the recluse

A man is raisede up from the earth by two wings-simplicity and purity. There must be simplicity in his intention and purity in his desires.
If your heart be free from ill-ordered affection, no good deed will be difficult for you. If you aim at and seek after nothing but the pleasure of God and the welfare of your neighbor, you will enjoy freedom within.
If your heart were right, then every created thing would be a mirror of life for you and a book of holy teaching, for there is no creature so small and worthless that it does not show forth the goodness of God. If inwardly you were good and pure, you would see all things clearly and understand them rightly, for a pure heart penetrates to heaven and hell and as a man is within, so he judges what is without. If there be joy in the world, the pure of heart certainly possess it; and if there be anguish and affliction anywhere, an evil conscience knows it too well.
-imitation of christ, thomas a kempis

hams and delusions are esteemed for soundest truths, while reality is fabulous. If men would steadily observe realities only, and not allow themselves to be deluded, life, to compare it with such things as we know, would be like a fairy tale and the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. If we respected only what is inevitable and has a right to be, music and poetrywould resound along the streets. When we are unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence-that petty fears and petty pleasures are butthe shadow ofthe reality. This is always exhilarating and sublime
-thoreau

life and fate

the ten thousand maniacs play on the speakers, and have kind of a distinctive vocal style. It has been raining every day now for the past few days but I managed to get the lawn mowed, which really needed to be done. There is always the weather, seeing the weather and wondering how things will go, and not knowing, and worrying, and experiencing this and that, and the real pain in this world, not able to separate out, or to get into any more detail that I have gone into already.
There are those who take chances, or maybe they just do what seemed right at a certain time, and perhaps it was the right decision, but at certain times, there can be the distinct feeling that something has gone very wrong.
I guess it could be worse. I could be like Keats and have died eleven years ago. On the other hand...

I heard to old, old men say,
'Everthing alters,
And one by one we drop away.'
They had hands like claws, and their knees
Were twisted like the old thorn-trees
By the waters.
I heard the old, old men say,
'All that's beautiful drifts away
Like the waters.'
-yeats

somehow that poem makes me feel better. There is beauty out there apart from any particular thing.

Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, main,
And brood on hopes and fear no more.

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breat of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.
-yeats

No, my life is not this precipitous hour
through which you see me passing at a run.
I stand before my background like a tree.
Of all my many mouths I am but one,
and that which soonest chooses to be dumb.

I am the rest between two nots
which, struck together, sound discordantly,
because death's note would claim a higher key.

But in the dark pause, trembling, the notes meet,
harmonious.
And the song continues sweet.
-rilke

I read it in your word, and learn it from
the history of the gestures of your warm
wise hands, rounding themselves to form
and circumscribe the shapes that are to come
Aloud you said: to live, and low: to die,
and you repeated, tirelessly: to be.
And yet there was no death till murder came.
Then through your perfect circles ran a rent
and a cry tore,
scattering the voices that not long before
had gently blent
to utter you,
to carry you,
bridge across the abyss--

And what they since have stammered
are the fragments only
of your old name.
-rilke

The hour is striking so close above me,
so clear and sharp,
that all my senses ring with it.
I feel it now: there's a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.
My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.


2.
I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?



3.
I have many brothers in the South
who move, handsome in their vestments,
through cloister gardens.
The Madonnas they make are so human,
and I dream often of their Titians,
where God becomes an ardent flame

But when I lean over the chasm of myself-
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.

This is the ferment I grow out of.

More I don't know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.




4.
We must not portray you in king's robes,
you drifting mist that brought forth the morning.

Once again from the old paintboxes
we take the same gold for scepter and crown
that has disguised you through the ages.

Piously we produce our images of you
till they stand around you like a thousand walls.
And when our hearts would simply open,
our fervent hands hide you.



5.
I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.

Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that's wide and timeless.

So I sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:

a dream once lost
among sorrows and songs.

