell her. You'll know when the clock is right, for motion and thought will blur into one. And when it does, don't hesitate. Seize the day.

Time, Not Place

If you would, accept a little cliche and imagine your lifetime as a single day. Naturally, dawn would signify the beginning of it all, the confused wonder of seeing and doing things for the first time. First steps, first kisses, first mud pies. It is the morning that teaches you fear and pain, not the evening. Dogs have sharp teeth, the stove will burn you, falling leads to bruises and broken bones. If you haven't learned those lessons before the sun starts baking you from overhead, you're in for a world of hurt.

For most, these early morning hours signify home. Perhaps not a home to be loved, but a home nonetheless. Significant moments creating significant memories, to be forgotten, of course. But all part of the blueprint of your foundation. For most, home as a place will change from time to time, but home as a time will survive the movement from place to place.

As the world turns, life is learned how to be lived. Loves are found, lost, and found once more. The previous lessons of fear and pain help keep you alive. If you're lucky, those lessons help you feel alive. Humanity is the only species capable of challenging itself, and the realization that most refuse to take advantage of that is a little sad. The clock keeps ticking, and too many are wasting time.

In the afternoon you may find you've become your parents. Or you may find you've shed their walls and are something else entirely. Brothers and sisters may no longer share the same blood, but are closer than any family you've ever had. Then again, blood may have prevailed, and home is as familiar as it's ever been. Either way, it's not the edifice that provides comfort, it's the aesthetic. To each their own, it's said, and to their own something to smile about.

Evenings come too soon, whether or not you prefer the moonlight. Sunset has no patience and always comes, once bright light fading behind a horizon of endless horizon. There will be a new day tomorrow, a pity it's not for you. The sun may never set on empire, but reigns are temporary. Stories are shared around campfire for a reason.

Childhood seems unnaturally long when a child, and unnaturally short when an adult. Deliberate ticks signaling the passing of a monumental existence later realized to be a mere blink of an eye. The worst of enemies never reveal their true natures until it's too late, and time reveals itself only to the dying. The clock struck home, but that was hours ago. It's time to sleep.

No worries. The sunrise will greet you in the morning. Whether or not it lights the way home is another matter entirely.

An Age of Friends

His coffee didn't taste good to him tonight. Nor, for that matter, did his cigarette. It's as if decades of his old reliables had eroded any pleasures his pleasures had afforded him. But he didn't mind. He knew the time was coming. And, so, he wrapped himself up in his ragged Army blanket, barely noticing the pain in his chest, and returned his attention to trying to keep warm in front of the roaring fire.

His memories wandered as the flames ebbed and the embers cooled. Family would have been on his mind, but he had none to speak of. Instead, he remembered his friends. His ages of friends.

When he was a little boy growing up in a San Diego suburb, he remembered that all he had to do to see most of his friends was walk a few hundred feet west or east, down a few houses on his block, and ring a doorbell. Sometimes a mother or a sister who he would feel attracted to would answer the door, and his shy little voice would ask, "Can he come out and play?"

Occasionally the question would be answered with a seemingly heartless "no," usually on Sundays when one of his overly religious friends had to read from something referred to as "the Good Book" or some such nonsense. His agnostic upbringing couldn't discern the concept, so he would continue down the street and ring another doorbell.

Usually, though, the answer would be yes, and he and his friend or friends would revel in a game of street ball (either baseball or football, both of which often resulted in broken living room windows or dismembered rearview windows from an unluckily parked car) or mock costumes consisting of blankets for capes and last year's Halloween masks in an imaginary world of superheroes.

Later on in life, through high school, college, and the military, he remembered that hanging out with friends required a bit more effort. Plans had to made, times had to be coordinated, and walking places was generally out of the question. Everybody had to drive, since everybody lived in different parts of the city. Being friends with neighbors was in the process of becoming an afterthought, and camaraderie seemed to belong in the realm of the workplace or the classroom. Back then, though, he didn't even notice. It just seemed natural.

Despite being older and more "free," hanging out with friends was more limited. Occasional movies, more than occasional drinks, and frequent loud, crowded, yet ultimately boring parties rounded out his repetoire. Sometimes he and his friends would get more creative and actually go away somewhere for a while... perhaps a camping trip, or an overseas adventure, maybe a skydive or a scuba dive or two... or both.

Still later in life, his friends were even farther away from him, as most moved away, or back home, or to one of those countries they might have visited during the overseas adventures. Neighbors once again became "friends" of sorts, but only because his mobility was becoming more and more hampered. Acquaintances, more likely, as he knew who his real friends were. Those men and women he grew up with, when friends were made without prejudices, and those men and women he served with, when friends were made in spite of prejudices. Everyone else, it seemed to him, were just faces in the crowd. Touched and gone, as it were.

