I'm in a place that has been through a lot, in human and non-human terms. I'm at the foot of the wall known as the Rocky Mountains. I'm sure it's been called many things other than that which are now long forgotten. On this side, the Front Range, it's rolling hills covered in grass and stream bottoms with cottonwoods growing to massive widths. The mountains and hills and grass and the trees have been here for a lot longer than any person. That proves that land cannot be owned. Not by the first people to hunt mega-fauna here 13,000+ years ago, nor Dell Webb (motherfucker). This land is used and has been. And how it shows.
The first things here were the rocks and dirt being pushed together by the continental plates and forcing themselves to rise into the sky. Thankfully they did because they became the Rockies, the most dramatic feature on this continent. After them (as if they have stopped changing) came the plants and animals to occupy every niche therein. From the grasses down low to the spruce and fir of the treeline, to the aspens and ponderosa pine in the middle. The prairie dogs and bison on the plains, the magpies and squirrels a little higher, mountain sheep and hawks on the slopes far above. Then the people.
First, nomadic bands coming from the north (most likely) following game and warmth (during an ice age after all). After them more and more people. People on foot from every direction. Most roaming and gathering and hunting. Some people stopping to plant crops along rivers and streams. And for thousands of years it was just these people moving around the land doing what people do. They became native to the land. Then, not too long ago came people from the south, then the east and north. People who were nothing like those who lived here already. These people more or less destroyed the people who were native to the land and became native on the land.
Theirs is the history I saw today while driving between and through the solid string of towns from what is now Fort Collins to south of Denver. The front range is a place full of, shows a history of and defines development. From 13kya to now.
Evidence of the first development of this land is found in the land. Spear points, Folsom and Clovis fall out of stream banks and are tilled up by tractors (getting to that). Undeveloped development of hunting grounds. Then came the extermination of the bison to be replaced by cattle and the horrible romanticism that is the American cowboy. Then came the farmers who replaced the cowboys (sitting on their horses next to a barbed-wire fence looking at a farm house and windmill with a tear drop in their eye). Then came the miners. Looking for anything, anything. Then little towns sprung up. Then those little towns weren't so little. Then people decided they still wanted more towns, but less towns too (wait, what?). So they kept building towns, but in a “smart” way. More roads, more people. They decided that some land was more important to save than others and created (created!) open space so people could know what it was like before they moved into their “smartly” built and developed subdivision (78 miles of trails, shitty Mexican food, empty streets!). Here it is today.
This place now sees development and inevitable (place=people). Some areas are more important than others. “Well, if we want more people to come we have to have somewhere to put them, but we will make sure there's somewhere for them to go and feel better about owning a plastic box.”
What made me think of all of this was the drive I eluded to earlier. There are a few types and ages of development. My favorite and best example for me is highway 287. That means nothing of course if you've never been there. Driving through towns from north to south you see a lot. Mostly middle-class type towns with similar histories. Settled in the latter part of the 19th century many started out as mining towns or farming communities. When that all ended they became places for people to live who couldn't afford (or didn't want to) to live in Denver or Boulder. Downtowns are turn of the century brick. Behind them are houses spreading out in chronological order and building technique and integrity from then to now. You see the life changes in the facades of the buildings. Mercantiles to hardware stores to abandonment then “rediscovery” as a coffee shop, pizza joint (oh so hip), resale shop, boutiques of all kinds. In the neighborhood I am in now the last houses were built probably in the 1970s or so. But in between are older homes from the early 20th century, and old churches as well. The larger buildings are long gone (I believe) because even “old town” doesn't look so old. You see developments from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today (radio station promo?). There's evidence of those who were here all over the place. In one town (Loveland?) there's a huge, huge, statue of a screaming native American wearing a loin cloth (loin skin?) holding a spear over his head (which sits on his perfectly sculpted 15 foot tall body) whilst standing over what appears to be one of his dead comrades (killed by the white man?). Really? I have no idea what this statue is about but it's so odd. I think it's funny enough that Arapaho is the name of a major road. Is this a reminder to the few native people who live in the area (Vanilla Valley) that this is where their ancestors were killed in the thousands and this land could very well still “belong” to them? Regardless, this is part of the history of how this place has become what it is now. There are also some funny examples of how recent developments have been incorporated into one another. There are strip malls and housing developments that have old farm buildings as parts of their entryways. Because every development has some sort of theme and they all have something to do with views (vista), ranches, ridges, or farms. Weird. So if there's a silo might as well plant some ivy at the bottom and build a sign in front of it displaying the name of the cookie-cutter housing block that sits directly behind it (Vista View at Table Mesa at Rio River). The classic days of American agriculture. “Dolores and I can retire better from selling our farm to get drilled for natural gas then developed into houses than giving the land to the kids ever will let us.” Rusty machinery and the root fans of trees are sold for top dollar to decorate the lawns and pond-sides of the rolling hills covered in box house hell.