Life sometimes gets to a place where there is a lot of nervousness and uncertainty, and then all one can do is listen to Jerry and relax, and know that everything is okay:
Candyman:
come on you pretty women
with your hair a hangin down
open up your windows
cause the candyman's in town
come on boys and gals
roll those laughing bones
seven come eleven
boys, I'll take your money home
look out look out the candyman
here he come and he's gone again
pretty lady ain't got no friend
till the candyman comes around again

I come in from memphis
where I learned to talk the jive
when I get back to memphis
be one less man alive
good morning mr. Benson
I see you're doing well
If I have me a shotgun
I'll blow you straight to hell
look out look out the candyman
here he comes and he's gone again
pretty lady ain't got no friend
till the candyman comes around again.
-and incredibly beautiful song by the Grateful Dead, American Beauty '72.



The lord owns the earth and all it contains,
the world and all who live in it.
For he set foundation upon the seas,
and established it upon the ocean currents.
Who is allowed to ascent the mountain of the Lord?
Who may go up to his holy dwelling place?
The one whose deeds are blameless and whose motives are pure,
who does not lie,
or make promises with no intention of keeping them.
Such godly people are rewarded by the Lord,
and vindicated by the God who delivers them.
Such purity characterizes people who seek his favor,
Jacob's descendants, who pray to him.


Is this too religious for you? Too bad. It's my blog. Sometimes life is confusing and you just need to go back to a text, or at least that his been my habit in the few days of my vain life.

It's nice to get some comments on my blog.

I checked out a copy of "The Journal of Henry D. Thoreau", edited by Bradford Torrey, from the osu library again. It must be out of print, because I've only seen it in the library. Something about it is quite remarkable, and I'll share with you, my readers, some of the better quotes. Thoreau, although he got cynical as he got old, was quite a thinker on the beauty of nature. He was also very solitary, which is a trait in common with me.

If there is nothing new on earth, still there is something new in the heavens. We have always a resource in the skies. They are constantly turning a new page to view. The wind sets the types in this blue ground, and the inquiring may always read a new truth.

What a hero one can be without moving a finger! The world is not a field worthy of us, not can we be satisfied with the plains of Troy. A glorious strife seems waging within us, yet so noiselessly that we but just catch athe sound of the location ringing of victory, borne to us on the breeze. There are in each the seeds of a heroic ardor, which need only to be stirred in with the solid where they lie, by an inspired voice or pen, to bear fruit of a divine flavor.

Whatever past or present wisdom has published itself to the world, is palpable falsehood till it come and utter itself by my side.

So that's it on Thoreau for now.

name-calling

People who write blogs should realize that it never makes them look good to call other people bad names. There is a lot of conflict in the world, and to avoid destructiveness and conflict, you have to avoid negativity in your own consciousness and emotions. If there is a disagreement, or others are doing things that you don't agree with, it really never helps to refer to them in degrading and nasty terms, and it ends up dragging you down in the mud too. My theory is that one should express his opinion calmly, and not get sucked into angry and emotional debates. If you are advocating peace, or the end to the war, you should be sure that there isn't anger and conflict within yourself.
On a related subject, Critical Mass bike ride really seems to me to be trivial at times. If you go out there and ride around and make a statement, fine, but if you go out there looking to get into a conflict with the police, and then that happens, you have noone to blame but yourself. If you really want to advocate bicycling, then bicycle every day, and that is the best way to promote bicycling. It seems to me that a lot of young people that are advocating causes like, for example, preserving the old growth, or riding bicycles, are basically going out there to look for a fight, so that makes them basically as morally compromised as anyone else. If you are going to complain about something other people are doing, make sure that you yourself are doing the right thing or you are just creating more problems.

On the other hand, people need to get out and protest unnecessary wars, unnecessary logging of old growth, and promote the use of bicycles. Critical Mass really just seems like an unnecessary stunt to me, though. Get out and ride the bike every day. Then every day there will be so many bikes on the road that people will have to start noticing them. Having a big herd of them out on only one day is just an annoyance, and pointless as well, because how many of those critical mass types really bicycle every day? On the other hand, maybe I'm being overly negative.

