I am officially stating that I will be taking part in the 2012 Scooter Cannonball Run in April of 2012.
What is it? Its a scooter race across the US. The ‘12 route will take me from Savannah, GA to San Diego, CA in 8 days. You can check out the route map and more here: http://www.scootercannonball.com/
There are so many things to plan and think about that I can barley stop thinking about it. Should be a blast!
No, I will not sell out, I will not give you the best hours of my day and let you use my blood to grease the wheels and cogs of a hundred banking machines, sorry, Jack, but I will take your time and your cigarettes and laugh a you quietly for the questions you ask and know all the time that your guts have dried up and your spine is rubber and you measure me against your contempt for the human race and find a disturbing disparity—how so, prince jellyfish? will you endorse this check for me? many thanks; now I can work against you for another week. and when the money runs out, maybe I will beg then, maybe then you can crack me and pinch my smile, but I will never get to work on time, only take your money and laugh again—and you cannot afford to laugh anymore, you will crack one day too, and that will be the end—for you cannot bounce, and I can.
-HST
I wish I could have said it better, but I cant.
“Everything you predicted came true.” I wish I could be happy about that, but sometimes being right isnt really cool. But in the spirit of my gift, nay my curse, of understanding people and predicting their behavior I will give you a new phrases that you can use instead of, I told you so.
“Pay me now, or pay me later.”
A big thanks to my buddy Jim, for bestowing that gloriousness on me as well.
My most recent tattoo is of the Fool from the Tarot. I am not really into the Tarot, but as i was researching the Fool for the band I became infatuated with its meaning and how I felt it described me and my approach to life.
Here is a brief section from Wikipedia that explains it best.
The Fool is the spirit in search of experience. He represents the mystical cleverness bereft of reason within us, the childlike ability to tune into the inner workings of the world. The sun shining behind him represents the divine nature of the Fool’s wisdom and exuberance, holy madness or ‘crazy wisdom’. On his back are all the possessions he might need. In his hand there is a flower, showing his appreciation of beauty. He is frequently accompanied by a dog, sometimes seen as his animal desires, sometimes as the call of the “real world”, nipping at his heels and distracting him. He is seemingly unconcerned that he is standing on a precipice, apparently about to step off. The Fool is both the beginning and the end, neither and otherwise, betwixt and between, liminal.
The number 0 is a perfect significator for the Fool, as it can become anything when he reaches his destination.
Another interpretation is that of taking action where the circumstances are unknown, confronting one’s fears, taking risks, and so on. The Fool is often shown walking off a cliff. This raises the question, is the fool making a mistake or is he taking a leap of faith?
Photo to follow soon.
I say what I do and do what I mean.
When the day comes, I always believe that everyone I call a friend will do the same. When that doesnt happen, it can be quite shocking. But it makes for a clean break. Its like ripping the band-aid off.
Friends are hard to come by, so losing one is always complicated but from time to time it has to happen. People change and not always for the better.
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I’m lost. The comfort I usually find in your words is gone. I hope you find me while there is still something left.
I will do it all one day. Yes, I am the king of someday.
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
-Marge Piercy
The Case for Working with Your Hands - NYT. -
I found this article on a buddies Facebook page and thought it was great so I am sharing it out to my friends too.
shoesonwrong: I'm a sucker for his charm. Trouble is a friend of mine. -
I really love this description/analysis of ones relationship with booze. Visit the link to read more of this persons stuff.
I am not an alcoholic. I come from a line of them so long that my DNA is heavily pickled, but I am not an alcoholic. I periodically abuse alcohol, but am capable of drinking it normally without fear of going on a bender. I can go for months or years without it. But booze is my Siren. It calls to me when I am at my weakest and most vulnerable, singing a song that I can’t resist.
I don’t crave it when I’m sad or happy or depressed. All those things feel like enough all by themselves. I drink when I am hypomanic. Alcohol slows down my thoughts, calms my racing pulse, and quells my ever-present sense that something isn’t right.
Falling into a glass feels like baptism — I come up from a Long Island iced tea and am born anew. All the scurrying thoughts in my head are slowed by the sticky sweet concoction and there is, finally, some blessed silence. It is only then that I can fully focus on what is directly in front of me without analyzing it, second guessing it.
I rarely do things I regret while I am drunk. I believe the drink takes whatever is already in you and amplifies it. I’m okay with who I am. I like who I am. Sure, sometimes I say something stupid, but I am not malicious or unkind. I don’t get into drunken brawls or (usually) sob endlessly. Me being drunk is remarkably like me being sober, only more intense: I talk a lot, gesticulate wildly, come up with some harebrained scheme, then decide I’m tired and don’t want to talk to people anymore.
The problem with alcohol is that when I want it the most is when I should have it the least. Alcohol and I are friends with benefits — showing up at it’s doorstep occasionally with the intention of having a good time is okay. Wanting more from it, asking it to stay in with me on a Friday night, or trying to make long term plans with it is a really crappy idea.
When I said I would change your life, I made no promises for the better.
Fortunately or unfortunately depending on the side of the fence you want to claim, it wasnt at all torrid. We were just close friends. We hung out, did close friends things we had a blast. Actually, we did stuff I imagine you doing. I was kind of out of place in my own dream.
The weird part is that we have never been close friends. I guess technically you are an acquaintance. But the thing is, I cant shake the feeling that I miss you. Like we were actually just hanging out and having a great time.
I guess its better then being on the other side of it, where I wake up mad at you.
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