It's a history of inevidabilities. From the driving out of native peoples and bison, to the driving out of cattle, to the closing of the mines, to the ceaseless building of stale housing tracts, to the development of “open space” (developing nature?). I find this place to be incredibly interesting, but know I could never really live here. There's too much blatant history that is too depressing. It's just an odd place to be and to see. And I wonder how many people here do even see it?
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Only by the night
In recent times I haven't been much of a night person. I've grown fond of early mornings and early nights. My favorite time of the day is as the sun is coming up. I was lucky to have a lot of those this past summer. I used to like the night. I think that's because I drank at night and stayed up late being drunk and writing crazy ramblings. It seems that I don't need the alcohol to do that anymore. I've find that even though I don't stay up as late as I used to I still look back on events in my life and remember in what phase the lunar cycle was. Also, I have made some of the most important decisions and come up with the most profound ideas at night. I am always moving when outside at night. It's hard for me to sit still no matter which celestial beings are present in the sky. But there is nothing like being outside on a clear night. If it's breezy it's even better. Tonight was a great example of my night thinking. I rode my bike all over town, like I used to in my poorer college days (a very romantic time, I'll tell you about it sometime). I just rode. This town is not a great place to just ride around. Everything is somewhat of a hill and there are cars everywhere, but I make it work. I rode so that I forced myself to ride up the biggest hill in town and stayed in the highest gear I could. I made it hurt a lot and was sucking wind, a little. Amazing. Full moon, tons of stars, cold and breezy. I started out with two long sleeve shirts, a vest and gloves. By the time I got back I had on only my tshirt and rolled down my socks. I wanted to feel the night and lets the thoughts get out of me. I spoke to the air while catching my breath. I was reminded of all the time throughout my life where I have done this. Spoken to the night. By vocalizing to the dark I have found out a lot of things about myself. Confirmed beliefs, made more questions than answers, arguments, affirmations, laughs. I did this as a young kid in the summer chasing fireflies. I've done it drunk in the middle of winter as a highschooler in the blinding snow. I've done it as a lonesome college student with too much homework taking a break to hit every dumpster in town. I can only do it alone. Seeing people's lights on at midnight, 2am, wondering what is going on. Hearing crashes in alleys or hearing elk bugle close by, watching cats run under street lamps. There's nothing like it. Being out on a weekend in town, or any night in the woods. It's some of the most fun I've ever had. Melancholy fun. An odd concept. I suppose it's me letting things go, in, clarifying, understanding, coming to terms with. And when I get back to where it is I sleep, it all is the same, but I feel a little newer, a little more enlightened. Ready to sleep as the sweat dries and makes me shiver (never have enough money to keep the heat on too high). I'm pretty sure I haven't explained a thing. I don't think I can. Only I understand what happens on these nights, and even then I'm not sure. I'm just glad they happen.
If you could only see me now
First, I am selfish, very much so. I think about me a lot. That will be left for another post. Second, life is the coolest and most interesting thing I've ever been a part of. I'm not talking about evolution and whatnot, but the human experience. Everyday I am fascinated by it all. Third, I am damn lucky. Lucky to be able to make this post, lucky to have time and energy to think about and express "luxury complaints" (thanks e via k). Fourth, I'm damn selfish.
For those people that know me I am very active. In the physical sense, and in other ways too, I guess. I run six days a week, I do one of the most physically demanding jobs I could find, a lot of my personal goals have something to do with doing physical activities better. Where did this all come from? Very good question me. I've flirted with running since I was in my early teens (did I know what flirting even was?). I never really got into it, and as was posted earlier I got way more into smoking and drinking things, very very bad things. I like to tell people that once I quit smoking, drinking and began a plant based diet I was motivated to get into shape. That's sort of true. I realized that I haven't been honest, mostly with myself. The whole convincing yourself of a personal myth and then believing that when you tell other people it's the truth. I began obsessing about running initially to prove something. I don't think it really had anything to do with physical fitness. My change in lifestyle coincided exactly with the end of a very long and life defining relationship. It must be that i needed to prove to her that I could go on with my life. That meant pushing myself towards some goal that manifested itself as running and pushups. I gauged my success on how I though she would react to me. Of course it was never good enough. I pushed myself more and more. I still do. It's an odd realization that this is how I got into everything that consumes so much of my life now. That's almost besides the point.