I guess I'm really the type of person that would rather look inward, or at least try to look inward and find peace, than to go out and try to effect change in the world. It's not that I am satisfied with how this country is being run, but I have always in the back of my mind living a life in connection with nature, separate from society.

I will arise and go now, and go to innisfree
and a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
and live alone in a bee-loud glade.

and I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
there midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
and evening full of linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I head the water lapping with low sound by the shore;
while I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.






Unrelated quote:

Job 35
Then Elihu said:
"Do you think this is just?
You say, 'I will be cleared by God.'
Yet you ask him, 'What profit is it to me,
and what do I gain by not sinning?'
"I would like to reply to you and to your friends with you.
Look up at the heavens and see;
gaze at the clouds so high above you.
If you sin, how does that affect him?
If your sinsa re many, what does that do to him?
If you are righteous, what do you give to him,
or what does he receive from your hand?
Your wickedness affects only a man like yourself,
and your righteousness only the sons of men.

Men cry out under a load of oppression;
they plead for relief from the arm of the powerful.
But no one says, 'Where is God my Maker,
who give songs in the night,
who teaches more to us than to the beasts of the earth
and makes us wiser than the birds of the air?'
He does not answer when men cry out
because of the arrogance of the wicked.
Indeed, etc.

This kind of relates to my own belief that you can do anything you want, but you may as well do the right thing.

angst

I feel a vague sense of angst, as if things are not going well. Sure, it is sunny; sure, the little kitten is happy playing with various cords and moving objects, but there is a vague sense of angst, as if the world was slightly out of tune.

"I met Brother Lawrence for the first time today. He told me that God had been especially good to him in his conversion. He was eighteen at the time, and still in the world. He told me that it had all happened one winter day, as he was looking at a barren tree. Although the tree's leaves were indeed gone, he knew that they would soon reappear, followed by blossoms and then fruit. This gave him a profound impression of God's providence and power which never left him. Borther Lawrence still maintains that this impression detached him entirely from the world and gave him such a great love for God that it hasn't changed in all of the forty years he has been walking with Him."
-from the Practice of the Prescence of God by Brother Lawrence.

An artist-by Robinson Jeffers

The sculptor we knew, the passionate-eyed son of a quarryman,
Who astonished Rome and Paris in his meteor youth,
and then was gone, at his high tide of triumphs,
Without reason or goodbye; I have seen him again
lately, after twenty years, but not in Europe.

In desert hills I rode a horse slack-kneed with thirst.
Down a steep slope a dancing swarm
Of yellow butterflies over a shining rock made me hope
water. We slid down to the place,
The spring was bitter but the horse drank. I magined
wearings of an old path from that wet rock..
More than the spalls you saw by accident.
(the sculptor)
What I see is
the enormous beauty of things, but what I attempt
Is nothing to that. I am helpless toward that.
It is only to form in stone the mould of some ideal
humanity that might be worthy to be
Under that lightning. Animalcules that God (if he were
given to laughter) might omit to laugh at.

Those children of my hands are tortured, because they
feel, he said, "the storm of the outer magnificence.
They are giants in agony.
But in their eyes they have peace. I have lived a little and
I think
Peace marrying pain alone can breed that excellence in
the luckless race, might make it decent
To exist at all on the star-lit stone breast.

I hope," he
said, "that when I grow old and the chisel drops,
I may crawl out on a ledge of the rock and die lika a
wolf."

