Birthday Blog; tho one for my Soul Mate

Another year past, another one closer to death. Ok, time to drop the morbid act/ two-bit Pink Floyd line drop. It is (was) your birth day, the day you first gazed at light, gasped your first breath, and began spreading your passion and joy over those who care about you and love you. It is by all means a passing milestone on your windy road of life, and the road to the next one will be different and twisted in some parts. However, this blog i write for you is to remind you that there will always be someone who can be a guide for your soul during the hard times and through the easy ride, as a meens to keep you intact and stay a course that is true to yourself.
You happen to be the most fantasticalay unique and genuinly understanding individual that it has been my privileged luck to encounter in this existence of mine. In truth, i believe there are no mix of emotions, words, or even well spoken notions by the most prolific artists and poets that could touch the true sense of love and respect i hold for you. Discribing the way it feels to know that I ocupy a place in your heart is a task to great to sum up in writing or even in spoken words, for that matter. But you can just tell by the way i look at you, and listen to you, and you ll know it when i am there for you in the best of times and in the most challenging situations. Its the very least i could do, especially for my best friend, and perminent partner in crime...and from one fellow Robert Zimmerman enthusiast to another, " It takes a woman like your kind to find the man in me."
Whenever i talk to you about a bad day, weather it be a shitty practice or just the natural grinding along of the day, whatever it is that was troubling me melts from my mind and desolves in your words of comfort. I am never in a more natural state than when i am with you. No matter what it is we occupy our time with, concerts, hikes, trips ,they all stand out in my mind as connecting moments that we share together on so many levels it would be shallow to mearly call us friends; we are, in this time and place, Soul Mates for each other.

-I think it took a memory straight form the best memory we have shared together, MMJ at the Greek, to release my writers block and write you something meaningful and real. I feel I never tell you how much you mean to me, i say it insted internaly because its in my heart every time you are with me. When I look at you I sometimes catch myself slipping into a state of delirious daydreaming at the very sight of you, because sometimes, I honestly find our connection too good to be true and my mind tricks me into thinking that the bond we share no longer exists in this world. And then we touch, we hug, we lock lips, and I can tell without doubt or equivocation that you are the real and tangible evidence of pure loving friendship. I know you recognize the same in me, because I see it in your eyes as well. I see it in the way you run up to embrace me, and I can sense it when I lead you along a heavily wooded trail through the wilderness of our collective thoughts and tribulations.

I want you to know above all else that I Love you. I want you to know that we are both special people in our own right. We are in a sense pariahs because we hold fast to the tried and true values of a society not of this day and age, that chooses to neglect its own individuality and morals of chivalry for such reasons as popular opinion and monetary gain. We strive for each other, and for the peace of mind which stems from leading a life long harmonious existence with and through those around us while living in no particular way but our very own.

Its interesting to think that we could have had our time together, as a conventional pair. We could have indured the social strains and bridged our age gap and we would have done it all with smiles on our faces and gratified hearts in the knowledge that people need not accept or understand our motives and feelings. All we would ever need and count on would have been each other. Is this so different than we are now? We are as we are, the same as we ever were, and I pray the same as we will always be.

You mean more to me than I dare you can ever know, Alissa. Please know that above all else.

-Your Soul Mate,

Jose Alberto Cueto

Fall

I heard the waves from the sidewalk of seashore Dr. Now I sit atop tower 52 gazing at an ocean turbulent and choppy, gray and white like the skies above.
- I feel, in a sense, not dissimilar to Holden Caufield, a lucky outcast who yearns for perpetual childhood amidst open field of rye. For me however, my open fields are more like vast expanses of water, graced by the occasional ride able wave.
2 Surfers have paddled out about 100 yards to my left. Not much to be surfed on this windswept stretch of beach i thought, nothing but wind-chop and whitecaps. These waves are like a One-Trick Pony, drop in to a hack, and that's that.

Newport is a ghost town with abundant parking.
Russel's surf shop is now on the better side of the street,
I like it.