I grew up with god. I always felt as if he was watching. I was always good, pretty much. Even after I realized there wasn't a god, I always did things as though someone was watching, as if someone cared. I have to say that has made me a pretty honest person. Mostly because I have realized that I don't do things I know would be bad if someone was watching me. Whew. Anyway, I still do things for people who aren't around, be they alive or dead, or even people who I haven't seen in years. I am still inspired by my grandmother who died over three years ago. I still talk to her gravestone when I am there. I suppose "doing things" for people makes it more worthwhile to try and do my best, to be a good person. It may not even matter, but I suppose it might.
Interesting.
For those people that know me I am very active. In the physical sense, and in other ways too, I guess. I run six days a week, I do one of the most physically demanding jobs I could find, a lot of my personal goals have something to do with doing physical activities better. Where did this all come from? Very good question me. I've flirted with running since I was in my early teens (did I know what flirting even was?). I never really got into it, and as was posted earlier I got way more into smoking and drinking things, very very bad things. I like to tell people that once I quit smoking, drinking and began a plant based diet I was motivated to get into shape. That's sort of true. I realized that I haven't been honest, mostly with myself. The whole convincing yourself of a personal myth and then believing that when you tell other people it's the truth. I began obsessing about running initially to prove something. I don't think it really had anything to do with physical fitness. My change in lifestyle coincided exactly with the end of a very long and life defining relationship. It must be that i needed to prove to her that I could go on with my life. That meant pushing myself towards some goal that manifested itself as running and pushups. I gauged my success on how I though she would react to me. Of course it was never good enough. I pushed myself more and more. I still do. It's an odd realization that this is how I got into everything that consumes so much of my life now. That's almost besides the point.
I grew up with god. I always felt as if he was watching. I was always good, pretty much. Even after I realized there wasn't a god, I always did things as though someone was watching, as if someone cared. I have to say that has made me a pretty honest person. Mostly because I have realized that I don't do things I know would be bad if someone was watching me. Whew. Anyway, I still do things for people who aren't around, be they alive or dead, or even people who I haven't seen in years. I am still inspired by my grandmother who died over three years ago. I still talk to her gravestone when I am there. I suppose "doing things" for people makes it more worthwhile to try and do my best, to be a good person. It may not even matter, but I suppose it might.
Interesting.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
So, I found god right?
This is a piece of writing that I thought had been lost to the mysts of time, and the binary code of the internet. But I found it today and I'm amazed. It's something I assumed was lost forever and now here it is. I've never wanted to rediscover something more than this. It's not even very good. It's somewhat terrible. Written in 2004.
when i met her, god when i was seventeen, i met god, exactly where she should've been if god was to be somewhere, visiting, new york city. she said "you look lost" to me. it was true. in the mayhem after leaving central park i had been misplaced from my, well, friends. i said something like "yea." she said while looking me in the eyes, "it'll all be fine. just stay by me and you'll be ok." the only part of me she could see was my eyes and i hers. they were dark and warm. she was short. much shorter than i anyway (which now when i look back i see as ironic). she then said "hi, my name is god." i told her some name i can't rightly remember. she then grabbed my hand and we moved with the rest of the group. she told me that she was from canada. of course, it all then made sense. of course god is from canada. the police came and came at us over and over. i held tightly on to gods hand and arm. what i assume was one of her angels or profits or someone was on my other arm. his strength was firm and he was silent. she kept saying "hold on, we'll be ok. if we all stick together we'll all be ok." god was exactly what i never knew i wanted her to be. the cops finally broke through and everyone was either tackled, fallen, running, or in relative custody. the last i saw of god was her reaching hand being drawn back into the wailing crowd of black and homemade patches of resistance. as i ran it became clear that i had been touched by the hand of god and her power was all around me. for those minutes or however long, the most beautiful girl in the world was dressed in all black and i never got to see her face. that is the day i met god and how she let me know that everything was ok, and to prove it she gave me her hand and her eternal blessing.
