matt of the land

i have these pink spots of the skin on my feet. they will probably become scars, slightly off color from the rest of the appendage.  but their story is not one of adventure, not of childhood mischief.  they are from poorly fitting sandals, walking, rubbing until the skin is gone. then sand, movement, friction preventing any scabs from forming. walking, that is my story.  i have scars on my knees from poor form inside a tube pulled by a motorboat.  i have a scar on my upper lip from being kicked by a dog watching space jam, scars on the bridge of my nose and under my right eye from falling on my face, drunk, stoned, alone in a dorm room in amsterdam. i have no marks from surgery, no stories of casts or slings, no broken arms from falling out of trees, hitting a rock on the pavement with my skateboard flying full speed. my fingers are not disfigured from that bar fight defending anothers honor or whatever. there are no sports stories, jammed thumbs or sprained ankles from the state championship game. my arms are not strong from rock climbing or weight lifting or construction jobs taken in desperation. instead they feel sore after grocery shopping, or carrying boxes, or bowling. my life is one of avoiding risks, of taking the easy path, the one with signs and cleared rocks and safety.  too scared to take chances, excusing missed opportunities, rationalizing inaction.  loves stay hidden, the only kisses i go for are the ones i know will be reciprocated, or that dont matter, and who cares if they fail. i quit my job only with a soft cushion of cash ready, my travels are to safe places, my stays are with english speakers. i eat in familiar restaurants, drink for the comfort of a familiar state of being. i hide in my own life.

this is who i am, and this is who i will be. we decide, subconsciously, who we are early in life, what we do, how we play, who our friends are.  whether we come home before our curfew or after. whether we sneak out windows or ask permission. whether we use imagination to build forts or treehouses or invent war games. whether we walk up and talk to that girl, or just talk to our friends about it, joke about her looks or her mom or how good she looks in that tight shirt. this happens early, in grade school, in boy scouts, in college parties. this doesnt happen after twenty-six years. this doesnt change now. no matter what movies you see, what quirky girl the hero finds in a coffee shop who helps him break out of his shell. the shell exists, suffocates if you let it, strengthens when you pretend you can break it. noone elses personality, mindset, lifestyle will ever exist inside your own. its just the way it is.  whether you grow up or not is mostly a function of accepting what you already are, adapting it to discover and achieve those things you want. the fight will just leave you tired and unfulfilled. and by you i mean me. im slowly accepting the truth, that my scars will only ever demonstrate bad footwear choices. maybe thats giving up. but maybe not.

but the good news is, i can go to www.textsfromlastnight.com (NSFW, NSFMOD*, NSFC**) and pretend. or feel relieved i am this way. or just laugh. god thats a funny site.

* Not Safe For Moms Or Dads
** Not Safe For Children

when you sit, outside, wherever, and think about all the thing youve let pass you by, the people, the loves, the possibilities, it leads one to wonder. just who is that one, waiting by the fire, out there in the future? past all present tense. and then, maybe, its not just your eyes watering when you yawn. maybe its something else. you know?

when you yawn, it means youre tired, right?  like, big yawn, watery eyes, all that, should indicate a desire to sleep.  especially when ones been off all day, hungover for no good reason, effects of drinks seemingly never drank. drunk. whatever. i didnt drink alot and i felt like crap all day. thats the point. headache, sleepy, lazy, irritable. couldnt stand the crowds at folklife festival, had to bail. couldnt lay in the sun, made my head spin. ate some, stomach hurt. drank coffee, bile wanted to push up the throat. why?  doesnt make sense. napped for like ten minutes, but that cant be the story.  my eyes were closing while starting a trek across town to go out, but even after bailing on that, watching four hours of old lost episodes, it seems i should be able to crash. all the signs are there. just not happening.