I wondered to a lightly trodden piece of the peninsula, 19th st at the Bay, to rest my thoughts upon the tranquil waters of the harbor. The water was as a sheet of marbled streaked sky reflection of which there was no distinguishable discernment of the liquid mirror image reflection on the surface or the billowing sky aloft. Outside my car, the atmosphere was crisp with the feel of a moist welcome to the beginning of Autumn. The slight chill in the air was no more than a nip with the onshore breeze blocked by a barricade of private residence stretching several blocks deep to the sandy threshold of beach beyond. There slid the bow of a boat through the seamless channel, creating a series of waves that marched outward, away from the cutwater, as though they were elastic bands bending toward the exposed silt of the bay shore. I was left befuddled by the effect created by the incoming groundswell train making landfall. From the minuscule wavelengths coming ashore, there projected a series of barreling tube shaped breakers. No more than centimeters in diameter, the tiny barrels broke in perfect mathematical synchronicity. The way the swells trajectory traced a slight incoming angle to the land, the waves preformed an act of calculated physics, and bent lengthwise to wrap to the couture of the oncoming beach. I was left aghast when the churning curls swung past my place on the sand, and there emitted an audible gurgling, the sound of the lip of a wave slicing into the underlying water. It is the most unique sound in the universe, a hollow echo from the chasm of a holly cathedral of liquid cascading over itself to create a pocket of air, and a space of temporary existence within.
Oh, to be a minuscule rider on these waves, and to travel in the most perfect tiny tubes for seconds that would fold out like minutes along the inception of air and water.

Giving the Sun Thanks

Closing my eyes I distinguish a tree comprised of 1000 splended suns shimmering. A red glare is desolving over me, I now focus on the breath filling my chest. I can feel the cool breeze circulate streamlined across my bare flesh, I can sense the sun is setting. My world gives thanks for the warmth the wind the waves, for another beautiful day is come to a close. My eyes glide open, giving way to my sun-streaked inner eyelids to cast my gaze to the last half of the blazing sphere peaking over the haze hung horizon. The sky directly above appears as the purest shade of blue, its clarity is magnificent.

-The western sky now darkens beckoning the night,
darkness proceeds this part of the eternal fight.
Sun chasing Earth, light eclipsed by dark.
The crescent moon, she christens the night
With angelic light, Hark!

The Warmth of the Fleating summer

Sunlight painted mountains crest my tiny corner of existence. The coast to my right, the setting sun at my back. Nadine, keep rolling along study old girl, what a marvelous view! The long way home, the scenic route. Summer is over yet the sense of wonder still remains. Over the Santa Ana River now, and minuscule surf but from here everything from the crumbling waves to the crest of Saddleback Peak are drenched in the same shade of fantastic light. Bring on the desk, bring on the autumn. Take me along the path of the ever extending conception of time with its ebb and flow.

-peace of mind lies somewhere on the great Highway.

Summers final discussion

What a time, what things have i seen, people i have met and things i have come to realize about the world and about my self. The one thing i know for sure is that this has been on of the most memorable summer vacations i have yet lived through. Not too much more can be said about it otherwise. I have traversed this lonesome continent and traveled some beautiful country. I have surfed more locations than ever before and have conquered waves that have well exceeded any i had previously ridden, nothing seems heavy now, nothing too daunting. Lord knows i have plenty more to learn, but thats why I am going back to school tomorrow. Its a bit wondrous actually, i know i have escaped the grasps and restrictions of high school, yet i still dream that i am back in the old halls again being graced by the likeness of my good friends and apparitions of acquaintances i never really got to know. The only thing i think i may miss, at least for a little wile, will be the familiarity i grew accustomed to with being able to see the people i cared about (as well as those who i couldnt say the same for) on a daily basis. Thank goodness i am still in town, i will be within reach and i am still within fimilliar teritory. But the notion that gives me the most condolence and which steadies my hand through this changing of the times is that if i am lucky, tomorrow will still come out to be a different day to be experienced, and the seasons will come to a passing and the wind will still blow to bring waves to the shore(although i will now have considerably less time to ride them now). But in the final hours of summer i can still listen to my Bob Dylan records and know that tomorrow the music will remain, the same as it ever was.

