Orange-breasted, worm-eating buddy
6 days ago
Monday, March 21, 2011
Gratuitous daffodil shot
Garlic should be worshipped by some cult
One of the signs of Spring.
This photo is from last year. In the background you can see, from right to left, the old corn crib we used as a packing shed, the 77 RV I lived in for several months, and the machine shed that featured, among other things, a fairly large half-pipe that attracted skaters from all over.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
It's a blessing and a curse
The season is coming. Almost seventy here the other day. It's like waking up.
I sit here, earbuds in, succumbing to the music. Which is about as good as it gets to me. There is nothing better than good music. And really, there's no explanation for it. It might as well be some bleeps and boops, strums, pounds, knocks. Which is what it is. But for the life of us, we have no real explanation for why music brings us pure joy. I'm as close to a rational dickhead as you can get, but I still accept things on faith. Music for one. It's a spiritual (fuckin' a, you read that right) experience for me, and I don't need an arguable reason. Same with being outdoors, exploring, immersing myself in whatever it is. I don't really care what "whatever" is; I think that's when I'm at my best. The rest--self-identifying as rational, trying too hard to feel the unexplainable, rebelling in some small way--is all bullshit. I could probably be a really good Buddhist or Taoist if things were different. Good thing or bad? Who knows.
I really wasn't meant for this time and place, I tell myself. But, being honest, maybe I wasn't meant for any of the times and places. I like to think I could be John Muir swaying in the treetops. Or Aldo Leopold observing the land. Or Montaigne questioning everything. Or Kurt Cobain killing myself.
Don't fret over the last, I have enough self-esteem and appreciation for being alive. But I can relate to the feeling. I always could. I like extreme feelings, though/because I can't express them properly in my everyday life.
So, tomorrow I plan on going to some karaoke in the city, where, no doubt, the music will be middling to terrible, but the beer will be cheap. And friends will be there--along with other people I don't know much or at all.
And we'll have fun.
I sit here, earbuds in, succumbing to the music. Which is about as good as it gets to me. There is nothing better than good music. And really, there's no explanation for it. It might as well be some bleeps and boops, strums, pounds, knocks. Which is what it is. But for the life of us, we have no real explanation for why music brings us pure joy. I'm as close to a rational dickhead as you can get, but I still accept things on faith. Music for one. It's a spiritual (fuckin' a, you read that right) experience for me, and I don't need an arguable reason. Same with being outdoors, exploring, immersing myself in whatever it is. I don't really care what "whatever" is; I think that's when I'm at my best. The rest--self-identifying as rational, trying too hard to feel the unexplainable, rebelling in some small way--is all bullshit. I could probably be a really good Buddhist or Taoist if things were different. Good thing or bad? Who knows.
I really wasn't meant for this time and place, I tell myself. But, being honest, maybe I wasn't meant for any of the times and places. I like to think I could be John Muir swaying in the treetops. Or Aldo Leopold observing the land. Or Montaigne questioning everything. Or Kurt Cobain killing myself.
Don't fret over the last, I have enough self-esteem and appreciation for being alive. But I can relate to the feeling. I always could. I like extreme feelings, though/because I can't express them properly in my everyday life.
So, tomorrow I plan on going to some karaoke in the city, where, no doubt, the music will be middling to terrible, but the beer will be cheap. And friends will be there--along with other people I don't know much or at all.
And we'll have fun.
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