Monday, July 19, 2004

Mama always told me I'd go blind if I kept on doing that....

Monopolized the entire weekend anchored in chores. I cleaned out the gutters and pulled weeds at the center. I planted geraniums and cleaned out the pool at Uncle Mike's. I went to my moms last night and mowed her lawn and endeavored to gnaw through the little slice of Amazonian rainforest that has become her backyard. The concourse's been laughing more than it's been smiling these days. Just when I'm pretending that I'm butchering the lorax by toppling over a dead tree, low and behold, iorny of ironies, I swat at the beaded row of sweat drooling from my forehead and 'plop', into the jungle of tumbleweed and poison-ivy, there goes my last contact. The world is a cartwheeling dessert of fingertip swirls. I can see neither screen nor keyboard this morning and my head keep on drilling like someone is mining for oil on the top of my skull.
 
-and to compound matters (once again, when I'm nearsighted) Swissy-Wishy-boy-did-i-strike
-out just walked in with her botched beau in paw and gave me a little girlscout wave with her free wrist...

And the only pair of glasses I can find are an errant pair salvaged from the Lost and Found shoebox. 
 
Crazy cycles. I'm well aware that as soon as this "fog" lifts I'll be a verbal locomotive wielding words and images. This is the mist before the morning. A time when my body is waking up, ready to accomodote the thick shafts of morning light.  Normally this is the time when Captain ponytail lad appears, but of course, his heroic red-s antics were maliciously emasculated by the sleek, devious duo of Mara-Arya (who has kick-ass cool hair but smells like a brewery)  and Lady Benzedrine (who thwarted the escapades of an itinerant, peddling baker who, once again, mistook the hash for the oregano)....last time my Clark Kent blogg's from a phone booth. 
 
Being optically stymied isn't as bad as it sounds. I hung out all morning with tangible blurs of fellow writers Nick the Writer and poet Shannon. Shannon told me that my favorite intown poet, Staci L., has a glass eye and I NEVER would have suspected that. 
 
"So THAT's the reason she kept that one eye opened when we kissed."  I said, trying to be funny, only no one else was laughing.
 
The blessing was that, after I lost possesion of my sole cyclopic lens, I was coerced into crashing at Moma Bear's pad last night which gave me ample time to sift through most of my storage, mainly thick blue airtight tubs fraught with books. From roughly 1995-2001, the years when I decided that I was either going to live in literary stardom or burn-out trying to flicker ALL I DID WAS BUY BOOKS. I worked for many years as a Supervisor for Barnes & Nobles which means that I could get my paws on any title very quickly and take a hefty bite out of the barcode with my discount. I came home weekly with heaps of books and half a paycheck. I craked open many of the caskets last night and found my old Autographed copy of Ginsberg's HOWL. I found Vonnegut and rick Moody and Carole Maso. I found David Markson. Found all the plato, the William James (FOUND MY FIRST EVER COPY OF WITTGENSTEIN'S TRACTATUS!)...found my old ARTIST Way (which made me think of daniela) and managed to gut all the stuffed envelopes where I daily stowed my morning pages into the morning trash can.
 
I found four different versions of INFINITE JEST, Two different versions of ULYSSES and GRAVITY'S RAINBOW, one BEING and TIME and a near mint condition SPORTS ILLUSTRATED cover salvaged from '98 that shows vintage Michael Jordan in the clutch over Karl malone....the last shot he ever swished in a firey-bloodshot Bulls jersey. 
 
I found the thousands of poems I kept from high school for some reason, chronicles of feigned angst ( and you insist that the breweries exhibit an offal, noisome stench--I should post some of my old manuscripts on line but I'm afraid I can't simultaneously distribute enough laundry-pins to staple shut the nasal passages of those with keen taste).   
 
I combed through an old box of bills (how did I ever survive those years?) and, while playing  envelope frissbee golf with expired late-fee notices, I found (TCS) wadded up in what looked like a hybrid of a little oragmi pyramid and a paper airplane with one elongated limb....BAM....the original program from Greenlake '02, with you-know-who's name dotted inside.... good luck on your pending classes!
 