Surfing Solo

It came about as a last minute split second idea, the kind you make on a dull Sunday afternoon when all you have done all day is sit indoors watching baseball and the sun is burning bright in a cloudless sky. I needed to get back to the sea. I have been surfing religiously for the the past three days chasing the first legit South Swell in weeks ravenously from Huntington Pier down to Laguna and San Clemente. I had surfed a spot Saturday early afternoon which my friends and I sarcastically refer to as Tits, AKA Super-tubes, because on the right conditions this place can dish out spitting tube after flaring tube and is as the name implies "Absolutely Tits". Its was superb on this day, a little crossed up and deceptive at times but on the right wave you could be looking up at a 6 ft pitching lip or standing tall inside of a churning shack staring wild-eyed at the best view of your life. I had this vision pulling into my second wave of the day, standing and pulling into a solid left i attained tremendous speed on the rising wall as i pumped my board through the section, i then turned off the top of the wave and dropped in to the end Bowl. Pulling into this final section, only feet from the shore and in no more that 3 ft of water i experienced the sensation of being fully enveloped by moving water and in that fraction of a second i gazed up at the roof of the barrel and out the exit hole to see the shoreline extending all the way to San Clemente. It was without a doubt one of the most spectacular views i have ever captured in my minds eye, i didn't even mind the thrashing i was dealt at the mercy of the pounding beach break, all i felt was the pure joy of self accomplishment and the satisfaction of having forgotten every other emotion or thought, leaving nothing but the notion of the unadulterated inner peace.
-But i Digress.....
It is now Sunday, and the swell is steadily pushing 7 ft at times and i have decided to paddle out at Huntington state beach solo. It didn't seem like a daunting test of my courage at the time, but then again i hadn't even seen a wave break yet. I park, walk to the nearest high wall and check the surf, it takes a few moments for me to catch a glimpse of a proper 6 ft set of walls peal along the outer shelf. I have seen enough and proceed to rush back to my car to suit up.
Few people understand the mentality of an amped surfer. It is one of pent up excitement, rushing adrenaline, uncontrolible urges to rush headlong into what most people consider a hostile environment and an undying surge of curiosity all mixed into a coktail of emotions so volitile that if an average non-watergoing human were to consume they would most sertainly blackout from a compleat sensory overload(upon waking up they would have to be emidiatly emitted into the nearest mental institution, or emidiatly handed a surfboard themselves). Standing on the shore strapping my leash to my ankle i noticed the ocean had created a channeling rip current for me, making my paddle out 30% easier than normal, i was still accosted by the usual inside crashers that get your hair wet and do a great job of making you feel like there is a bomb set coming on the outside waiting to crush all your hopes and dreams into oblivion. This however did not happen and i positioned myself farther out than the impact zone so as to not get cought inside.
-I have a morbid fear of being caught inside ever since i surfed Trail 5 during the swell of the decade on July 24 of 2009. You think going to school with a bunch of popularity crazed loonies who talk behind your back is a scary notion? Try staring up the face of a 15 ft wall of ocean about to break ten feet infront of your face and not being able to do a thing about it other than abandon ship, take a deep breath and dive for the bottom only to be lifted and dragged for what seems like days under water. But i digress.....