Walking was definitely out of the question this time, as was driving... at least most of the time. Usually, seeing a friend involved a few hundred dollars and an uncomfortable plane ride. He went through a period of time in which he avoided them, under the auspices of saving a little cash, but when the destinations starting becoming funerals... well, he had too much respect for his friends not to go.

He remembered how he used to love hopping into an airplane, either on his way somewhere exotic or new, or on a one-way trip to a drop zone. Now, he hated them. Airplanes merely became a symbol of seeing a friend that one last time... only the friend wouldn't remember him coming, or even know he was there, laying the flower on the casket, throwing the dirt into the freshly filled grave. His tears went unnoticed... so much so that he soon quit shedding them altogether.

The fire had died long ago. The coffee long cold. The cigarette burned to ash down to the filter.

He remained there, curled up in his chair, underneath his blanket. His face seemed peaceful, serene, and had a hint of a smile.

A smile one only has when with friends... forever.

Insane Insomnia

Wondering why I'm not asleep? I'll tell you, as you think of how Froot Loops transcended just being orange, lemon, and cherry when you were little. I'm bored, basically... too bored to sleep. Well, maybe not, but I'm afraid my dreams will be boring, so why waste the time counting sheep that would taste better on a kabob instead of hopping some stupid fence that popular culture put into my head?

Then again, I could just play sudoku and waste even more time on worthless crosswords, racking my brain for a three-letter synonym for the word "fuck," all the while wishing I had my old TV back so I could fry my brain watching less-than-B movies on late night HBO and ShowTime. After all, I do waste a lot of money on premium movie channels that I rarely ever watch because my current television is too small and my home theater is in boxes somewhere in the Pacific Time Zone.

Ah, the Pacific Time Zone. The best time zone in the world, even if all of the "live" shows are prerecorded because people on the East Coast can't stay up late enough to watch a proper live telecast. Then again, if television really were based in NYC like New Yorkers like to claim, this wouldn't be an issue, but it isn't... it's based in Los Angeles. So lick me, you East Coasters... lick me like the owl trying to get to the center of the tootsie pop. Just don't bite on the last one. I have a sneaking suspicion that would hurt.

Pain... yet another reason I don't sleep at night. Why? Well, because my fucking foot and ankle hurt all the fucking time. But, since you're busy giving yourself a pedicure with those flesh-eating Japanese fish, you probably don't want to think about feet too much.

Anyway, I'm off to dream of sex and violence.

Because abstinence and peace are just too fucking boring.

NYC DST

So I went to New York City last Friday. And so I came back Sunday night. So I had a blast. A fun, if abbreviated time. And thanks to the timing I realized one thing: daylight savings time needs to go away.

But first, a brief spiel about New York.

I had a strange flight there, that's for sure. I flew from Reno-Tahoe to Sea-Tac first, which is a little odd. At Sea-Tac, I ran into a friend from the Army that I hadn't seen nor heard from since 2003, which was a little odd. And then flew a little over five hours to Kennedy. Even though I began my journey at 5 AM, Pacific Standard Time, I didn't arrive at my hotel in Times Square until nearly midnight, Eastern Standard Time.

That's right, my hotel in Times Square. The W at Times Square to be more specific. Those of you who know will probably be supremely jealous. Those of you who don't... eh, who cares what you think?

There I was greeted by my enemy and friend, Lisa, who looked marvelous in all of the New York glamour, and then I basically went to sleep. Long day, after all.

Saturday was spent roaming around Manhattan, primarily Times Square, but Saturday night was the icing on the cake: kick-ass seats to Phantom of the Opera at the Majestic. Those of you who know... eh, why finish this sentence?

And then, the sour milk to the wine. My departure time from Kennedy was a tad early, to say the least, and I had to catch the airport shuttle at roughly 4:45 AM, Eastern DAYLIGHT Time... which, in reality, was 3:45 Eastern Standard Time. Which meant about three hours of sleep, probably less. Anyway, my damn cell phone didn't switch with the time, so my alarm was useless. In fact, had the service not called Lisa's phone, neither one of us would have made it to the airport.

So, I packed in a matter of seconds, stole all of the Bliss hair and skin-care products out of the bathroom, and hauled ass down to the shuttle.

And yes, I made my flight. My six-hour, cross-country, under-the-jet-stream, boring-ass flight... to Seattle. Yet another weird layover. Whatever, I made it safely, so who cares?

But the point of this pointless blog: DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME has to GO.

