Tell me why

I don’t like Mondays…

Last week hasn’t ended– this week is just an extension of it. I’m putting together my issue edit and preparing for my labor day weekend, which will include me going home for a visit and experiencing the ring of fire at Canandaigua Lake, which I missed last year.

So, some really strange stuff has been happening in the last two weeks that I won’t even bother typing out here, not yet.

Though I consider myself a chronic skeptic to anything I can’t duplicate with cold hard physical evidence, part of my ancestry is a line of Lily Dale Spiritualists, a fact I’ve pretty much ignored for most of my life.

So I’ve been a little more lenient about my skepticism lately. I can’t illustrate any of it here, because I don’t understand enough about what it is I’m experiencing to explain all of it. As my development in the ethereal arena grows, I’ll keep everyone updated.

Suffice it to say that my attitude toward things rather keeps me from seeing what it is I have in front of me.

I got a feeling I need to be doing all I can in the direction of expressing myself– i.e. I don’t write enough, play music enough, ground enough– in essence, I’m not awake enough.

It’s kind of important to be awake if you want any of your actions to go anywhere as far as raching a goal is concerned. So what’s the goal, you might ask?

Keep going up. I do that, but I’m still holding back a lot of my energy because I’m scared of two things– what I can’t do, and what I can do.
My actions would be so much more meaningful if they were directed and focused by my will.

I have a lot more information to share here, but I’m afraid of my blog taking a really sharp turn, and this is meant for the lighter side or life– humor and stuff. If I decide I need to start another blog dedicated to the heavier, less interesting* facts about my life, I’ll post the link– I promise.

(* I guess this assumes that any of this information is interesting. But hey, if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this– and if you are reading it, then…continue…reading it.)

Sigh. Things are still changing–so I guess that’s usually a good sign.

The teacher said to do more than be aware– take action.
Ok, coach. I get it.

DREAM: The science of flying

So I had a dream I could launch myself off the ground and stay suspended for a few seconds. It was a little bit different than most of my flying dreams in that I was trying to analyze how I was flying as I was doing it.
The more questions I asked, the more poorly I’d stay aloft. It got to
the point where I was only jumping, and I couldn’t stay in the air no matter how hard I tried.

I was trying to get my mind to understand something that was bigger than itself, and in trying to comprehend this process of performing an action I was already was already able to do, I lost track of how I was doing it. Too much analysis kills the magic of any given moment, because it ultimately whittles an experience down to match up with something you’ve already seen or felt instead of letting your body experience what’s happening NOW.

Decorating Scheme

So I have this mirror that I got for free. It’s about 5 feet by 18 inches–or I guess that’s what it used to be until I left it in the back seat of my car for something like a week. My drums are still in there too. Anyway, I heard a snap about three days ago, and this really mild grinding noise anytime I came to an abrupt stop or made a sharp turn. By that time, I knew it was too late for the mirror, so I left it in my car for about 4 more days.

I don’t want to hear about bad luck. If you think about it, it comes down to physics and the pressure on the glass. I didn’t break the mirror. The natural forces of nature that bind matter to law did. So I guess the science of physics is in for 7 years of bad luck. That’s kind of a bummer for Stephen Hawking.

Anyway, I finally brought the mirror in. I got it inside and found the mirror had broken into 4 peices, 2 of them deadly enough for me to very carefully peel off the cardboard backing keeping them together. It would be a waste of a good mirror to just throw the shards away, so I hung them up. When the job was done, I realized how much I like mirror shards hung at random angles on otherwise plain vanilla walls.

So I guess the plan now is to go buy some more mirrors, smash them up, and hang them up on my walls mosaic style. I’m really starting to like the idea.

My apartment feels like home. I have my own space. I have room to breathe.

Just in time for the summer to be over, I discover that the roof outside my only northeast window has less than an 7% gradient. This, of course, means I might be able to go play guitar out there on some cool night, provided it’s strong enough to hold me. Maybe it’s not such a good idea.

Fall is coming. More about that later. For now, I’d better get off to work.