Even more weird I later found a letter from my mom written on JULY 18TH 1977...exactly 27 years to the date!!! July 18th is my Baptismal date. In the letter, mom asks for the Lord to cintinually bless me.......... and it looks like he has.








6 comments:

arya said...

i think swissy missy is stalking you. just seems that way to me. uh oh for her fiance who is probably an actor she hired. regarding books, i have the same disease. i've even bought books about books and books about people that collect books. then you know you have a real problem. i feel like i'm building a library for someone up there who keeps sending me these "i can't live without it" books that i just must buy! why on earth would you throw away your morning pages my blessed friend?

David Von Behren said...

Here's my latest insight concerning the Swissy-Missy saga...in fairy tales TRUE HAPPILY EVER AFTER love only arrives when the protagonist has almost alchemically CHANGED....his thinking, his mannerisms, his way life, has changed. Normally mammals don't have this advantage, but there's some latent golden energy burrowed within the astonishing creature of mankind that has granted him this ability...the option of alteration; the choice to change.

Mr. Effendi talks about 'Changing your thinking"...Unlce Mike is always quoting that in regards to local assembly manners. In an individual growth, it's a necessity. We have to change. Physically, our bodies are always changing, but inside, internally, we need to change our view of the planet. We need to abrade our own ego, slough our marooned view of the planet, and accept that, in the immortal rant of Ludwig Wittgentein, "Not how the world is, is Das MYTSICH, but THAT it is."

Back to fairy tales. The frog (a reptallion Eve- cowering creature of the earth) transitions into a prince. The beast accomdoates his heathen manners and Beauty falls in love with him. In Chacuer's WIFE OF BATH anecdote, the chivalrous knight eventually accedes the agedcrone's comments concerning male/female equality, kisses her, and she becomes a princess...

Change isn't the only thing that's in my Savings right now. Change is an often difficult option human beings can choose to participate in...but indulging yourself in a choise and salting the choice with action often yields personal inight and golden growth,,,,i.e., happily ever after in the moment sort of thing.

Concerning Swissy Missy, with the exception of the time I bumped into her with Mike, the last times I;ve seen her she's been a palpable blurr.. She wasn't the chick with the nice ass and long hair I initially espied and decided to fall in love with. She was an amorphpous creature and, I realized yesterday, that if I ever wanted to 'see' the Swissy-Missy paradigm with lucid clarity I would have to change....

As far as jettisoning the "Morning pages"...they sort of arrived to me like facial acne arrives on the oily skin of a youth. They were ugly entires but perhaps they helped me to grow. as a writer I HATE resting on my laurels (what laurels--the reader)...writing grants such an initial rush of adrenline that many writers end up nursing that original rush or vision with copious amounts of alchohol rather than with copious amounts of language....(pending blogg)...I should wear white more often because eveytime I sit down to write I'm a linguistic virgin, the world is elusive and new (something I have heard about yet have limited experience with)and I keep on falling in love with words and images.

daku said...

D you're so smart. i'll buy whatever you write. i also have a book addiction. and it brought me you my dear friends. CHANGE is the key. i love that title of arya's talk on alchemy... of transformation. THAT'S IT that's so much it. dig you guys.

David Von Behren said...

I'm writing a book about the horrific escapades of Mara-Arya and Lady Benzedrine...I'd like to stop them from taking over the World (digesting the dreams of one lonely visionary at a time) but I can't because they nefariously KILLED Captain Ponytail Holder!!!!!!

I'm going to go home nourish my failed campaign with a couple imported bodvars..backed with, of course, a succulent shot of wheatgrass...

Thanks for your advice daniela....I've been tobacco free for almost Thirty hours!!!!!

(YAKYAKYAK)

daku said...

There is always Mr. Universe to save the day!

David Von Behren said...

ibid.....view pending blog (smiles)