home sweet homie

here i am again, about to leave town and wander around somewhere. at least this time i have a job, and perhaps with my extra years i will get some writing done at my new locale, the portmagee youth hostel. i should be there for the summer months working for a youth hostel doing hostel-y stuff. so if anybody wants to stay with me i might be able to get you a hostel room for a discount, so quit thinking so much and just come out here, i'd love to see you.

as far as the present is concerned, i am making the rounds seeing all my friends before friday, so if you want to hang out with me hit me up now, or forever hold your texts.

protest against the rising tide of conformity

I Fear the void. Fear the ignorance. Fear of the unknown, of the pain, of the stupendous paralysis. Fear the nothingness that comes with unobstructed youth. Of the obstruction of the umbilical cord. Fear the green lines underneath the documented sentences. Fear sex. Fear not having sex. Fear war. Fear the end of wars. Fear money, power, success, failure. Fear not understanding. Fear weakness and weariness. Fear your own inherent inability. Fear being too smart. Fear being unacceptable. Fear, once and for all, being finally rejected and cast out into the endless ether, doomed to a fate of floating further and further away into the purply void. Fear the void. Fear eating too much and becoming overweight. Fear depending too much on other people, fear being far too independent. Fear your god, and fear your inevitable hell. Fear the ones you love being cast into the void from whence they came. Fear being unloved, unlovable. Fear conditions. Fear chains. Fear the void.

In the end they knew I was coming, they had their mats set about just for a traveller like me to shake the dust of my feet on. Before my dirty finger could reach about to press their doorbell, they were rising to their tired feet, setting aside their remote controls, to walk already the well trodden path to open said door and allow in the long prophesied journeyman of whom they’ve all read and heard so much about. My arrival was merely a dance of which nothing was truly caused. It was a motion that did not need to be done, my fate was laid about before me from the beginning of time.

Artists don’t give us the answer, they only try their best to reveal their innermost feelings, affected by the experiences around them. An artist is not a mirror to the world, but a mirror to himself, as he perceives himself, and the best artist spends his life trying to more accurately express this perception. Its all perception, there’s no real truth. Remember, when you tell your little sister that when a plane flies overhead, the reason that the sound seems to be coming from earlier on in the planes flightpath is because light travels faster than sound. At that point she realizes that the sounds she hears aren’t reality, they are merely the perception of reality. Remember my friend, that the plane you see in the sky is not the plane itself, but is only the light bouncing off that plane. Everything, everything we know is from perception. An artist has accepted this, has stopped trying to discern, and is only wallowing, smiling, in this mixed up batch of random perceptions

The rising tide of conformity? Rising? As if at some point it was lower, and we are now witnessing a trend in which conformity is more prevelant than at some earlier state? Fuck that, we’ve always conformed, that’s the only way we know how to get by. I’m conforming right now.
Protest? Protest? What does it mean to protest. To peacefully fight, to argue, to make a stance against, to refuse to conform. Protest against the rising tide of conformity? I say conform to the ocean of conformers, and in doing so realize you’ve never been separate from the ocean. You are the ocean.

I am humanity. I am humanity, as a whole. I am every man, woman, and child ever born. I am their collective memories. I am every person on the planet earth today. I will die, and my death will be that of man. I will experience one phenomenon, I will witness the same thing that we all witness, and my experience will be congruent. There is only one experience.

This human experience is singular. We live under the assumption that there is real human interaction. That when I talk, someone is listening. That when I hear a voice, it is from another human soul, like mine. For all that we know, I could be the only one in this world. For that reason, when I sing, I am now singing to myself. When I pray, I am praying to myself. When I fight, I am only fighting with myself. When I am angry with someone, I am only angry at myself. All of this world is a part of myself, and who am I to try and separate us? Who am I to elevate part of me, and to punish the other. Who am I to cause a rift, to organize, to categorize, to map, to divide and conquer, to analyze, to break down, to kill. Who am I? truly, this I say to you.

Laugh. Sing. Love, dance, play, sleep, eat, run, travel, fly, jump. Do all these things, not because it’s what god would want of you, but its because its what you would want of you. The worst thing you can do is worry. You might die, matter of fact you will die, but if your lucky you will be between two towns walking down a railroad track in the rain wearing only jeans and a beer soaked t-shirt, having inspired countless artists. At the end of it all, may your last words be sixty-four thousand nine hundred and twenty-eight.

Define beauty. I can’t, but I’ll tell you when I see it. Joan baez, love is just a four letter word, disc two, no direction home.

