oh, just blogging like its 2003

Dreams of felt being run across my face.  In a felt board forest?  The trees; great childish greens and dark browns.  "Autumn" written in great big felt lettering above the sky.  Drone sounds, perhaps old men making Om's?  Old men:  old yogis.  Beards no doubt flowing, white and grey.  Mostly white near the ends, gray around the mouth, the chin.  Maybe inside the Om's sounds, whispers of words.  In the dream they are probably telling me my life objective; what is the meaning of this?  If you try to hard to hear it it just goes away so you focus on the forest.  The sun is a triangle of satsuma; it is Louisiana after all.  All the one's brought in during the fall.  Everyone has a tree, no one knows what to do with all of them.  You can only eat so much citrus.  Juice falling all over your chin, making your keyboard stick to your hands.  Dreams.  Later you try to turn the felt into women.  It is a dream after all.  Rosy lips puckered in rum filled pleasure.  The blush from too much drink; heat.  Their faces turn to demonic grimaces.  Its impossible to hold on.   The grimaces turn to knives. 

We pulled off the side of the road.  Amongst corn fields.  I threw my bottle as far as I could into the deep field.  I want to run through it, I said more to myself than to my brother.  My brother opened a beer. I watched as the vapor flew out of my breath.  Crystal white.  There were no stars, only the light from the car.  I traced my finger on a corn stalk and unzipped my fly.  We should just take off through this shit, I said again.  Just take off running.  There isn't anything at home.  What are we going to do there?  Sit in the heated square?  Flush the toilet?  Take night classes so we can learn French?  Maybe we will get a little older and run off with our kid's third grade teacher.  I zipped up and walked into the deep corn.  Spider webs immediately formed around my head.  I brought up my hand to try to break them.  My brother laid down on the road and started singing Eleanor Rigby horribly out of tune.  You could live out here in this corn, I said, already bored from the scratchy leaves of the corn stalks 

I boarded a plane correctly once; I had my earphones in, sony walkman playing "Nebraska," by Bruce Springsteen.  Somewhere over  Texas I got chills during "Atlantic City."


Never been much of a flyer.  Though sometimes I wonder if I make a deal about it just to have a deal about it.  Once up there I enjoy gazing at the clouds and the fun shapes of the ground. 

I wonder how one indents on here?

Is this a journal of my thoughts?  Who do I write this for?  What time was it, the date, last time I laid on the ground next to my stereo speakers, moved by George Harrison's Rickenbacker?

My cousin has a Rickenbacker.  I have never actually played one; not guitar, not bass.

Running in the cold makes me feel something.  I pretend its a feeling of living.

Cage does Cage

Found this just now, and what a joy.  On the final quarter mile, no, 200 yards of Bolano's 2666.  Can't really say enough how excited I am to have made it as far as I did and too see what a better reader I am now compared to 4 years ago.  For whatever reason Book 4 just stopped me last time.  This time book 4 shaped up to be one of the greatest things ive read...except book 5, which is just amazing.  Ok, enough about me.  For your viewing pleasure:

Was fairy good for laughs while it lasted

Felt a little cold as we lifted up into the airspace north of Baton Rouge.  Touch down Atlanta.  Touch down Indianapolis.  Short trip to Muncie.  From there we drank, watched sports, ran within a trail, ate food, watched sports live, then slept.
Later we drove to Indianapolis.  We had a quick tour by car.  I tried to keep from throwing up.  It was a mixture of car sickness and man made flu (the day before was a mixture of Miller High Life, Jim Beam mixed with diet Pepsi, and various other liquids).  It was a rough stretch I can promise you. 
I started Distant Star by Roberto Bolano, and empathized with the poets hanging around poetry workshops picking at their craft.  I ended up finishing this short novel last night:


"This is my last communique from the planet of the monsters.  Never again will I immerse myself in literature's bottomless cesspools.  I will go back to writing my poems, such as they are, find a job to keep body and soul together, and make no attempt to be published."

Needless to say, after finishing his book, with yet more allusions to labyrinths and dreams,  I had a dream that Peyton Manning was trying to kill me.  No shit.  I almost wished I would have written it all down when I woke up at three in the morning.  His giant forehead loomed ominous as he sought to destroy my life. 