We're in the communications age, we're approaching another technological revolutionary age, we don't need daylight to function. People are becoming more and more used to operating on 24-hour clocks... FUCK DST!

Studies show barely a 1% savings in energy consumption, and other factors are less than significant as well. It's retarded, it screws people up, mother nature doesn't do it, why the fuck should we?

And it came close to screwing up my New York trip.

GET RID OF IT!

I'm done now.

Waiting

One more day. And I'm forced to wait it out from my bedroom, still sick from some bug I caught last Thursday night (or Friday morning, depending on your perspective... then again, technically, it was Friday morning). One more day, and then it's tomorrow. I hate tomorrow, by the way.

The only thing worse than waiting for something you'd rather not experience, is being stuck in one place waiting for something you'd rather not experience. And here I am. Too sick to actually go into those beautiful snow-capped mountains located just outside my window. Too sick to make the long drive to the Pacific Ocean. Too sick for air travel. Oh, well, this year is only two days old and it's already past the first time I cancelled a flight in 2007. Then again, one ticket was non-refundable, so I guess that one's not really cancelled.

The only thing worse than being stuck in one place waiting for something you'd rather not experience is being stuck in a place you can't stand with people you don't necessarily care to be with waiting for something you'd rather not experience. Wait, let me back up... I guess this would mean that there are two things worse than waiting for something you'd rather not experience, right? Awesome, I think I just broke my own record for irrelevant rambling.

I hate being sick. The only thing worse than... nah, I'll spare you that one.

Anyway, here I am. Tired from yet another sleepless night, from this cold I have, and from the cold outside. Sick and tired, how lame. At least my sister bought me six new albums the other day, that's helping more than you know.

I think I'm going to start drinking now. I'll probably be drunk until the 4th, so don't waste your time calling or sending e-mail. For those of you who don't know what fucked-up anniversary tomorrow is, don't worry, you're not missing much.

Now all I have to do is continue waiting. What else is new?

"Friends"

The Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines a friend as: "one attached to another by affection or esteem."

I, however, have a slightly different definition: "one that's there when needed or wanted."

Now, I may not be the best friend ever, but nobody can claim that I don't try. If someone needs a favor, I'll do what I can... if someone needs money, Ill lend it (or even give it) if I have some... if someone needs someone to lean on, I'm leaned on.

But... not everybody I know feels that way, and while I realize that this is purely subjective, that really pisses me off. I hear all the excuses all the time... "Im too busy" seems to be the popular one. BULL SHIT.

NOBODY is ever THAT busy. Sorry, just doesn't happen. As someone who worked on two separate degrees while working part-time AND getting ready to deploy to a foreign country, I am positive that being "too busy" doesn't happen. Yes, there are undoubtedly times in our lives in which we are overwhelmed, but they don't last... even when the entire world was fighting a war in the 40s, people had time for each other... and you expect me to believe that YOU'RE TOO FUCKING BUSY? Fuck you...

When someone you haven't seen in years is in town, you MAKE TIME. When a friend of yours needs some help, you MAKE TIME. When a hot, could-be-a model-actress walks into your bedroom and takes off her clothes, you MAKE TIME. Um... disregard that last one.

Another thing... when you say you're going to do something for someone, be it a favor, or a job, or even something trivial, DO IT. Don't delay, procrastinate, make excuses... just FUCKING DO IT. Or, at the very least, if you can't, TELL THEM "I CAN'T." Telling a friend "no" is much better than leading a friend on for days, weeks, years.

Example:

"John, can you contact Mary and get her to endorse this for me? It would really help me out."

"No."

And everybody fucking hates "fake friends."

Well, whatever... even I know that I'm no longer making any kind of sense, so I'll just shut up now. But those who know, know what I'm talking about.

"Okay, thanks anyway."

Even though that sucks, its much better than:

"John, can you contact Mary and get her to endorse this for me? It would really help me out."

"Sure."

TWO WEEKS LATER

"John, did you get a hold of Mary?"

"Not yet, I've been busy."

"John, I need that endorsed or I'll lose my promotion."

"I'll get on it."

TWO WEEKS LATER

"John... Mary?"

"Why the fuck cant you talk about something else?"

Don't laugh... that's actually happened to me...

...Several times...

Anyway, my point is that friends are only friends when they're LOYAL to each other. A lot of people hide behind the concepts of loyalty, but they're anything but. Hell, I've even got a "friend" on MySpace that pretends to preach loyalty, but won't give you the time of day unless in need of something from you... The irony is even furthered by the fact that this person has NEVER been loyal in a relationship. This is representative of a phenomenon more commonly known as "fake friends."