Once life seems too hard, too complicated, too difficult, realize that it isn’t the world around, but YOU. There is nothing complicated about this world, nothing. All you have to do is understand that, then understand that its just your confounding mind trying to convince you that there is something that you cannot do, and its at that moment that the world opens up. Understand.
Does the blind man fear the loss of sight? Does the tallest man fear being ridiculed for being so short? I am you. I am dead already, I am rich, I am poor. I’ve had limbs amputated. Right now, I am suckling. Right now, I am sick and weak. I’ve been eaten by animals, I’ve drowned in rivers, I’ve won Olympic races. I am humanity, what shall I fear? I don’t fear the void, because I am the void. I’ve only ever been drifting, further and further away, and to fear that would be silly. I am the opposite of what I think I am, and I am what I think I am as well. I am everything, and so are you, and you are reading words from your own mouth that you just haven’t yet spoken. I don’t fear the void. And if you believe a word of this I’ve already lost you.

Pink.

ghost riders in the sky

The old flag was tattered, and once a month (whether it needs it or not) a new flag must be hung in its place. It was a clear, crisp winters day in texas. The sun was winking its merry old face upon us, and my dog samwise was inspecting the fine job I was doing. The birds were singing from up high, and a herd of cattle began meandering their way over to my location, I suppose to further inspect my handiwork (hanging a texas flag garners a lot of attention here, across species even).

Now, let me state that while we do have cows we don’t have a lot, compared to a typical texas ranch, probably about 20. however if you’ve ever played chicken with a herd of 20 full grown cows you’d realize its nothing to shake a stick at. Also, while my dog was helping he lacks opposable thumbs, so I had to do all the work. Its difficult when you realize that allowing a texas flag to touch the ground is tantamount to treason. The required punishment is impaling yourself on a bowie knife while singing ‘deep in the heart of texas’ as the light slowly dims from your eyes.

I had just folded the old flag into a proper boy scout triangle, and the first ring of the new flag was clipped onto the pole, things were looking up.

‘bruh,’ samwise posited.

In case you don’t know my dog samwise has developed a modified language. Bruh is samwise for, ‘pardon me my good man, but I do suspect something queer is afoot.’

The herd had moved eerily close to our location. It was quite obvious that they didn’t like us intruding into their territory, or something like that. I double checked to make sure I folded the old flag right, yep I had, so it couldn’t be that. Nope, they just plain didn’t like us there. We were cornered against a barb-wire fence.

‘ah sam, don’t you pay them any mind, they’re just curious is all. Here, does it look like I hung this right, I’m not sure if yo…’

‘BRUH.’ Samwise retorted. Ignoring my complacency sam leapt toward the cows, sending the cows in front lurching back as the cows in back kept trotting forward. The midherd collision caused massive bovine confusion and cattle chaos.

A mighty lone bull separated himself out from the herd, and met eye to eye with a defiant sam. Sams mighty dog bark echoed off the canyon walls, his hair raised, his ears tall, and his chest puffed out. The bull snorted and pawed at the texas clay. It was high noon, and trouble was brewing.

‘now, sam, get back here. You look like a damn rabbit to him. Here, try and hold this old flag, I only have one more clip to…’

‘BAROOOOOWWW!!! BRUH, BRUH, BAROOOOOO!’ sam calmly reciprocated.

Now I was faced with a challenging dilemma, one no man should face. On the one hand I had my dog sam, man’s best friend staring steely eyed in the face of danger. It was my prime responsibility to have his back, to protect him no matter what. Even if sam is stirring up his own mess, he’s only trying to protect me, what kind of guy would I be if I just let my dog enter harms way. (let it be noted here that I did protect sam from a ferocious bull dog back in the summer of ’05, but c’mon, a bull?)

On the other hand I was juggling two texas flags, the ol lone star. This is the symbol that represents the Alamo, the battle of san jacinto, sam Houston, Stephen f. Austin, and Kelly Clarkson. It’s LBJ, Ross perot, ron paul, and to a lesser extent george w. bush. It’s the mountains of the big bend, the swamplands in east texas, the hill country in the south, the high plains in the west, and the mighty brazos that flows through em all. Should I just drop them to the mud, surely to be trampled on by a herd of thunderous snorting cattle? I held my breath as the deafening silence grew louder. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed.

In an instant the two titans leapt toward each other, colliding in a cloud of dust in midair. Sam, mighty as he is, ricocheted off the bull like a gimpy rag doll, a wet piñata, a liberal hippie douche against the mighty forearm of justice. ‘nooooo…’ I bellowed, bleary eyed, but it was too late and of no use. The stampede galloped over him, pounding their razor sharp hooves into the terf, tearing and shredding clumps of sod in their wake. In the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping squall Sam was lost amongst the mud, the dust and the tears. The earth shuddered as the thunderous cattle, black as night and twice as ugly, paraded over the trembling earth. Sam’s shrill cries reverberated off my ears, enveloped in the roaring, howling, death tremor.

‘AIIGH, AIIIGH, AIIEEEEE!!!!’ sam coolly professed.