when i met her, god when i was seventeen, i met god, exactly where she should've been if god was to be somewhere, visiting, new york city. she said "you look lost" to me. it was true. in the mayhem after leaving central park i had been misplaced from my, well, friends. i said something like "yea." she said while looking me in the eyes, "it'll all be fine. just stay by me and you'll be ok." the only part of me she could see was my eyes and i hers. they were dark and warm. she was short. much shorter than i anyway (which now when i look back i see as ironic). she then said "hi, my name is god." i told her some name i can't rightly remember. she then grabbed my hand and we moved with the rest of the group. she told me that she was from canada. of course, it all then made sense. of course god is from canada. the police came and came at us over and over. i held tightly on to gods hand and arm. what i assume was one of her angels or profits or someone was on my other arm. his strength was firm and he was silent. she kept saying "hold on, we'll be ok. if we all stick together we'll all be ok." god was exactly what i never knew i wanted her to be. the cops finally broke through and everyone was either tackled, fallen, running, or in relative custody. the last i saw of god was her reaching hand being drawn back into the wailing crowd of black and homemade patches of resistance. as i ran it became clear that i had been touched by the hand of god and her power was all around me. for those minutes or however long, the most beautiful girl in the world was dressed in all black and i never got to see her face. that is the day i met god and how she let me know that everything was ok, and to prove it she gave me her hand and her eternal blessing.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
the sex talk
This will be interesting. First drugs and alcohol and now for our culture's biggest obsession, sex. Sex has a few incarnations in my mind and life. There's sex as an act. Nothing too crazy, just straight up doin' it (for lack of a not funny term). Then there's sex as is perpetuated in the media and society at large. Cultural sex, I suppose. When I think of sex a lot of things come to mind, but the basis of my thinking is how sex, no matter how defined, is used. That's what I am going to focus on.
First, sex is how we make more of us, fundamentally. Going further humans have made sex into something oddly beyond that. From this basic perspective sex is something two (or more) people share and hopefully enjoy and gain something from. Of course this isn't always true but I'll get to that. Looking at it like this, for me, sex is cool, to sound a like a dude, for sure. It's a really interesting way to know someone else. For me, it brings me to a basic level of human interaction. Unless one person really isn't enjoying it but appearing to, the act is incredibly revealing. You're both naked and therefore unable to hide what you may feel you should, or are ashamed of. Hopefully the other person doesn't really care about that so much. Sex, in this way, is not only about physical sensations that can be incredible, but sensations that stimulate emotions and emotional feelings between the people involved. It's a good feeling to know that you're not the only one enjoying the moment. Or the moments afterwards when it seems that maybe what just happened didn't. Because I don't think those moments can be captured and relived. They happen and are always different. They're the kinds of moments you want to relive but are not sure you should in fear of tainting a beautiful memory. It's when these moments aren't what they were and the act becomes routine or worse, painful, that sex can be a bad thing. When it's not special, when it loses what makes it beautiful. This is where I have had a hard time with sex.
To be blunt (how weird, me, blunt) sex frustrates and disgusts me. Not good, fun, happy sex, but sex as a tool (I've been trying not to think of what innuendos I am unintentionally inserting here, damn!). I get tired of seeing movies where there may be no reason for it but somehow sex comes along and makes an oddly placed appearance. Sex is certainly part of the collective human experience, but it's an obsession. I don't find pornography appealing, funny yes, but there's no part of me that seeks out that kind of stimulation. Here's a good example of something that happened a couple of days ago. Our water heater died, so I went over to the next condo to take a shower. I subsequently used the toilet as well. On the back of it were a bunch of magazines. Snowboarding, outdoors stuff, a boot catalog, and a porn magazine. So I thought to myself “Ok Matthew, let's check this out, just to see what the fuss is all about.” I looked at the whole thing and wasn't turned on at all. It was all so fake and weird. I'm sure the look on my face was quite funny. I felt puzzled. Am I the only guy here (there's 18 of us) who thinks this magazine is kind of gross and an odd piece of our culture? I probably am. Since I looked at it I have thought a lot about it. I don't know those women or care to see their naked bodies so much. They're grotesque. Huge boobs, massive. Way too smooth skin (photoshop?), no non-head hair, anywhere. What the hell? Is that the ideal? Is that what I'm supposed to want? Where does this shit come from? Fuck. It's hard for me to really express what I feel. I feel perplexed. Is this exploitation of women? Forcing them to augment their bodies so that for a few years they can pose in what I assume must be uncomfortable positions so that other people can gawk at them. Do women really aspire to that or are they just taking advantage of our weird culture? I don't know. I've seen a few porn movies, but that was in high school and my friends and I laughed more than anything (probably because we didn't want each other to figure out we all had huge boners). I do remember getting a little queasy and sickened. It was just gross. I was literally turned off from sex. And to this day I still have an odd aversion to it. That has a lot to do about how I see women treated.