The waves were far from ideal in shape, i was paddling into moving mountain ranges with at least 5 different peaks and cross waves and not to mention nowhere to go once the wave was caught, nowhere but straight down as i found out on my first wave. I looked to set my line going left only to see that the peak was well ahead of me, so i resorted to try to go straight but the nose of my board instantly dove, throwing me ass over tea-cup into the churning mass of the classic Huntington washing machine. Impossible i thought to myself, "there is no way to get into these waves" i said outloud in frustration. I had no time to grummble for i was dead if i stayed in the Impact Zone. The next "makible" wave that came my way was a bit smaller and looked forgiving, so i precieded to tear ass across the face on my 6" 10' Brian Bulkly and kick out as it sectioned. I was then faced with the largest and ugliest set it has ever been my displeasure to lay eyes on at huntington. Demented, disgusting mountain formations of ocean were marching right at me! I paddled frantically to punch through the first one only to see the second wave about ready to crash right on me. "Oh hell no, not while I still breath", i gasped. In moments like this panic is very near to the heart of the surfer, yet he must not let it take hold for if it does he looses all common sense (which in my case is not a big deal because i have been told that i have very little common sense to lose anyway). Neadless to say the wave crashed well ahead of me and i was forced to execute a duck dive while holding on to my board for dear life. Thankfully my board and i punched through in one piece. After my shair of heavy situations i have come to find a way to deal with being shaken up and rattled, it often requires several sets of heavy breathing followed by a little mental pep talk which for me this time went something like, " Your OK. You are ALRIGHT. Pay no attention to the fact that you are utterly alone and there are no surfers out for at least 300 yards in either direction. Focus and pull it together, man!!!!!" Even in my mind i am not the best motivator, but it worked for me because a few more waves came my way, all disfigured and nasty, but i did not lose my cool. Then IT came. The wave was a churning wall at least 6 if not 7 ft tall with a fair amount of chop on and around it, but a small slot of face that looked like a manageable bowl, damn the rest of the gnarly face, so i began to chase this thing down. This was the Big Pappy that i knew was my only chance to salvage the session, so i paddled hard, felt the wave begin to take me and then a split second later the grim realization hit me that there was absolutely no save avenue for me to take in either direction. The right was out of the question and the left had a boil in the face that was already pitching the wave out, i had no choice but to go straight. I felt as though the drop down the face lasted more than a few seconds as the mass of ocean water built up and doubles up under me. It became vertical and i knew there was no way out of it at this point, i was either going to hold fast for dear life or become minssed-meat at the hands of this brute. NOT AN OPTION!!! I managed to iron-leg this puppy out and belly on my board to allow the white wash to push me to shore.
I tell you now i have never been more determined to make a drop nor have i been more relieved to have survived the impossible. When i came ashore i looked at my hands half in disbelief to realize i had made it out of that heavy of a situation, not to mention the stunned looks on the faces of the Asian family that was playing at the waters edge. That's how i knew it was heavy, because the looks they were giving me were ones of utter amazement. I proceeded to walk down the beach, half wanting to paddle back out in a more advantageous spot, but decided against it because the sun was already touching the horizon.
As i gazed out at the waves just as i began to walk off the beach i was overcome with what i would discribe as a self-consious realisation of my own existance in which i had to sit down in the sand and try to keep from breaking into tears in the flood of emotions i felt. In that moment all else in my mind dissapeared, reality became paramount in the sense that i felt simultaniousl the massive release of addrenaline that must have taken hold somewhere in the middle of my drop and the purity of essence that comes from the heart when you have overcome a seamingly insurmountible obsticle. I can tell you nothing can ever come close to that feeling i felt at the edge of the ocean this afternoon, maybe the feeling of the hearts realization of its counterpart in another, but whats true love got to do with it anyway? Love for me comes in the ocean when she presents me with the chance to test myself against her might and when her beauty shines in the light of the setting sun. I believe that it is not stupidity or machismo which draws surfers to the waves, but an undying love for the feeling attained by realizing the purity of ones existence in the simple act of riding a wave.
-Nothing could ever stop me from finding my peace of mind in the sea.