Just as soon as the whole thing started, it was over. The cattle disappeared over the horizon in a ghostly mist. I clipped the last ring of ol bonnie blue onto the pole and hoisted it up above ground level. Respectfully setting the old flag in the golf cart I ran to sam’s side, my heart pounding in my ears. With half damp eyes, I knelt down beside sam, lying limp on the ground.

‘ah sam, (sniff, sniff) now why’d you have to go and do that. They didn’t mean any trouble, and now (sob, sob, sniff, sneeze, cough) look what you gone and did. (voice increasing to a quivering bellow) Dammit samwise, dammit all to hell!’

I ripped my shirt open revealing a surprisingly well sculpted and chiseled chest, my abs rippling from the emotion. Holding the shards of my shirt in my clenched fists I rared back and fiercely shouted toward the lonesome sky, ‘DAMMIT ALL TO HEEELLLLLLLL!!!!!’

‘bruh’ sam whispered.

‘sam?’ I questioned, ‘sam, is that you?’

sam suddenly rose from the ground, shook the dust off his coat and wagged his tail. ‘sam! Your alright! Why, there’s not a scratch on you!’ sam jumped on my tan and muscular body, licking my face all over. ‘ah, it’s a miracle sam, you ol galoot. It’s a miracle!’

and so, with that, sam and I heroically hoisted the mighty texas flag the rest of the way to the top of the 30 foot flag pole, the brave lone star waving stoically in the whipping texas wind for all the world to see. Scratching his ears, sam and I walked back to the house, sam with his tail wagging and I with my muscles bulging. It was the end of an adventure, and I for one, needed a nap.

The end.

in front of a distant cross stands a mosque

bosnia, night fall, and how beautiful on the cobbled street were my feet walking. mostar is about 500 years old, an ancient town that has remained relatively unchanged. however, it is in a since no more than 2 years old. the entire population of the town left after it was reduced to rubble in the nineties, and 7 years ago they began trickling back. in 2005 it was completely rebuilt and is absolutely breathtaking.

jessica and i had just crossed the old bridge when a short man sweeping the sidewalk asked us if we were hungry. we said we were, and as quickly as he could he unlocked his restuaurant/house and sat us down at a table.

the menu was fairly extensive, but he approached us saying, "do you like chicken?" it was more of a statement than a question and in 10 minutes he served us his house specialty. while we ate he told us his story.

tale (pronounced 'towlie') was born and raised in mostar. by his early thirties he was a very succesful man. he had been educated in hospitality, owned two restaurants, had a wife and two sons.

"its nice when the season's over, so the streets aren't so crowded and you can talk one on one to people," jessica said.

"oh no, no," replied tale, "i love people. if this town were crowded all the time i would be happy. the more people for me to talk to, the better."

in the nineties croatia and serbia were fiercely at war. however, because bosnia is right in between them much of the fighting took place there. tale didn't go too much in to detail, but pictures of the town during that time are quite telling. the streets were feet deep in rubble. the buildings were collapsed. from the looks of it the town had been hit by an atomic bomb. even the old bridge, one of the world heritage sites, was completely destroyed. after all this, tale wanted to stay in his home town. however, his wife urged him to leave. in 1997, after fierce fighting, tale and his family applied for refugee status in canada and soon moved. the once succesful business man was now penniless and jobless in a foreign country where nobody spoke his language.

"for a year and a half i didn't leave my house. i didn't speak english and i had no job. i was depressed."

however, after a friend of his who had been a professor of math in bosnia urged him to get a job, tale began to work as a pizza delivery man. his wife began to go to a university and his children soon became canadians. for eight years the top chef slung pizzas and saved every penny he could, and after he began to learn basic english he tried to tell others his story. but, of course, nobody believed him.

in 2005 tale came back to mostar with his youngest son to start his business back. he and his son rebuilt his home and restaurant by hand, repainted everything and bought an oven. it was now that we were sitting in his place and enjoying his hospitality. he soon went back to the kitchen and brought out some walnut cake topped with whipped cream. "here," he said, "this is on me."

"when you go back, to america, tell everyone that muslims are not bad. we are not extremists, we are not angry. most people write us off before ever meeting us. but we are victims of violence just as others are. all we want is for people to visit us, to see for themselves."

we paid the bill (it was 20 dollars for both of us) and crossed back over the newly rebuilt old bridge. the town was splashed in ambient light from the crescent moon, and the shop owners were just closing their doors. absolutely incredible.

any conceivable justified war

this is an old onion post, right after 9/11, but at the present time in america i feel it to be particularly salient.

