Art projects. Money Jobs. Relationships. Fires. Everything finds its end.
Like a fire, all these things must be stoked to continue. And I must be stoked to continue stoking.
Even the wildfire exhausts itself eventually.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Fool Cycle
Obsession
It’s possible to keep a flame burning for years, though it may require burning the day in search of fuel for the night.
Naturally
The tree that finds itself rooted properly may enjoy ideal conditions that allow it to grow large and deep.
Effective
The person that finds itself may realize it has the option of choosing the ideal conditions that will allow it to be true to itself. And the responsibility.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Monday, December 12, 2005
Groovy
I'm under no illusion that I am supposed to be perfect. I could improve things about myself. I could modify my behaviours and enhance my state of being.
I'm sure that if I quit smoking, not only would my physical health improve, but my mental health would finally kick that nasty guilt virus that I caught while smoking.
If I spent more quality time with my finances, got to know them a little better, certainly I would find a beauty that has been hidden under the dread that I project upon it.
I think I burned out my zeal for behaviour modification. I used to do it. I used to modify my behaviour to achieve desired effects, and reaped the benefit of such effects. I thought everyone else was crazy for not having a testosterone fueled zealous passion for life.
I couldn't keep it up. I tried to be an excellent human. I excelled a bit in some ways that seemed simultneously epic and miserably obscure. Then, I became my predjudice. I got so heavily into my path that I beat it into a rut. Now I have a hard time seeing over the walls of my groove.
I have internal conflict. It takes up energy and I spend that time on a memory that I carry with me, that I reflect upon then call it me.
I think my life was more exciting when I felt there was some objectified god type entity that would answer my petitions and grant my wishes if I was a good boy. Now that I've realized how to take responsibility for reaping the effects of causes that I make, I don't wanna. Not today. Tomorrow. Maybe. Later, when I feel like it.
Life does not die with the form, it slips into another, infinite it seems. Trippin through eternity, gigging in this form. Comedy routine. The Art of imperfection
Thursday, December 01, 2005
What I Ate
Woke up around 8:00am. Had a cigatette and some re-warmed coffee from yesterday while talking with Carson. Talked about the prospects of moving form a dichotomous political/social system to something else.
While at Manland I heard the familiar tune of the lunch truck that drives around the back of Waimanalo selling plate lunches. It's actually and old ice cream truck. It plays the first few bars from The GodFather theme song over and over. I kept pulling weeds in the rain and waiting for the truck to pull in, but it never did. I walked back to the house and made a tunafish sandwich on cracked pepper garlic bread. The bread was a little tough, so I steamed it before grilling it with butter.
Carson made a nice salad this evening that had beats in it.
Later I made a cheese quesadilla with red pepper. Dipped it in salsa verdi.