Thoughts apon returning to California

Maybe ill blame it on my partial drunkenness, or on the jet lag catching up with me, but my mind is twisting and turning and spinning circles around my ass right now. I should be happy because my cousins are in town and iv had planned many great activities to be partaken, yet i feel a strange sense of familiar entrapment within myself, like the feeling you get when you build up a notion in your head that at that time seems perfectly feasible, only to have it crumble from the top down like some awkwardly similar image of the twin towers on September 11( God save all those souls that died this day which will live in infamy, for i do not take your memories in vain). With out a doubt i am disillusioned beyond any self recognition, and yet it does not surprise me because i have no one but myself to blame for this state of pent up indecisive rage within me.
-Bury me at sea should i pass from this earth, let my body serve as feed for the creatures of the deep, so i may live in eternal peace with my one and only true love, The Sea, whose vast expanse and power have tough me the true meaning of myself more than any living being, and whose moods and expressions i can see more clearly than the irises of any human eye.




-In truth i am glad to be back in my home state. The humidity plays a Menes with the mind and serves only to question one's understanding of the ways of nature. Although the thunderstorms were really something else, in no other form does nature display her might more threateningly yet so beautiful as in the midst of a thunderstorm. Heavy rain, strong wind, and a sudden white flash of light that cast ghostly shadows on the objects in the near ground, to deliver seconds later the defining clap of thunder that eclipses all the most powerfully destructive sounds that mankind can produce. I could not help but to feel small and utterly insignificant in its midst. And yet, I have never felt more at one with the natural world than in the midst of that very storm. Could it be that perhaps i may be partially insane to think this, if this be so then i consider myself the lucky because i have no other way of thinking about things. It surely beats cowering in fear and shivering to the bone like a poor hound who gets nervous and goes insane with the very sound of falling rain on the roof of a house.

Let me be your Box of Rain

As written by Phil Lesh and the Grateful Dead

Look out of any window
any morning, any evening, any day
Maybe the sun is shining
birds are winging or
rain is falling from a heavy sky -
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
this is all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago
Walk out of any doorway
feel your way, feel your way
like the day before
Maybe you'll find direction
around some corner
where it's been waiting to meet you -
What do you want me to do,
to watch for you while you're sleeping?
Well please don't be surprised
when you find me dreaming too

Look into any eyes
you find by you, you can see
clear through to another day
I know it's been seen before
through other eyes on other days
while going home --
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago

Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch your way through dead dreams
to another land
Maybe you're tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted
with words half spoken 
and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do
to do for you to see you through
A box of rain will ease the pain 
and love will see you through

Just a box of rain -
wind and water -
Believe it if you need it,
if you don't just pass it on
Sun and shower -
Wind and rain -
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame

It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare
But it's just a box of rain
or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long long time to be gone 
and a short time to be there 

The Moth that dashes into the flame has only itself to blame.

"The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow."

Call me a moth if you will. A lone fluttering insect dwelling in the heart of darkness. My life curses me to an existence of perpetual nothingness in the swamps and forests of this dreadful continent, living in fear of nightingales and owls who also share in my exploitation of the night and its vast twilight, that which some see as difficult or even a frightening notion to grasp is an all too real and routine habitat for me, the moth. In this, my anamorphic state of being, i have just come to grips with the sense that i am destine to do this dismal and dreary dance of life until my life has reached the end of its design. But hark, a wondrous dance of light reaches from the depths of the precipice of night, a small flickering candle is burning in the near ground. I, the moth, feel a strange sensation. It overwhelms my body and consumes my mind, its as if this singular light, unable to even penetrate the inky blackness more than 3 ft from its source, is calling out to me."Come share my light, come out of your darkness, come to me to share my light, come and share in the wonder of Love". I am now fluttering in your vicinity, gentile and wondrous flame. Your soft white light and your slender flame and your purist of energies draws me into yourself unlike all other effects i have yet experienced in nature. But alas, my own groaning pain and my longing for the flames adoration have spelled my doom. I fluttered to close to you, the flame of my soul, and i was consumed in an instant, and i now live in a state of oneness and bliss with you because you have freed me from the darkness that was all i had known.
-It is my own Fatal Flaw that i am hopelessly in search of a light of love in my life and that when it is finally realised and within my reach, i allow it to vaporise me in one instant, so in a sense i feel only the joy of the flam's love at the end of my short moth existence.
As for having only myself to blame, I doubt i would even put it on myself because i couldn't see my self living any other way. I am just as imperfect as any other, even YOU.

Words of comfort

PASS HERE AND GO ON... YOUR ON THE ROAD TO HEAVEN.

Impared Ignorance

Its a wonder to wake up the morning after a belligerent bout and have a hazy recollection of the evenings past events. Its enough to make you wonder how much of a fool you were for the decisions you made and it again makes you realise that whatever your impaired judgement made you do is completely irrelevant to your current situation. This realization came upon me as i was laying flat on my stomach in a bed of tangled sheets in a room flooded by blinding sunlight and echoing with the throbbing noise of my pool filter. It took me a moment to fully become aware of my surroundings (this is the sign that the night past was a raging blast) as i also had no concept of time in this strange location. Gathering my wits about me, my reality began to slowly materialize, and i came to notice it was 9:17, a time that bore about as much significance to me as a grain of sand on the course pebble like sand common to Balboa Island, so i continued to sleep. Following my harsh wake up (the crashing sound of my door against the 20 lb weight which acts as my door stop) i arose form my tattered bed sheets and spring coiled mattress, meandered to the bathroom where i encountered a scruffy looking, scraggly image in the mirror. It took me a matter of seconds to come to grips with the fact that this disillusioned and outrageously out of proportion caricature was in fact my very likeness looking deep through my eyes like an African villager looks deep into the presuppose of a well shaft. As much of a mess as i may seem to be in, its a wonder that people don't think of me as a kid that's just an over the hill and down the road lunatic but i can the my blog follower(s) this, I am still ALIVE.