These fragments are all I can remember,
These in the flare of the desert envening. Having been
driven so brutally forth I never returned;
Yet I respect him enought ot keep his name and the place
secret. I hope that some other traveller
May stumble on that ravine of Titans after their maker
has died. While he lives, let him alone
-robinson jeffers


This poem is basically about how there is beauty out there, beyond anything we can passably see with our eyes or know in any empirical sense.

the weather is hot and there are plants out there that need water.

little kitty and big kitty 

q234

The ways of the world are cloudy to me, and I don't understand much about anything, it seems, as the weather grows alternately hot and cold and the flowers continue to do what they do, and the books stay on the shelves, and the cats stroll around and play with bits of paper and string., and the stapler just sits there like it has some function, and the people of the world go about their business, and do what they usually do, and

walk across town

i went for a walk around town, starting near fred meyer, then over past the high school, down past that little one-block park that is always filled with high school kids smoking cigarettes and then downhill to ninth street, where I usually cross over, but this time I went down ninth, which turns into a quiet street by the time you pass harrison, and is fairly nice especially this time of year, then I continued on past Monroe, and then a couple more block past the house where I used to live back ten years ago, a little old house kind of in the shadow of a really lousy apartment building, but it was nice to live there because it was about five blocks from the beanery in a really mellow part of town, that has some very nice houses. Then I continued down to the beanery, past the photo shop, and past safeway and the coffee roasting place, stopped in for a water at the bean, where the usual crowd was having a nice time sitting outside, and then walked past the skate park and over the bridge, turning at the first left, crystal lake drive, then down past Evanite and down to the boat landing. One option is to take the more open route through all the soccer fields, which I opted to do because it wasn't all that hot. Nobody was around. I came to Willamette part, and started walking along the river, and stopped for a drink from the fountain near all the barbeque equipment, and then up the trail through all the blackberry bushes, and then continuing along the river for a little ways. You can see the new developement of "legend" homes, that all look like cookie cutter houses. On the left you can see the river splitting up into two branches, which I think is "Kiger Island" although i could be wrong. The trail doesn't continue for long, but it is nice. It took me 1.5 hours one-way, and so i walked for 2.5 hours total today, because I took the bus back from downtown to give my feet a rest. Then I mowed the lawn.

poem and some annoyances

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store
Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea,
How are they blotted from the things that be!
How few, all weak and withered of their force,
Wait on the verge of dark eternity,
Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse,
To sweep them from our sight. time rolls his ceaseless course.
-sir walter scott


I've been appalled by the buffoons we have running this
country. What happened to the idea that this country meant something,
and the the people governing this country should govern rather than
spend all their time on demogoguery and partisanship and bloviation?
What happened to getting stuff done?

drawing of person 

I dwell in possibility

I dwell in possibility-
A fairer House than Prose-
More numerous of Windows-
Superior-for Doors-

Of Chambers as the Cedars-
Impregnable of Eye-
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky-

Of Visitors-the fairest-
For Occupation-This-
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To Gather Paradise-

-Emily Dickinson

It's kind of a nice day out, all the dandelions out looking up at the sky, and the interzone was crowded, so i came back home to play a little music on the guitar, and here I am, typing away on the blog, not really having much to say. but in general, feel that this is the nicest time of year, with the winds going through the trees and the world being pretty quiet and all of that, and yet, it is always difficult to keep on track and do the things that need to be done. Still, there are the things that need to be done, and the things that need to make sense although maybe they don't and the things that involve toast and the buttering of toast, and then there's biscuits and gravy and other things like that.

Zarathustra 4

Zarathustra, however, beheld the people andwas amazed. then he spoke thus:
"Man is a rope, tied beweeen beast and overman-a rope over an abyss. A dangerous across, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous shuddering and stopping.
"What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under.
"I lover those who do not know how to live, except by going under, for they are those who cross over.
"I love those who do not first seek behind the stars for a reason to go under and be a sacrifice, but who sacrifice themselves for the earth, that the earth may some day become the overman's.
"I love him who works and invents to build a house for the overman and to prepare earth, animal, and plant for him: for thus he wants to go under.
"I love him who loves his virtue, for virtue is the will to go under and an arrow of longing.
"I love him who does not hold back one drop of spirit for himself, but wants to be entirely the spirit of his virtue: thus he strides over the bridge as spirit.
"I love him who does not hold back one drop of spirit for himself, but wants to be entirely the spirit of his virtue: thus he strides over the bridge as spirit.
"I love him who makes his virtue his addiction and his catastrophe: for his virtue's sake he wants to live on and to live no longer.
"I love him who does not want to have too many virtues. One virtue is more virtue than two, because it is more of a noose on which his catastrophe may hang.
-from Thus Spake Zarathustra

this book is full of powerful imagery, but even I admit that it doesn't make much sense, but still, it says many things.