So as I said before I see sex as a tool, a lot of the time. Everyone knows that sex is used to show dominance and as a way to force people to know who is the dominator. That's really when I get disgusted. By far sex crimes and the misuse of sex is perpetuated by men, the world over. I am a man, a guy anyway, I have a penis. I find that when I get frustrated with how the world acts (I'm reluctant to say works, because it doesn't) I try to oppose it. Sex is a great example of it. I'm turned off my sex because of it is used by men, abused. I certainly do not do anything that is abusive sexually towards anyone, but I associate what is dangling between my legs with that of those who use what's between their legs for ill purposes. I feel an association. I probably shouldn't, but I am of the sex (culturally gender) that perpetuates this abuse. I get so tired of sex being about power or one persons pleasure. I just get sick of it. Sex is used to degrade and dehumanize enemies, or even non-enemies. It's used to subjugate. And boy do I dislike subjugation. It is hard for me to get over that. I struggle with it and I suppose that limits my capabilities in sexual relationships I may find myself in. I am also very conscious of personal space. This can lead to funny situations as I've learned, and it's something that I'm working on. I think I also resent men. Not all, but the worst of men. Men who rape and abuse and use sex to make them think they have power. I need to get over that. I'll be a male until I die and after I die I will have been a male. There's nothing I can do to change that. I try to change what a male can be, and so do a lot of others. And that is a good thing. It's no wonder that I have often hung out with and felt most comfortable with women. Here I am surrounded by total dude fest and thinking about the philosophies of sex. Because everything here is a sex joke. You have to prove that you're a man and not a homo by either talking down to gay people or women. Awesome. Why am I here? Different post. But anyway, I see a lot and read a lot and I get tired, physically and mentally, of how women are treated, treated by this penis and quick satisfaction culture.
That's that. And this is this.......I have a lot more thinking about this to do. On one hand sex is so cool and awesome, but also so messed up and misused. I don't want to misuse it. And I don't thin I do or will, but there's that fear, and I need to get over that fear. Maybe I just need to have more sex. That'll solve it. (I just laughed, chuckled, good for me).
First, sex is how we make more of us, fundamentally. Going further humans have made sex into something oddly beyond that. From this basic perspective sex is something two (or more) people share and hopefully enjoy and gain something from. Of course this isn't always true but I'll get to that. Looking at it like this, for me, sex is cool, to sound a like a dude, for sure. It's a really interesting way to know someone else. For me, it brings me to a basic level of human interaction. Unless one person really isn't enjoying it but appearing to, the act is incredibly revealing. You're both naked and therefore unable to hide what you may feel you should, or are ashamed of. Hopefully the other person doesn't really care about that so much. Sex, in this way, is not only about physical sensations that can be incredible, but sensations that stimulate emotions and emotional feelings between the people involved. It's a good feeling to know that you're not the only one enjoying the moment. Or the moments afterwards when it seems that maybe what just happened didn't. Because I don't think those moments can be captured and relived. They happen and are always different. They're the kinds of moments you want to relive but are not sure you should in fear of tainting a beautiful memory. It's when these moments aren't what they were and the act becomes routine or worse, painful, that sex can be a bad thing. When it's not special, when it loses what makes it beautiful. This is where I have had a hard time with sex.