Northern California Surf Sesh

Salmon creek is a beach break just north of Bodega Bay in Northern California. I would say that the water temp was easily in the 50’s, the sky was overcast and gloomy as all hell. This was a time to bust out the mutant hood and the gloves that Ryan Diller let me borrow to stave off hypothermia brought on by the fringed water of the north pacific. Pulling up to the parking lot I was confronted with the view of what looked like peeling peaks up and down the beach, all around 3-4 foot which to me seemed to be an unusually inviting sight to see in the Pacific northwest. I was overcome with the same joy that takes over when I see Cottons of Salt Creek breaking with such synchronicity and perfection in each wave. Short yelps and hoots of excitement and anticipation loomed in my throat itching to get out. I began to put on my wet suit, a 4.3 mm O’Neal Mutant suit with a hood attachment that had been gathering dust in the corner of my closet until this point (no need for this blasted apparatus in 64 degree water in and around Orange County). Strugling momentarily trying to squeeze my face and head through the neoprene hood I found that it fit quite snug on my head, enveloping my face in a warm comforting rubber caressing my face and clasping to my ears making it difficult to hear anything other than the roar of the ocean waves. After I had dawned my neoprene rubber outer skin, it was time to brave the fringed untamed and unfamiliar beach break of Salmon Creek. Entering the water, my feet were first to feel the cold water penetrating the pours of my wet suit, sending a chill up my legs. I was blessed with a lull moment walking to the shoreline and taking full advantage as I began the paddle out into the line up. A small shore breaking wave broke just before I was clear of the impact zone, forcing me to duck-dive and become fully amerced in the pacific ocean. The cold water rushed over me and shot through the seems between the hood and my facial tissue wetting first my ears and neck, then spiting into my back and chest, but I was not racked with fits of shivering nor was I paralyzed with bone chilling cold water shock, feeling strangely at peace and in tune with the water. It’s the kind of feeling I could only equate to being with a good friend who knows you with the utmost intimacy and respect meeting you in a familiar place and being completely at peace in that moment of time in this space of existence.

-It doesn’t get more real than that.

Midnight Speculations on a gloomy night

-I wrote this after the girl i call my Soul Mate sent me a picture via text message. Naturally i could not see this image because of my blasted cell phone plan, i was then left to speculate the content of this message on my balcony at around midnight under the light of a lit cigarette.

I wish i could see what you are looking at right now, the image you tried to send me. I curse my inability to view multimedia messages and long to see what you are currently looking at. But then again, my imagination is churning with activity as my subconscious draws a visualization of what lay in your sight at that particular moment in time. No doubt there is a burning campfire in the vicinity brightly pulsating a luminescent glow of orange and yellow which bathes the surroundings in a flickering undulating light that casts shifting shadows among the among the silhouettes of the forest trees. I would like to think that perhaps you have reached the "Worlds End" vantage point from which it is possible to see Southern California spread out before your eyes like a vast beach blanket of shimmering lights that wrap with the curvature of the planet sphere, although i doubt the view is that impressive because of this blasted marine layer that socks our land in a deep thick San Fransisco like gloom. I bet you can see the moon up there in the mountains. Here in the coastal foothills the clouds obscure the moon's silver incandescence, I pray that the moon is smiling with her pail white crescent back at you and bathing you in its cleansing spiritual light.