i found a pretty good looking volunteer opportunity in central america. waiting for a call, for more info, but its quite promising. couple months building things, helping in an orphanage, things like that. guatemala or costa rica. wanna come?  well, dont answer that till im sure. cause i may change my mind tomorrow. i keep going back and forth as to a future.  i thought i had an idea, once, sitting on the roof deck, enjoying a cigarette at some ungodly hour of another restless evening, wondering if i was going to be up to see the sunrise. there was an epiphany, or not an epiphany but a moment of clarity. but, well, as these things tend to go for me, whether by fate or inaction, that path seems to have closed up.  its ok, really.  silly dream anyway.

silly or not, i could sure go for a dream right now.

if theres a lesson in life, perhaps, its just to stop looking for lessons. i mean, no matter what one thinks about anything, the impressions, conclusions, process, its inevitably wrong, right?  im not talking science here, im talking real life. day to day things, the reality of the moment. its not something you can put to hypothesis, method, results and conclusion.  its just whats in the gut, or the heart, or the back/bottom of the mind. surrounded in dopamine or some shit. i dont know where these things come from, but its a flawed birth, messy and unpoetic. so really, one is probably better served to act on instinct, on nothing, just do and see what happens. probably. to the thinker, though, this is surrender. unfathomable. like jumping off a cliff with the fog too thick to see how deep the water is beneath.

can you imagine it?  being lebron james, fighting, shooting, raging through a game like that and seeing your team lose it for you?  sure its got nothing to do with anything, but if thats your life, and lets face it, its pretty much all lebron can ever feel good about, after the money and the women and the illegitimate kids and the fame and the money have already shown up, theres just the winning. the legacy. the fight for history, and if he gives 49/6/8 or whatever he ended up with, and the rest of his team can barely even double that, cant stop the magic from dunking and driving and open shooting, jesus christ, how does he even sleep in that absurd mansion with twenty eight bedrooms and six pools and naked women in the pantry?  i mean, you let them come in to your house, game one, break your shot clock AND beat you?  ouch man, ouch.

i was riding shotgun in megans car today, after helping her move out and on the way to return some cable equipment, when, while stopped at a red light, a van pulls up, slows down just enough for the asian man to open his window, lean out, and sneeze directly at my face. i mean, come on. i dont know how to say swine flu in chinese, but i do know how to yell asshole out a car window. and i did. not cool man, not cool. its like if im walking down the road, and need to fart, but instead of just playing it off and hiding the impact in the motors and exhaust all around i stop, pull my pants down, and flatulate inside your cup of coffee.  see, you wouldnt like it, would you?  but now youll say hey man, i dont drink coffee, and when i walk down the street i wear one of those cool blue medical masks, so what are you going to do to me now?   and i have no answer. except this brick. and we see how it looks halfway buried in your skull. got it?  dont sneeze on me. jerk.

the quote in the title is written by william gass in a story entitled “in the heart of the heart of the country.” incredible piece of writing, if story may be a bit generous a label given theres really no plot, action, or movement, just description, feeling, and place. ive been reading this collection of american short stories from the last half of the twentieth century.  somehow, i never realized the perfection of the short story as a written form.  to be able to say something, provoke feeling and thought and wonder in the confines of a few pages, with incredible imagery, simple but fascinating characters, whether plot or resolution really exists, to imply instead of expound, it really is a beautiful thing. every one different, some better than others, but all with merit. not to mention if one isnt your thing, if it does nothing for the imagination, in a few pages there will be a new one.  i want to pursue this, just as an exercise in humanity, not as an attempt to enter their world, which has barriers of vocabulary and talent i could only dream to climb. i want to study them, dissect them, get in the mind of the author, the spirit of the settings and the actions. and yet, my attention span falters, the new laptop glows a small green light to steal my eye, the fight in the street and the sirens that follow pull me from the pages.  lids fall in daydreams and insipid personal fantasies. is this a product of the technology ive clung to for most my life, stimuli that no longer stimulate?  or is something deeper?  can i train myself to be better, to focus, to follow through, to improve myself, my mind, my ability to process, remember the details, focus on each and every word instead of skimming through sentences like so many stones across the watery surface?  is this entire paragraph bullshit, mildly inspired by actual writers, form over meaning?  answers, there are no answers.  only hours in the day, only deficient attempts at locating a future.