To be blunt (how weird, me, blunt) sex frustrates and disgusts me. Not good, fun, happy sex, but sex as a tool (I've been trying not to think of what innuendos I am unintentionally inserting here, damn!). I get tired of seeing movies where there may be no reason for it but somehow sex comes along and makes an oddly placed appearance. Sex is certainly part of the collective human experience, but it's an obsession. I don't find pornography appealing, funny yes, but there's no part of me that seeks out that kind of stimulation. Here's a good example of something that happened a couple of days ago. Our water heater died, so I went over to the next condo to take a shower. I subsequently used the toilet as well. On the back of it were a bunch of magazines. Snowboarding, outdoors stuff, a boot catalog, and a porn magazine. So I thought to myself “Ok Matthew, let's check this out, just to see what the fuss is all about.” I looked at the whole thing and wasn't turned on at all. It was all so fake and weird. I'm sure the look on my face was quite funny. I felt puzzled. Am I the only guy here (there's 18 of us) who thinks this magazine is kind of gross and an odd piece of our culture? I probably am. Since I looked at it I have thought a lot about it. I don't know those women or care to see their naked bodies so much. They're grotesque. Huge boobs, massive. Way too smooth skin (photoshop?), no non-head hair, anywhere. What the hell? Is that the ideal? Is that what I'm supposed to want? Where does this shit come from? Fuck. It's hard for me to really express what I feel. I feel perplexed. Is this exploitation of women? Forcing them to augment their bodies so that for a few years they can pose in what I assume must be uncomfortable positions so that other people can gawk at them. Do women really aspire to that or are they just taking advantage of our weird culture? I don't know. I've seen a few porn movies, but that was in high school and my friends and I laughed more than anything (probably because we didn't want each other to figure out we all had huge boners). I do remember getting a little queasy and sickened. It was just gross. I was literally turned off from sex. And to this day I still have an odd aversion to it. That has a lot to do about how I see women treated.
So as I said before I see sex as a tool, a lot of the time. Everyone knows that sex is used to show dominance and as a way to force people to know who is the dominator. That's really when I get disgusted. By far sex crimes and the misuse of sex is perpetuated by men, the world over. I am a man, a guy anyway, I have a penis. I find that when I get frustrated with how the world acts (I'm reluctant to say works, because it doesn't) I try to oppose it. Sex is a great example of it. I'm turned off my sex because of it is used by men, abused. I certainly do not do anything that is abusive sexually towards anyone, but I associate what is dangling between my legs with that of those who use what's between their legs for ill purposes. I feel an association. I probably shouldn't, but I am of the sex (culturally gender) that perpetuates this abuse. I get so tired of sex being about power or one persons pleasure. I just get sick of it. Sex is used to degrade and dehumanize enemies, or even non-enemies. It's used to subjugate. And boy do I dislike subjugation. It is hard for me to get over that. I struggle with it and I suppose that limits my capabilities in sexual relationships I may find myself in. I am also very conscious of personal space. This can lead to funny situations as I've learned, and it's something that I'm working on. I think I also resent men. Not all, but the worst of men. Men who rape and abuse and use sex to make them think they have power. I need to get over that. I'll be a male until I die and after I die I will have been a male. There's nothing I can do to change that. I try to change what a male can be, and so do a lot of others. And that is a good thing. It's no wonder that I have often hung out with and felt most comfortable with women. Here I am surrounded by total dude fest and thinking about the philosophies of sex. Because everything here is a sex joke. You have to prove that you're a man and not a homo by either talking down to gay people or women. Awesome. Why am I here? Different post. But anyway, I see a lot and read a lot and I get tired, physically and mentally, of how women are treated, treated by this penis and quick satisfaction culture.
That's that. And this is this.......I have a lot more thinking about this to do. On one hand sex is so cool and awesome, but also so messed up and misused. I don't want to misuse it. And I don't thin I do or will, but there's that fear, and I need to get over that fear. Maybe I just need to have more sex. That'll solve it. (I just laughed, chuckled, good for me).
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
something a little stronger
Ok, so here's something I thought of while brushing my teeth. I have an odd perception and relationship with alcohol and to a somewhat lesser extent drugs. The last time I had a drink was January 1, 2003. Pretty easy to remember. Got way drunk with friends on New Year's Eve and was still drinking, alone, as the sun began to hint at rising then passed out waking a few hours later to drive my girlfriend home and then myself. I was incredibly drunk and hungover I don't know how I did it. But I do know why, because, to be blunt, alcohol fucks you up. I drank to drink and no other reason. That was one of the few times when I drank that I wasn't overly conscious of myself and what I was doing. I think I had my first drink when I was 13 or 14. Who knows. I remember nursing a Coors Light while watching Woodstock '99 live with my much older cousin. We watched Metallica. I don't think that was my first drink, but it's the earliest I can remember. From that point I was pretty much a responsible drunk. I got drunk but not too drunk so that I was