DREAM: Crimson Tiger

Single most intense dream I’ve ever had:

I was walking around this kind of downtown district, think something like the size of Port Jervis (or for the rest of you, think something like the width of four or five canandaigua main streets across.) The farther I walk, the more people I see running down the street. It’s a panic. Some people are crying and running, some people are just bounding down the street as fast as they can, but everyone seems to be running from something. Farther along the road I see authority figures rushing people into buildings, helping them get to shelter, trying to calm them down. This is clearly some kind of evacuation. I start walking toward the authorities, but I see my old friend Mike from high school. He’s standing inside a farmers market sort of storefront, motioning to me.
“Joe, in here! Get in here!” I’m glad to see someone I know, so I go into the store. He closes a big barn style sliding wooden door and gets beind some boxes. He tells me to do the same. I cover myself up with some empties and wait.
There’s a loud, terrible roar. It’s an echo though– I can tell it’s still far away.
I hear it again, louder. I’m staying still listening to this noise get louder until I feel something right outside the door. One deafening roar, then a few seconds later, the next is quieter. I make up my mind that whatever is outside has passed by the building, and this curiousity comes over me. I want to see this thing. I want to know what it is everyone is running from.
I throw the empty boxes off of me and hear Mike’s voice. “Stay still! You can’t go out there. Stay here!” I ignore him completely and slide the barn door open. I step out into the street, which is now desolate. I look around, but I don’t see anybody. A few blocks down, someone runs across the street. I hear the roar again from behind me. I walk in that direction and peek my head around the corner.
I see what looks like a gigantic red tiger, only it’s not a tiger. It’s liquid. It flows like fluid, but it’s taking the shape of a huge feral cat. I watch as it pounces a human, but when it does so, it just kind of passes through the person, engulfs them into its liquid body, and nothing remains where the person once stood. Before I decide to run away, the cat turns and looks right at me. I start running the other way, but I see the creature leap in front of me, bounding ahead and off the side of one of the buildings. It’s in front of me now, and instead of breaking down, or continuing to run, I just take a good look at it. I decide there’s no way I’m going to get away, so I take a deep breath and watch it carefully as it leaps at me.

I don’t wake up. The world doesn’t go black.

Instead, I’m now seeing the world from about 3 feet higher. I’m moving like lightning and I’m running on all fours. I let out a roar that feels so good that I do it again. I’m running down the streets looking for others. I see a man in a suit dodge around the corner of a building and I follow. The guy doesn’t stand a chance. I move so quickly that it doesn’t take but three leaps for me to catch up and pounce him, and I take him into my liquid self. I see a woman, and I chase her down in the same manner. After about three or four of these, I see another liquid cat like myself gaining on a human. I leap through the human, stealing the other cats prey. It howls at me, and tries to swipe. Its paw goes right through me (which makes sense because we’re made of the same thing,) and I swing back. Each unable to affect the other, we both give off roars and go our separate ways.

The encounter with the other cat is the last clear detail I remember. What a dream though. Not only was I curious enough to encounter the fear–I became it. I woke up wanting to fly down the street in 25 foot leaps.

Totally Always

So I’m mostly moved, and by chance I pick up an open wireless internet access point from somewhere. SO I was thinking–and I know it’s totally a Joe Callan thing to be counting time all the time, but it kills me that I graduated five years ago.

I found an old journal from the days before and after my trip to Los Angeles, which goes all the way thorough my first semester at Potsdam. It’s strange how many wise things I said back then that my actions didn’t meet up with at all.

Sound familiar?

The most interesting thing about looking at all that writing was how I would be convinced I had all my questions answered on one day, and the next, my world would be falling apart. Such things go along with being 18, I suppose. I guess I’m still that way now, but it’s so much less severe.

I felt the same way when I first moved down here–there was nothing familiar, no one to talk to, and little space to relax in. For the first two weeks I was scared as hell. Now, there’s little doubt in my mind that I’m going to be here for another year. It’s home. I’m home.

Going back to Canandaigua felt so strange to me. It was probably a product of Mom living in a different house. No basement to hide in. No room to go back to. Cooley said it best when he went back:

“Nothing had changed, but stepping outside it made me see that I wasn’t doing anything there… I couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t the same.”

Amen. I’m going in to work early again. Time to wrap up some layouts.

Moving Day

I forgot to mention…

I’m moving, so my computer won’t be online for a time. I’ll be back in about a week when everything is set up. Would it kill you people to leave some kind of comment?
If I don’t get some responses I’m going to have to get personal.

You think you’re better than me?
You want to fight?

In linguistics, we call questions like these “muted-answer” questions. It means that the responses have no affect on the actions of the individual using them, for instance, the drunk running up to you swinging beer bottles around your head. Another example of the “muted-answer” is a favorite of your parents.

