Today is Sunday- slinky lizards

After years of living in the area, I finally decided to go see a production at the Mountain Play. It happened to be the Wizard of Oz. When I bought the tickets, I figured it would be a nice diversion from my weekends alone and I figured that it would allow me to forget about my, what is it?, misery?

I had heard much about this event, so I was a bit intrigued by the opportunity to finally experience it. I knew that you had to arrive early so that you could get a good seat under some shade (and seeing as it was a bit hot out, I decided that I would be the first person there.)

I left my house at 11:30 and drove up to the parking lot, and to my surprise, I found that many, many people were more motivated than me.
Oh well.
I ended up going up to the 'Air Force' parking lot and I had to take the bus back down-- this was actually pretty fun as the old, diesel school bus brought me back a few for me. I figured that I could run back up here if I needed to, so I took what I needed-- mostly disposable.

The bus rumbled down the highway and being up higher off the ground really opened up the amazing view of the area. It was so clear. Diablo off in the distance, mocking me.

When we got to the entrance, I realized that I was pretty much fucked. People were crazy prepared for this event-- picnic baskets, coolers, seats, blankets, chairs.......and, all that I had brought was a small backpack with a note pad, a camera and some water. I hate when people show me up.

To say that this place is hot and extremely uncomfortable is really being quite sympathetic, as it is much worse than that. The 'seats' (not sure if you can really call them that) are these craggy, uneven razor-like surfaces that have zero back support. There is no shade anywhere except what is given by the 3 or 4 oak trees that are dotted about. But, of course, all the seats under these trees are occupied by families and couples and old folk. And being the miscreant lurker that I am (I only had my rose colored glasses which easily allowed others to view the angle of my gaze) I truly wanted to sit by the hot women that might be breast feeding, but, I am too tired to keep up my constant search. So, I ended up sitting up above some sort of balcony.

I didn't see anybody smoking which really made me upset, so I lit up anyway and gave the 'what the fuck do you want' look to those around me. At a certain point, somebody came up to me, and given that he had on some official looking badge and some sort of green and brown outfit complete with hat, I just smiled and apologized and asked for forgiveness (I think that I used my fake accent so that he might think that I was European or something.)

The play started, and I couldn't get comfortable and all the people around me all had these great spreads of food and booze.
Fuck.
I wandered about a bit, trying to find a familiar face or a better place, but, I ended up just going back to the place where I originally started.

Around me sat, three young women (they could be described as having 'great personalities'), three older women one of which had this crazy looking tattoo of ballet slippers on her shoulder, a few older couples, and a family with three young children. I kept trying to get an 'up-skirt' from one of the girls with a 'great personality' but, I got tired and stopped trying-- I think she knew that I wanted a peek, so she kept tempting me with the potential.
Fuck.
Instead, I just decided to just hang out and watch the play. The family with the kids had set up a nice spread with sandwiches and you could tell that the 'dad' was a bit on edge-- no booze, just juice. He was wearing some stupid looking running shorts and he had on some New York shirt. He was also wearing these funky looking white arm-warmers. He was hiding something. Maybe some sort of burn or scar. Pretty odd.
The 'mom' was beautiful, and was clearly a bit distracted as she was the one who was managing the kids-- one older little girl, one younger boy, and a baby (I couldn't tell if it was a girl a boy. I am guessing a bald girl). The 'dad' could not have been further detached and non-present, but, who am I to criticize? The kids seemed to be well-behaved for the most part, as they sat and ate their lunches and then just tried to watch the play. The baby just squirmed about and seemed to be unhappy and hot. I could not take my eyes away from this family and I tried to understand what it would be like to be in a family, again. I thought of Sofia and wondered how she would behave in a similar situation. What would I do? Would I be as detached as this dude? Does he realize how good he has it?

The play was pretty good. Nice costumes and funny props. There was this acidic moment with 'sprites' dressed in black with poppy capes, and at this point, I realized that the baby had finally calmed itself and was passed out on the craggy, razor steps.
Out.
I looked at this baby and wished that I could do the same. Reaching that sleep that only a mother can give to you. No matter where you are and no matter what is happening, you find that bliss. I recall sleeping on my mother's lap in restaurants and listening to the muffled sounds of her voice echo through her muscles. Her voice slightly tinged by vodka was so comforting. I also remember sleeping under my mother's feet in the back seat of the car. It was always so warm. I used to look up and out the windows and watch the street lamps pass by. Heartbeats from my childhood, filled with that grey-green hum and luminosity, that measured our family excursions.