while i was travelling, at least at the beginning, i was attempting to keep a diary.  you know, to record the more personal feelings, activities, private things that maybe the trip would bring out, but didnt need to be public information.  it lasted about ten entries, terrible handwriting (seriously, these computers are killing penmanship), random longings, plans, people who caught more than a passing fancy. i dont know why i stopped really, but perhaps it was just that i was falling into a routine. its sort of funny, even in an adventure like that, an amazing time, experience, at times it seemed i was merely moving from place to place, enjoying it all but no longer seeking, thinking, internalizing.  what does it say about me that i cant just immerse myself in anything, ever, that theres no drive for more.  i thought this would provide it, a bit of a kick start, a break to rearrange my thoughts and personalty, to begin fresh with a better outlook and a sense of purpose. but really, it didnt.  it was just a fantastic, beautiful, extended vacation, where theres no reality to go back to. now im here, in seattle, spending hours in a home thats not mine, nights on an appreciated couch, wondering what to do next.  travel more, but can i really appreciate it right now?  volunteer, but does anything inspire me?  work, but can i even remember what responsibility is?  branch out, but in what direction?  im living in a void, enjoying time with the few (awesome) friends i have, but outside of their existence really, as those around me grow up and fall in love and get engaged and buy houses and get pregnant and receive promotions.  its all very great, having freedom, possibilities, resources.  but what is it all worth without an inspiration? 

ill get some closure on the trip in a near future post, some thoughts on the differences and similarities of cities, lives, opinions and goals. and some photos, at least the ones in my cameras possession.  i was waiting for this new toy to get to writing, and its been here, and with time comes words, so there you go. plus, i want to brag.  i was in greece, for gods sakes. if there is a god, i cant imagine why he would reside anywhere else. someone actually made that observation actually, a friends i met on a long overnight shuttle ride, on the occasion of us laying on rocks on a tiny island off the coast of corfu.  a small white church stood behind us, and as we surveyed the clearness of the water, the rolling landscape of peaks, monasteries, houses, roads and beaches, she said “you know, i think i see why the greeks were so completely obsessed by gods and religion.  i mean, if you lived here every day, especially in those days before technology and cars and noise, just moving though life in the peace and tranquility and beauty all around you, how you could help but believe it was all created by a divine?  these things dont happen by chance.”  (i may have embellished that quote a bit, but you get the idea)  and of course i agreed.  religion or not, some things are so breathtaking that they also defy explanation, science, rational thought. not in the absolute sense, of course, because we have perfectly good methods for explaining why these places and things exist.  but in the moment, as you see these things, all that disappears.  the nature, the history.  for a few seconds, its just pure beauty.  sight, sound, smell.  and you dont want to blink, because once you do, who knows if the moment will pass?  so you stare, then hold your eyes to sun, and thank the gods.

im not a talented enough photographer to capture any of that feeling.  and its not just nature, a similar thought process goes through your head when youre climbing the steps of the duomo, or walking up the street towards the colisseum, or laying in a park by the flowers of the queens garden in london, or seeing a show in manchester, entering a five-story dance club in barcelona, wandering through orange trees in sevilla, drinking your first liter of ten percent beer in munich.  hiking in the alps, wandering the classic streets in bruges, seeing the gross fat girl under the red lights in amsterdam, walking the canals in venice on the way home after carnaval.  all these moments, places, sights, experiences, the wonder does not cease, because its something youve read about, seen on tv, heard stories, but then, when its reality, its all you can do to stay on your feet, not just sit down in the middle of the street and realize no matter how lost, aimless, alone, childish or uninspired you sometimes feel, youre still one goddamn lucky guy.