Five years have past; five summers; with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.-Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone
-wordsworth "lines composed above tintern abbey"

typing

one often wonders, as he is typing along, if he is writing anything useful. Well, I spent a lot of 1995 writing all the tiniest details of my quite boring life down,and when i reread them I do get an impression that there was something there, and despite the fact that my life was spent drawing pictures of coffee cups and feeling morose that girls wouldn't go out with me and just kind of sitting and contemplating my own thought processes, still there is something there, and something in just the fabric of reality as I saw it that did have some meaning and some tangible value, but according to what scale? you might ask, but anyway, that's all a matter of speculation. I am reminded of that poem by wordsworth: "dear william, why do you sit on that stone all day? Well, (he answers) must we be always seeking, or does nothing come of itself?" In other words, maybe if I just sit here and contemplate the grass and the poke-weed, and the quahaug in its shell, something might come to mind, or the mica on the side of the rock, or any of that stuff. Like just today I took a nice leisurely walk from near Buchanan over to the campus area, and the dandelions and the grass and the other plants were all growing away, the air was nice and calm, and there was a sense of peace, that the hurry of life is really not a necessary condition, and so i walked down the hill and back up again to the library, and saw a flock of geese up in the sky, forming a "v' shape, and students milling around and doing whatever it is that students usually do.
What's the deal with D.H. Lawrence? Why did Merton rail against him so much in his autobiography? Lawrence has written some great poems. Maybe he was too much of a "sensualist" or something.
I'm going to post some of my off-the-wall guitar playing soon, so stay tuned. The stuff I have on the web now is just me playing covers, which I also think are good, but I did develop a number of original sounds and techniques early in my guitar career, and I'd like to have a few examples of these recorded. When I first started playing guitar, I seldom did songs, but just messed with stuff: first of all strumming patterns combined with muting of bar chords, and then other single-string playing methods which are kind of hard to describe.

159

They dropped like Flakes-
They dropped like Stars-
Like Petals from a Rose-
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers-goes-

They perished in the Seamless Grass-
No eye could find the place-
But God can summon every face
On his Repealless-List.
-dickinson

the fact of the matter is that i haven't been feeling all that creative, although it seems there might be something out there worth writing about. it would be good to be more drawn to sitting down and scribbling in the commercial way that bukowski ended up being, but that's not what it's about, it is more about doing the sort of work that really has meaning, wandering to and fro and writing long letters to old friends on the computer. I've been reading "some prefer nettles" in Japanese, and don't understand quite a bit of it, but do understand enough of it to keep going, I guess. i may not precisely know what a word means, but i can often guess and be right based on the context or maybe something about the character.
The cherry blossoms are in bloom in Japan, which is a major big deal. their big thing is to go out and get very drunk sitting under the sakura and all of that, and the whole blooming and then fading away thing is a big part of the japanese aesthetic and buddhist ideas of transience which are such a big deal in the poetry and consciousness of that particular scenario. That reminds me of brother lawrence, who when viewing the branches of a tree was struck by the fact that it would bloom again the next year, and in that moment was gripped by an earthshaking awareness of the power of the world which never left him, although that has not much to do with sakura, although they are both involving trees that bloom, which I guess would be the connection.
I've been thinking of getting back to pine, my old email program from the old days. apparently it is still being developed, and I liked something about its simplicity. Then again, do I really want to mess with the world in a way that will just frustrate me and make me want to be irritated and demoralized? Absolutely not.

I was in a room on the second floor across from a bar. The bar was called the Gangplank Cafe. From my room I could see through the open bar doors and into the bar. There were some rough faces in that bar, some interesting faces. I stayed in my room at night and drank wine and looked at the faces in the bar while my money ran out. In the daytime I took long slow walks. I sat for hours taring at pigeons. I only ate one meal a day so my money would last longer. I found a dirty cafe with a dirty propietor, but you got a big breakfact, hotcakes, grits, sausage, for very little.