Quite un-expectantly and as quick as a cat, the older boy jumped up and ran down the stairs. He shouted, "a lizard" and he began running about our area. He was very adept at tracking this lizard and soon chased it back up towards his family. He shouted, "Papa, get the lizard" The dad reached down and tried to grab it-- but, he was so calm and deliberate in his motion that it almost appeared that he did not want to catch it. The older boy then tried to pounce on it which sent the lizard upward.

Right in front of the mom, this lizard, without hesitation, crawled right on to the sleeping baby's leg, up onto its chest and then on to its face (where at this point, it paused just for a moment, and did that lizard move of holding the body rigid and cocked its head back to gaze at its threat).

Right there, on that sleeping babies cheek, the lizard sat. And, all around (the older women, the younger women, the couples, the family, the children) they all stopped and looked at this lizard. And at that moment, during this slight pause, the mother said, "eewwwwww" and she made a face as if she were covered in creepy crawlies. And then, the lizard just simply crawled off the sleepy baby and scurried (as lizards do) off. The baby kept on sleeping and everybody went back to doing what they were doing before. The older boy then began collecting large sticks and branches and began building something.
The play ended.
We all left.
I went home, and I wished that my mother was here to ease the discomfort that is currently my soul. I can feel that lizard weighing upon my heart and its little rigid body and cocked head is making me uneasy and uptight. If my mother were here, I probably would not even realize it were here and it might scurry off and leave me to sleep peacefully and comfortable on my craggy, razor-like bed that I have created in my life.

Xioba.

Today is Thursday - sustainable greed

I was out back the other day. It was hot out here in the MVCA, so I decided to clean up the patio, the hot tub, the chairs, the garden so that I could enjoy the day much like Sofia and I used to. I decided to smoke again, so that made the day a bit more enjoyable. At first, it hurt a bit as the first few pulls were hot, harsh and, clearly, harmful.
But, I think, that that is the allure of smoking for me; whatever reality exists within our own bodies is a pretty abstract notion. I mean, I can feel my heart beat, I can feel my bowels and my breath. But, all that tissue and fatty sinew within goes unacknowledged. I guess if I had surgery or something it might become a bit more familiar.
Can you have elective surgery to gain knowledge, or do you just have to want to become prettier, or smaller or bustier?
So for me, the harsh scrape of the smoke against my tissue and that nice rushy-dizziness from the nicotine just grants me a moment of lucidity and is my choice for self-help and self-realization.

I was fortunate enough to get a glimpse of a rather large mosquito-eater fall prey to a very small garden-spider. It all began with the mosquito-eater clumsily battering about the wall near my hot tub. For whatever reason, I just sat there and watched it. I think that the way that they fly really draws attention to them.
What exactly do they do? Do they really eat mosquitoes?
Anyway, at a certain point this bug found its clumsy way into a web. I guess that is what bugs do. They just amble about until they either get eaten by birds, or frogs, or spiders.
It frantically tried to get out of the web which only further entwined it and signaled to the spider to come hither-- which it did with quick vigor.
I sat, entranced, and watched the unfolding of nature.
The little spider, barely bigger then one of the mosquito-eater's eyes, began a very meticulous attack upon the bug in the web. It rappelled down toward the bug, and the bug would dance about which would send the spider back up. The spider would rappel again, and the bug would dance, etc. Once, it appeared the spider fell from the web and hit the ground, but then it shot back up into the web.
And then down again and then up again.
The spider tried to get close to the prey, but could not find its way there. It could get near to the legs and it appeared to bite them which seemed odd to me since the legs of a mosquito-eater just appear to be twigs and I was unclear how the venom could get to the body from the twigs.
I almost, almost decided to squish the spider (I love-hate them) and almost, almost decided to free the bug. But, I just felt that nature, in this little moment between a tiny spider and a bumbling, clumsy mosquito-eater is so much grander than my little, impulsive decisions.
So, I just watched.
The little spider, finally and very neatly corralled all of the legs and wings and soon found a way to get close to the body to make the final, venomous bite. There was a moment where I got nauseous when the little spider climbed over the black eyes of the bug.
I tried to stare into those little dark eyes, but I didn't quite know what to look at. I mean, there are not any pupils, or perhaps there are so many pupils that I could not choose one.
The bug soon quieted down and appeared to relax into this fate, and it appeared to have a release of tension which created a calm, elated joy. Is that even possible?
I think that I am pretty fucked up in the head. I am not sure that I belong here.
The little spider climbed up into the rafters of its tiny home and slowly began to hoist the bug up.
I continued to watch as the bug was slowly lifted and soon disappeared.
My love for Sofia is like that silly little clumsy bug. Misdirected intentions full of want and desire, but misdirected and aimless in the end. Even if I were to find my way back to her life would she hoist me up into her heart again? I really hope so.
Xioba