Broken Images and Flashing Colors

Why is it that most every morning i wake up unable to recount my dreams? I know I dream, no doubt i do, seldom lucidly yet always nonlinear and random to the utmost in there nature. They mainly comprise of jumbled thoughts, splintered images, and undecipherable sounds and spoken words that tend to sprawl out in front of my self conscious in the depths of REM. I remember colors that flash in my mind's eye like transparent bands of luminescent rays; metallic green, neon purple or the kind or orange red that emanates from a desolate street lamp in the middle of a pitch black expanse of road.
-On occasion i will catch a glimpse of a recognizable face or a familiar physique walking next to me or at the other end of a crowded hotel lobby, I may even exchange some form of garbled dialogue or a passing glance will lock our vision on each other for a fraction, only to see the notable figure transform to vapor. The very best of dreams, the ones worth recalling to this retched blog which no one reads (save one marvelous and understanding soul who shares in the release provided by opening up ones true thoughts on paper or via blog) are those which take place in serene landscapes or on far away secluded stretches of coast, where I lay idly watching the waves and clouds roll by like a train that never seems to reveal its last car until it rounds the final bend in the tracks.
These are the dreams that keep me socked in underneath my sheets and glues to my pillow long after the shrieks and whistles have ripped the silence of my room. They leave my mind feeling light, almost high in a sense, because I cannot recall any of my propensities for anxious thought or critical introspective reasoning which occur inside me at times for no apparent reason at all other than my preconceived notion that I am standing stagnant in a moving space that I perceive to be passing me at breakneck speed.
"Why such thoughts", i think. There is so much to be had and undertaken yet in this life. I have my family, i have my friends, i have the people i hold in high esteem and those i hold close to my heart because they share and accept the way i think and hold fast to those tried and true values of life that serve to show how kind and generous people are capable of being. I find supreme peace with realizations like these. This state of inner happiness is not in any way dissimilar to the way i feel after the best of dreams when i can wake up to the bright morning sunlight illuminating the walls of my room and think to myself that there are no conceptualized expectations for myself or for the hours of the day ahead.
-Well, nothing else to do but walk outside, enjoy the thousands of individual moments in my own time and continue to dream in broken images and flashing colors.

The Sun the Wind and the waves

Where has the fire gone? My body is lacking warmth. I am Set adrift on an oceanic conveyerbelt, set lose among the churning waves of disillusion and adversity. This is not half of what i had expected this trip to be, not even close to my first perceived notion. Now it has all culminated in The End , the road has been traverced and the ride has come to a close, i recall that connection we shared at the start with that first illusive glimps of what was to come through the shimmering reflection in your eyes. My greatest comfort and my fountain of release comes from the unequivical understanding that every day the sun will rise to heat the planets surface the heat will produce the wind and the wind will propel the waves that meander across the expansive marine landscape like trains of energy so as to focusing their power on the place where the land ends and the sea begins. I have the insight enough to come to an understanding that everything that is in being or inside of the collective consciousness of humanity at this moment in time will eventually cease to exist. All but these three; The Sun, The Wind, and The Waves.

Summer is upon us

I know the feeling all too well,

Waking up at my leisure and sending thoughts of school to hell.

Summer is upon us and it feels good to say,

that i really have nothing planed for this day

because expecting anything with clear skies overhead,

and sun shining leads to broken promises and dread.

Its really not my thing to rhyme,

but thanks to summer i will find the time

to try and give this life some meaning of impromptu reason

to go along with the activities and festivities of the season.

Less Clutter

I need to start using bigger notebooks.

Every time i sit down and collect my thoughts in my notepads and leaflet books i always run into the same pesky dilemma. My handwriting is indecipherable when crammed into such a small space. The majority of my writing is usually done while sitting on my balcony or overlooking my garden, all the time without a table or a suitable stable platform which is recommended to gain the leverage necessary to create neat writing, so often times i am literally unable to read my own writing. Im over this crap, time to bust out the real notebook, Im talking college ruled, spiral, fall asleep on when my Science teacher rants about the human skeletal structure notebook.