-from Factotum, by Charles Bukowski


I'm glad I've gives up drinking, but there are a lot of interesting faces around, not only in bars.

bukowski

bukowski was the real deal, kind of doing a lot of drinking and womanizing, but you get the feeling that he wasn't faking anything, and that he really was who he was, and his poems and even his speech have an originality and a kind of truth to them, so I would recommend his new documentary to all you poetry fans out there.
I've been having a problem with youtube, in that my videos upload okay, but the audio is out of synch, but other than that, the sun rose today, it is a bit cloudy but it is not raining, and one can think that on every particular day it is possible to begin again, to drop all of the little things that might have been holding you back, and to just change the mind and delve deeply into the high thoughts and impressions of this day, but also of the high thoughts and impressions, and the intense and perhaps unusual thoughts of all the thinkers that came before you.
So I'll probably put on my shoes and wander over to the osu library, see what they have in the poetry section, and then have the privelege to take more time out, to just sit in the coffee shop and contemplate the lines of writing, the letters on the page, and maybe transform that into something lasting of my own.
Bukowski and Whitman were womanizers. I prefer to think of myself as a Rilke, a guy truely possessed of a talented edge, and yet not greatly involved in the day to day life of drama and whatnot, but a producer of something lasting and then again, who am I to think such a thing? I write what I write, it may or may not be good, but what the heck. Like B said, he sat down with a pencil and paper and started writing and he realized he liked it, and that was about all there was to it. That's about all there is to it for me too. There is a world out there, full of impressions and transformation, and yet the same in many ways from day to day, ...


beginning my studies, the first impressions pleas'd me so much
the mere fact consciousness, forms, the power of love....

so i sit and think and ponder, having the gall to think that things will come without making a special effort to find them.

Then again, I might go for a little bike ride, which would also be a lot of fun. I generally go out decker road and out around philomath, but what the heck: maybe I'll do that.

A guy in town told me this story: I made a poem out of it

A guy in town told me this story: I made a poem out of it

some bearded guy, feeling suicidal
went down to the library fountain
the water was making concentric circles
like the circles of the pythagorean music theory
a ladybug was sitting on a leaf
he picked the leaf up
the ladybug flew off
and a voice said to him
"you are well loved"

me playing jackaroe

me playing stella blue on guitar

By the way, I haven't posted in a while, and it's because there's nothing to say that I can think of, just reading the news, eating a lot of chocolate, doing a few drawings, washing dishes, and the usual stuff. I should do more, I know, and putting a few videos on the web of me playing guitar has me thinking I might want to do more of that, because it is always fun. I had the idea of writing a novel, because that seemed as though there are a lot of cool and interesting things going on out there, but who's to say? I tend to have a real tendency to hide myself away from the world, but there is a lot going on out there, more than I usually really want to deal with, which is part of the problem.

I've played guitar for many years, and it is a real joy. This was recorded on a digital camera, so the sound could use improvement, as you might imagine. If you can't hear it too well, that's why.

my beautiful wife, Kelly

guitar and chair drawing with color 

this n that

i have a cold which is driving me up the wall because I was supposed to be doing a lot of stuff. I was planning on driving down to eugene, but going to have to skip that. I usually go for long walks when I'm bored, but that's obviously not going to work either.
Luckily I have my beautiful wife that I am madly in love with to take care of me. Without her, I'd just be a little oil spot on the garage floor. No, actually, I'd be like only less than half of a little oil spot on the garage floor, if even that. No, .....but anyway, Kelly is beautiful and lovely and charming and basically the greatest thing that ever happened to me.
Now if only I could get over this cold, everything could be going back to normal. There's a karate tournament coming up next month and I am in terrible shape, so i'll not probably be doing that well.
I guess I'll head over to the interzone and read a paper or something. I sure hope I feel better before I have to work again.