able to make sure my friends and fellow drinkers didn't get themselves into too much trouble. I think I really began drinking when I started getting into 1960s culture and more specifically when I began listening to The Doors and reading Jim Morrison's poetry and books about getting fucked up in Southern California and London and wherever else. I drank (and did drugs) not out of peer pressure (because none of my friends at that age did anything their parents would disapprove of), but because I wanted to see what it was like. When I drank and got high I wrote a lot and played music. Not that any of it was any good or legible but it was a release, or something to that effect. Eventually I did meet people who drank and did drugs and hung out with them. I did do some stupid stuff but never blacked out (well, once, I think). My parents knew I drank but for some reason they trusted me enough not to ground me forever, not that I would have listened anyway, I knew everything at 17. After that New Year's day I was so disappointed in myself that I couldn't drink for a while. It's been 6 ½ years now. Weird. I don't resent people who drink simply for drinking. Just like with anything else if it affects me in a negative way then yes I'll be upset. The only people I know who don't drink are my family. In a weird way I feel like a drinker on occasion. I know how to interact with drunk people and actually have fun doing it. I find it interesting as well how when people noticing me not drinking they get offended or standoffish (off fish!). It's funny. I guess they think I'm weird or a creeper. Maybe so. Ok, back to what inspired this history of my drinking life. I find myself every so often contemplating drinking again. I make plans for when I'll have a drink, just one. But when I get to that point I don't drink. I have a few reasons. One is a reason from when I did drink. I used to play music with older college kids when I was in high school and they provided me with access to all kinds of drink and drug (women too oddly enough). I was always welcome to sleep on their couch and I often took up the offer but I usually liked to sleep in my own bed at my folks house. That was a half-hour drive and damn if I was going to drive drunk and get pulled over. So I wouldn't drink, or limit myself to one or two beers. That worked. That's one of the reasons I still don't drink. Though these days I don't have my own bed so much, but it still applies. Another reason is hangovers. I really only had a couple of times when I can say I had a real hangover. One ended with me shotgunning the remnants of my fourth malt liquor 40 and talking to a dog who watched me and then passing out. I awoke in pain. That was horrible. Since I quit drinking I have changed a lot as a person. Anyone who knows me knows how much I exercise and am obsessed (I'll say it!) with personal health and wellbeing. I like waking up early and enjoying the daylight as opposed to staying up late (it's 11pm right now, what the hell?). I have no room in my life for hangovers and feeling shitty in general. That seems to be one of the big reasons for me not drinking. I feel, be it founded in reality or not, that even if I have one or “just a couple” of drinks I'll feel like shit in the morning. But then sometimes I eat too much food on the weekends and wake up feeling like shit. It may be that I really dislike having headaches. Really dislike. Though being sick has become somewhat of a novelty for me, being as that I do not often get ill. I'm weird. Straight up. I then think what will drinking get me? Nothing really. Less money, more possibilities for things to go wrong. I also think it's funny that I seem (at least I think so) like a guy who likes to drink and party. Maybe I don't come across that way when folks know me a little better, but I'm thinking more of first impressions. I always like the question “You don't drink? Why?” (somewhat flabbergasted). It's translated more as “Why the fuck are you here then?” i.e. where people are drinking. I do like to drunk watch, when I know the drunks. They're fun to talk with a fun to confuse. I'm a bastard. So that's drinking.
Drugs are a whole new place. I can say, be it quantity, quality and hours spent, I have been high on drugs more than drunk. Totally. I started smoking weed when I was 12 or 13. I feel old when I can't quite remember. I've never not liked getting high. Even after I stopped drinking I kept smoking weed. I was never a stoner so much. I just liked getting high when I could. I did other drugs too, but mostly weed. I liked codeine and morphine, but they were too good. So was the cocaine. Too damn good. I used my head when it came to that stuff. I did acid, mushrooms, mescaline, and other things I don't quite know what they were but messed me up good. Got into cough medicine too. Fuckin stupid. Never did anything crazy and never will. I always knew the really hard stuff wasn't worth it. Like alcohol, I think of smoking weed, or doing it more often. I've done it a few times in the last three years or so, but had a good long time when I didn't smoke at all. Some two years I think. Basically college. Most of my peers were high or drunk while I was at home reading Orwell books and drinking tea and writing prose. Weird. My best friend in high school put being high on weed so succinctly that I have yet to find a better description. He said when you're high everything is a mission. It's so true. That's why it's so hard to do more than one thing at a time. No multi-tasking while high. There's no way you can keep track. I think that's why I don't smoke so much anymore. I don't need to be on a mission. It's not relaxing. Playing guitar or reading is enough. I really am an old man. Shit. I really have to be in the right state of mind and place to get high. And I don't hang out with people who smoke anyway. They mostly get drunk, and some complain about pot smokers and how bad weed is. Oh the irony. Indeed.