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/28151

a beautiful day

i'm back here in texas for a about a week and a half, so i decided i'd make the most of not having a car and ride a bike somewhere. after all, i am a new expert on bicycles.

so yesterday i ride a bicycle up through watauga, into keller, and then on the northside of keller on the west side of the road i stop at wat buddharatanaram, the oft ignored thai buddhist temple (home of the largest gold buddha in north america) right here in keller, tx.

i ride my bike into the grandiose and intricate entrance, and come up on a monk wearing a gold robe and drinking an arizona tea. i'm like, "hey, pardon me, but do y'all have any information on volunteer work." he looks at me and smiles, and takes a sip of his tea.

"so, do you have an information center or something, i mean i'm not buddhist or anything, at least i don't think i am, and i just thought, y'know, it's my day off and i should go out and do something for a change. i rode my bike all the way up here, and its like 10 miles and i'm beat, so at the least i might could use just a little bit of water and i'll get out of your hair."

he smiles, takes another sip of arizona tea, shakes his head, says something in thai and points off to the west.

feeling retarded, i then ride my bike further through the little town and pass a tiny old monk feebly hoing away at his front lawn. i follow the road, winding around a golden temple and come upon a woman sitting under a gazebo. figuring that nobody speaks english i approach her like tarzan would jane.

"HI. ME ALAN. VOLUNTEER?" i'm also making an exaggerated shovelling motion with my hands.

"hi, are you asking if there is volunteer opportunities?" she very elegantly responds.

thank god! somebody speaks english. now two people on this plantation think i'm a dumbass.

"yes, yes! if there's anything i can sign up for, i mean i'm here for a couple weeks."

we make our way back around the temple, and back to the old man who was every bit of 80 and still hacking away on his yard. she starts talking to him in thai, and i could only pick out a couple words in which she used the english form. for instance, she introduced me as alan, and i smiled and gave a little nod, then she talked a bit longer and put in the english word 'volunteer.'

the tiny old man, sweating in the texas sun, seemingly a bit confused by my presence, leans on his hoe and repeats thoughtfully the word, 'volunteer.'

then he turns and looks at me, and in a moment as if struck by pure epiphany, he extends out his hoe.

i look at the woman, and i probably looked like how my dog looks when i make a funny noise, y'know, and he cocks his head slightly to the side, i probably looked just like that.

"i think he wants you to finish this drainage ditch for him," the lady says, just barely eeking it out without laughing.

so for the next hour the old monk sat in the shade while i hoed him a drainage ditch. there was a bunch of bottled water there, so i was never thirsty, and after a while he got back up again and helped me smooth out the ditch a bit. once it was done i turned to him and said, "ok?", to which he responded, "ok."

i rode my bike out of their village, waving at everyone, and stopped off at my buddy brice's parents' house just in time for dinner. we all talked and laughed, and after dinner i rode my bike through the lush bear creek park, weaving through the trees and admiring fort worth's newly acquired rivers and waterfalls. a beautiful day.

jungle gym

when we were in wyoming, on the way back to salt lake city, we stopped over on the side of the road at a town fair. i don't think any of us knew there was a fair there, it just happened to be next to the gas station.

capitalizing on this unique opportunity many of us began to walk around the little kiosks. there was a fellow in a cowboy hat with muscular dystrophy selling puppy jack russell terriers, a group of girls from a small town rodeo club, and a group selling antler artwork. in the middle of the fun was a playground set with a 15 foot jungle gym, a huge slide, teeter totters, a swingset and monkey bars. and to my astonishment the playground was barren, completely empty of people and it was in the very middle of the fair.

so i climbed the slide, a bit courageously seeing as i'm a grown man with a bunch of coworkers, and silently began sliding down it. over and over i slid down the slide, i think one time i nervously mustered out a 'wee'. after a while 3 or four little kids followed suit, and because i didn't want to hog the slide, moved on to the jungle gym.

now that the initial fear was gone, i was like a monkey. i was swinging, hanging upside down, standing on the top and waving to the girls, and soon i found that two of my coworkers were playing on the teeter totters having a good time. we were laughing! next, it was on to the monkey bars. surprisingly i can still skip two bars at a time and make it across. a couple of adults in our group were waiting in line for the slide, and somebody else was crawling up the jungle gym. it was a complete blast, and i finished with incredibly sore muscles and a renewed spirit.

when did exercise stop being fun? why is it that if i want to strengthen my abs i must regimentally sit up, counting methodically to a predetermined number? what happened to swing sets?

why is it that when i need to get my heart rate up i run in a circle, keeping track of my pulse and the number of laps i've completed. what happened to tag?

why is it that in order to build muscle i must pay $60.00 a month to a warehouse that stores weights attached to pulleys, and under the pale glow of a florescent light stare at a wall and mechanically flex? what happened to jungle gyms?

moreover, what happened to exploring the area around the house? climbing a tree, just because it's there? who was given the authority to forbid me from having fun?