Today is Monday - Itchy Stitches

I just want to scratch at my stitches, and what I have learned to do is to gently move my fingers over the area-- making sure not to use my finger-nails and making sure to not do it too roughly or quickly. I have found that by just gently touching the area, my non-injured arm gets the satisfaction of pleasing the injured arm.
I am still quite unsatisfied, but I am tired of being selfish, and by allowing my non-injured arm a bit of joy I feel that it is helping me mature.
I can't recall if I just never listened to my parents, or if they just didn't tell me, or did I just forget what they had taught me, or did I just have to learn on my own. I don't know. But, what I do know is that I have appeared to waste my life (up till this point, and I can't figure out how to remedy my situation) and I am certain that they informed me about life, adulthood and choices, but all that great advice fell upon my ears like my nimble fingers now fall upon my itchy stitches. If they would have just dug in and really tore at them I feel that I would have been better off.
Fuck.
I am so frustrated and I have this horrible feeling of helplessness and dread.
Sort of like I have very limited time and very few options to make things right.
The only thing that I can think to do is to tell my story of Sofia.
She is gone, and I don't think that she is coming back.
I believe that if I can just write about her then perhaps I can finally leave her.
I will start tomorrow.
Right now, I need to go feign-scratch an elusive itch and have a feign-sip on an empty glass of bourbon.
Xioba

Today is Friday- smashed windshield

I am pretty frustrated these days.
I was at work all day on Thursday and all that I wanted to do was to come home and sit in my Eames chair. When I finally did get home, I just sat in my car in the garage, and all that I wanted to do was to go back to work. When I finally went upstairs, all I could think about was Sofia. I can't even explain the feelings that I have these days as for far too many years I have looked at myself with obfuscated code. And now, when I really need to understand what I am doing, I can't find the way back.
For about an hour, maybe more, I went to the bar, clanked some ice in a glass and feign-poured some whiskey. I then feign-pulled a few sips. Really not that satisfying, and the urges to be soothed are not quelling. At some point, not sure what time it was, I followed an urge to drive out to Sofia's house. I just wanted to sit quietly by it and stare. So I went downstairs and I got into the car I sat for a moment to stare into my decision.
Suddenly, those tiny white spiders appeared on my windshield again. I can't name the emotion that appeared once I noticed those white spindly legs, but, I do know the ultimate relief that I felt some time later-- pride.
I am not sure how I did it, but I somehow managed to climb upon my car's hood, get on my knees, and pummel those poor little white spiders into the front seat of my car. At first, the blood smelt oddly familiar (more on that some time later) and then it became very, very slippery which made me slip off the hood and onto the floor of the garage.
I remember saying, "fucking idiot".
In the end, I had to wrap up my arm with a t-shirt and seeing as I have no friends right now, I had to get on my bike and ride out to Marin General to get looked at and fixed. I don't know how many stitches I needed (how many are needed for validation?) but, I did realized how lucky I was.
Nice, deep cut across the inside of my elbow.
Fortunately, it appeared to have aligned itself nicely with my ink.
Bike stolen.
Walked home.
Xioba

Today is Satruday- Listening for Crickets

It has been some time since I have written. Time passes by in such a cruel and boring way and does not allow for proper acknowledgment or recognition of how special we have it here on earth. Over the past few months I have had some pretty dramatic events stall my desire to continue on without noticing. Most recently, I returned from a stint of 'drying out'. That is to say, I am not quiting my booze nor smoke, but I needed to get away from the House. It was tougher than I expected as I did not really believe that I had lost that much control. But, I guess I was just a bit numb. I won't get into why I decided to seek help, but I will say that in the end I believe that I needed some intervention. The sad thing that really ended up settling into my heart was that I am not sure why I let Sofia flee. I realize why she left, but I don't understand why I didn't try to change sooner. I think of her much too often now for it to be healthy as I fear I may slip back into the House if I just don't let it go. Also, over the past few weeks I lost a friend of mine. He was leading a pack of cyclists up a training route and got hit by a sheriff. Pretty sobering. I am not ready to talk about this loss for me, but I needed to get it out there so that I won't forget to talk about it when ready.

My mother used to tell me the following story when I was sad, bad, mean or sassy.

"When you walk through the woods listening for crickets you will miss the croak of the bullfrog."

She would often times replace crickets with "flapping wings of butteflies", "snap of the dragonfly", "buzz of the moth", "hum of the spider"; but, she always kept the croak of the bullfrog. I finally understand what she was saying to me, and it hurts me that I have missed so much over the past year.

Xioba