“Do you want to see me get angry?”

There’s no safe response to that question. Trust me. I tried a LOT of different ones.

In school there was always a trick our teachers used to try and pull to get us to say “may I” instead of the apparently inferior “can I”. The difference, they said, was a question of ability versus a question of permission.

Joe: Can I go to the bathroom?
T: I don’t know, can you?
(pause)
Joe: I sure can. (Exits.)

So it was a question of ability. I asked if I could go to the bathroom, and then, as I saw it, I was CHALLENGED to go to the bathroom. I accepted the challenge and went to complete my task.

When I came back from the lavartory, having stood up to the challenge that dare ask if I could go to the bathroom, I was given detention for not asking permission. Again, I misunderstood.

My teacher offered me a question, and I not only answered it, but went to prove my assertion through physical means. That’s Hypothesis, Procedure, Data, and Conclusion all in one. If someone asks if you can jump, you say yes, and you jump. If someone really needs to asks me if I can relieve myself, I’m going to answer truthfully. I will, however, spare them the indignity of proving it in front of them by depositing the data in the nearest appropriate location.

Like their car door handle.

No, this didn’t ever happen. Stop looking up my teachers’ names.

Oh, right, like I said,
I’m moving into an apartment. A real honest to goodness apartment. With a kitchen.

Memory Loss

These terms and conditions apply to all things before and all things after, the alpha and omega of any topic, post, picture, audio-clip, satellite photo, Magnetic Resononance Image, string of binary, smoke signal, sign, symbol, symbolism, metaphor, assessment, critique of or about, word, meaning, feeling, or number is not meant to entertain or amuse you in any way.

It’s there so that I have a record of what I did from the previous day. Seriously.

You call it vanity, I call it remembering life.

As it turns out, I was involved in a head injury involving a lego house, two fireworks, and a Destro action figure. It began as many things do–a harmless prank–but it quickly turned to a hellish reality which included shards of yellow plastic.

Legos were built to last. You realize this after it takes 55psi to blow a lego house apart. Fifty-five pounds of pressure per square inch. Those little firecrackers wouldn’t do. We would need the one called M-80. Same blast power as a quarter stick of dynamite.

We never found the Destro action figure. After what the house did to us, we just assumed that the true brains behind Cobra Command was vaporized on site. On the other hand, it was Destro, and that dude doesn’t die.

So anyway…the house, right? Shards of plastic. Shit.

What was I talking about?

I don’t have a good memory. As it turns out, I was involved in a head injury involving a lego house, two fireworks…

Morning Person

Everyday this week I’ve woken up two to three hours before the alarm. Monday and Tuesday it was 7. Yesterday was 6:30. Today, just before 6. I haven’t naturally woken up this early this consistently since I was 10 years old. It’s kind of nice. I’ve already taken my shower and eaten, so I still have an hour to spare before getting to work a half hour early.

See, this is why before 6 is a bit too much.

I wonder if this waking early has to do with the fact that part of my brain knows I have hot cocoa.

INT. Brain

(8:30, any usual weekday)

WAKE IMPULSE: Dude, you have to get up.
SLEEP IMPULSE: Fuck you, dude.
WAKE IMP.: You’ve hit the alarm four times.
SLEEP IMP.: Don’t you understand? There nothing for us there.
WAKE IMP.: What?
SLEEP IMP.: No cereal, no eggs and bacon, no bagels, no hot cocoa. I’m totally not getting up.
WAKE IMP.: Yeah, screw it.

(But now…)

(5:49, today)

WAKE IMPULSE: Get up, dude.
SLEEP IMPULSE: Are you crazy, or just fuckin’ stupid?
WAKE IMP.: Hot Cocoa.
SLEEP IMPULSE: Dude, I’m there. Procure a morning paper.

The most balanced coffee cookie.

What if I told you you could have a moderately sweet but otherwise flavorless cookie with which to enjoy coffee? How much, you ask? Hold on, friend. There’s more. This cookie won’t fall apart in your coffee.

How much would you pay for a well balanced semi-sweet yet bland coffee cookie? Twenty dollars, you say? Ten? Well, I’ve found this cookie for the same price as a bag of oreos. Two dollars and ninety nine cents. I can’t tell you the name of the company that makes them though. That would just be selling out.

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