The question I come back to in many parts of my life and this one in particular is “how will this or does this make my life any better? Will it be better if I do it? What do I gain, or what can I lose?” I lose money, a soft bed, and maybe self-respect. That said, and for some reason I think of Cody laughing at me, I will drink again, that's for certain. But who knows when or why, but that'll be a funny day.
Drugs are a whole new place. I can say, be it quantity, quality and hours spent, I have been high on drugs more than drunk. Totally. I started smoking weed when I was 12 or 13. I feel old when I can't quite remember. I've never not liked getting high. Even after I stopped drinking I kept smoking weed. I was never a stoner so much. I just liked getting high when I could. I did other drugs too, but mostly weed. I liked codeine and morphine, but they were too good. So was the cocaine. Too damn good. I used my head when it came to that stuff. I did acid, mushrooms, mescaline, and other things I don't quite know what they were but messed me up good. Got into cough medicine too. Fuckin stupid. Never did anything crazy and never will. I always knew the really hard stuff wasn't worth it. Like alcohol, I think of smoking weed, or doing it more often. I've done it a few times in the last three years or so, but had a good long time when I didn't smoke at all. Some two years I think. Basically college. Most of my peers were high or drunk while I was at home reading Orwell books and drinking tea and writing prose. Weird. My best friend in high school put being high on weed so succinctly that I have yet to find a better description. He said when you're high everything is a mission. It's so true. That's why it's so hard to do more than one thing at a time. No multi-tasking while high. There's no way you can keep track. I think that's why I don't smoke so much anymore. I don't need to be on a mission. It's not relaxing. Playing guitar or reading is enough. I really am an old man. Shit. I really have to be in the right state of mind and place to get high. And I don't hang out with people who smoke anyway. They mostly get drunk, and some complain about pot smokers and how bad weed is. Oh the irony. Indeed.
The question I come back to in many parts of my life and this one in particular is “how will this or does this make my life any better? Will it be better if I do it? What do I gain, or what can I lose?” I lose money, a soft bed, and maybe self-respect. That said, and for some reason I think of Cody laughing at me, I will drink again, that's for certain. But who knows when or why, but that'll be a funny day.
Friday, August 14, 2009
of interest
I remembered something that I wrote last fall, in Nebraska I think. This is it.
I've learned to accept a lot of things in and about my life. I know that I cannot change most things. I can only change how I look at things. I accept how great and awful things can be. It's hard and frustrating and heartbreaking. this said, there is one thing that I cannot accept: that I am alone, that I have to be, that I was born to be. There are many people who I share commonalities with, people who I am like. there just seems to be something missing. One part of me that's not in them. Soul hunger. Can I give that part of myself to someone else? Would they even know that's what I am doing? Regardless, there comes a point when being alone gets old. It starts with the idea that it's only temporary, that sometime soon something else will come along. Then comes the virtuosity of being alone. The joy of solitude. Oh, how glorious it is to bask in its vast palette of opportunity. Then is ambivalence, or just not having time to notice. And when you stop and breathe out, you see how at every turn you wished there was someone there. Because what is a sunset, a view, an adventure, and idea, without someone else to share it with? After a time these thins seem futile, mediocre, empty, wasted. It's difficult to describe beautiful for someone. It's easy to show them.
It was after writing this that I told myself I was going to start really living. Even if it hurt, or didn't make any sense. I think it's working.
I've learned to accept a lot of things in and about my life. I know that I cannot change most things. I can only change how I look at things. I accept how great and awful things can be. It's hard and frustrating and heartbreaking. this said, there is one thing that I cannot accept: that I am alone, that I have to be, that I was born to be. There are many people who I share commonalities with, people who I am like. there just seems to be something missing. One part of me that's not in them. Soul hunger. Can I give that part of myself to someone else? Would they even know that's what I am doing? Regardless, there comes a point when being alone gets old. It starts with the idea that it's only temporary, that sometime soon something else will come along. Then comes the virtuosity of being alone. The joy of solitude. Oh, how glorious it is to bask in its vast palette of opportunity. Then is ambivalence, or just not having time to notice. And when you stop and breathe out, you see how at every turn you wished there was someone there. Because what is a sunset, a view, an adventure, and idea, without someone else to share it with? After a time these thins seem futile, mediocre, empty, wasted. It's difficult to describe beautiful for someone. It's easy to show them.
It was after writing this that I told myself I was going to start really living. Even if it hurt, or didn't make any sense. I think it's working.
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