I was in the middle of writing a poem about Marie when I began to lose track due to my perpetually cluttered way of thinking and inability to properly rhyme words, so naturally I was bound to trip up. Then again, I do find it a challenge to recount the time spent with my darling Marie because there is quite frequently too much to convey in one scribe of text. It renders my words at a loss when i think of the way she laughs when i mention an absurd notion in my head because i can tell that she radiates the purest form of joy, the kind that draws me closer to her like a white hot lamp draws a moth to its luminescence on a moonless night as well as the upwelling in the center of my chest when i know that she will again be the brightness of my day by sharing her own thoughts with me in drawn out phone conversations that no matter the langth, i cant help but wish they could last just a bit longer. The times with Marie I find the most difficult to describe, however are those in which we discovered something inside of each other's hearts that show us that this lonely and rugged road which we travel need not be walked alone. To walk alone is a burden which is measured in false hope and disillusioned ideas, and to walk with a partner is to share an intimate bond of loving compassion and understanding that would be worth far more than every lost treasure buried in the passing sand of time. This road is not highway with pitstops and exits or speed limits or signs that tell us how much further to the next rest area, only a simple path with lots of mile markers. I am going to go ahead and mark this as another stake in the ground to represent how far away i have come since my humble road began, where the next will go and how far it will read is anyones guess, but i can only hope that the thought of it helps me to clear my mind.

To my loyal reader(s) {optimism is key when you have a limited following, or no following at all in my case} i say good night and happy trails.

Dismal Evening Weather

It is such a sad night, this evening's weather is bringing me down. Dreary clouds overhead bring to this cool June night the appearance and feel of a murky October sky. My feelings are dimmed with grim realizations and harsh realities on nights like these when the sky turns such a dingy color of darkening gray. They are not easy feelings in any sense; clouded expectations and tens notions threaten to derail my train of thought with the very foreboding blackness that now drapes the skies above. It is as if I was transported back through the passage of time to a similarly dark and bleak mid autumn twilight and I know by the sinking feeling in the pit of my chest as to why. My heart yearns for The End, but my mind is swiftly racing back to the beginning.

Canvas @ the House of Blues

My old friend Dolloras Knight is the front woman of a very hip pop indi band that preforms a variety of grooving mellodies and powerfull harmonic ballods. When i first recieved their demo CD I was less than impressed. What I heard was a mesh of generic guitar and piano tunes and unspecific harmonizing. Naturally my expectations were not all that high when i walked into the House of Blues Anaheim last Friday night to watch the band open for Berlin (think Tom Cruse and Kelly McGillis in Top Gun). Up until that point I had never actually set foot inside of the House and I was quite surprised at how compact and tight everything was. The floor and pit were jammed into an area which i perceived to be no larger that the average boxing ring, but the ceiling towered overhead and the row of seats on the second deck crowned the perimeter of the outer walls of the enclosed lower stage area. Although small, the venue did offer an unparalleled intimacy between the audience and the band. While in the pit, one had the impression that the band was playing to them directly and not just to the 300 others which crowded into the crammed pit section with drinks spilling and bodies bouncing off of each other.

I arrived well into the set and i was immediately taken aback by the realization that Canvas was not performance acoustically, but rather with heavy percussion, amplified guitar and the occasional but always welcome sporadic chimes and sounds of a synthesizer. I was unable to ascertain the names of all the songs played, but i can say that the first impression i received of the harmonization taking place bared a very similar style to that of the mid 90's Dixie Chicks, just not as country, yet very powerful. The next song was one governed by a soothing piano tune. The vocals took on a sound that to me resembled Fleetwood Mack with background sounds that characterize the best traits of Independent genre music, along with a hard drum beat. Although the vocals had moments of resemblance to a myriad of artists i could not deny the way in which the voices i heard were so unique and above all the haunting vocalizations that i could only compare with My Morning Jacket's Jim James. Then came the haunting rendition of "Crazy", written by Gnarls Barkly, but Canvas made the popular tune refreshingly incompatible trough the use of large scale harmonization and a funky guitar and synth groove that left me wondering if i was watching a first class indi-folk band or an old friend up on that stage.

Over all, the songs I heard preformed by Canvas left quite an impression on me and made me realize how important it really is to view music with nothing less than a completely open mind. Although this band is young, they have quite a bit of potential and a formidable amount of Groove to play with. You know a band put on a great performance when you can still hear the harmonies of their songs reverberating in your memory even days after leaving the auditorium, and that is exactly the impression that was left on me by Canvas.

Long time comming

Last night i ate some infected Lasogna and for the past 7 hours I have been afflicted by stomach pains and some not so nice looking stool. Any how itt has been a rather long time since my last post, and some of my more ravinous followers (you know who you are) have been asking me to make some new posts. Here goes....