10/2/13

Burned out a little bit.  Hoping for a change of weather in the future.  Running through sweltering streets isn't really my idea of fun.  I built a structure in my yard which felt nice.  I mowed the lawn which felt average.
Yesterday I managed to run at dusk and though warm there were great colors in the sky as the sun faded and this lifted the spirit of my tired jog. 
Later I ventured out and bought some food.  I listened to kanye west's "Bound 2," a song previously rummaging through my brain earlier in the summer.  I was reminded of it again after watching him perform in on my computer.  Live.  Live on my computer. 
Lost a family member since last post.  Bought a house.  I think I might have tripped once or twice in my house at night, stumbling over loose shoes or perhaps boards left out for some forgotten project. 
"project"

Today I run off a hangover. Two miles followed by a mile and a half of intervals. I can't really call what I do creative anymore. Whatever creativity I cling to between bouts of drinking, boredom, and crappy slow gated runs, seems to stay fickle. Maybe there was more of it ten years ago, or maybe I am not noticing the creativity that happens on a daily basis.
Regardless
I learned an elton john song yesterday. That was certainly a first. I plan on honing this song enough to use it for a bunch of listless children, kicking around shoes, laughing at nothing. -Summer days are bluish memories of waking, running around the kitchen, my mother cleaning the kitchen floor, all the chair upside down on the kitchen table; me within looking out as from a fort. Water guns and the taste of their plastic when shooting the warm water into you mouth. Water baloon fights; my brother throwing a ball clear over the house. Someone, perhaps my uncle, and him actually playing catch over my grandmother's house. The old dirty football you would only see on a farm; not something kept in a tidy garage, but left loose in the soil for years on end. Running throw the gate into my back yard. Falling hard in the garage, my head throwing, sight circled around me, from behind me; a birds eye view.
(I thumb through a few databases to get a better answer on what Tolstoy's writing does to me intellectually and emotionally. How long has it been since I used Boolean logic? I want to try his short stories as well. Enjoying the long form novel a lot though. War and Peace, currently. )
What else?

Kept thinking it would rain; one second the sky is the color of denim,
Later I admitted to being a soap snob. The sky like nickels.
Later I brewed green tea using a microwave. The heat outside temporarily broken by one a wonderfully timed thunderstorm; lasting for most of the early morning. Rolling around, digging deeper in.
My dog stretches besides me.

Birthday's rattled off in rapid fire succession. Month. Day. Year.
I sip my tea and watch the shadows brighten under the canopy of the live oak and pecan trees,
In a few hours I will run and I will leave all this behind.
Small dosages of serotonin inhibitors will allow my hands to freely dissect the air,
Prying my fingernails lose from hands chopping through the May air,
(something about showers, something about flowers).
A light hearted mumble as I pass processions of cars feasting on the day,
Witnessing blue skies and white swallows of light, lazy...
"It won't kill you, you know?" I practiced my sad little wind sprints and intervals; my times haven't really increased in decades.

Got a Jim Harrison poetry collection in from inter-library loan,
Robert told me, as I started at him, that his brother may be getting a new gun.
His range gun (Robert's) is a sig. He shot about 50 rounds yesterday with the 9mm,
then shot about 30 with his .38.
A good gun. Fun. You could shoot it one armed.
His lead bullets are very accurate.

Ran over 5 miles yesterday. I don't want to jump to conclusions but I feel like I may be back in stride. Something happened around the purchase of my new shoes where my running was trailing off and my legs were feeling stiff. Maybe this was a normal plateau? I ran less for a few weeks and feel better now. Perhaps I just needed to adjust to my new shoes; electric blue.

Post new post no; wave.

A young father and his son stumble over the rocks leading into City Park Lake
I just managed to take my eyes off of them long enough to see the sun breaking through the clouds to the west. The rays warmed my legs and arms. I pulled my hat back so my hears stuck out and kept up my slow pace. It was years before still when I ran though orange and yellow leaves; the fake autumn of the south with dead leaves and warm air. I had just downloaded a bunch of John Cale. At the time I remember thinking that i was supposed to not think; to just go one step at a time. This was somehow supposed to keep be focused on the present and not the the failings of my past. "Failings." As much as can be said for someone just trying to make it through a decade or a period of one's youth. At the time everything seems so important and so fragile.
My running has been slow lately. It could be due to the weather change, some kind of exotic floor dance I did when too much energy soars through my muscles, or just too little water. That is a thing right? I seem to remember thinking water was important. They say now you can drink too much water.
I can, however, remember this:
A small framed house, just outside of a hill and underneath dark tree coverage. Just a frame with the roof maybe missing from a fire as the walls had patches of black all over them. Huddled in the corner opposite of me sat two guys I had only met days before. They whispered about rocks and how you could throw them deep into lakes and they would never be found again. Red eyes growled from beneath their visages.

About 8 days off from running finally came to an end yesterday with the purchase of new shoes. Electric blue Mizunos. The psychological aspect of running should never be underestimated. I can't lie to you blog, I have nothing to say.

Post

My legs felt like weights the last 4 miles I ran. Yesterday was a run day; I smoked a cigarette. It is cold today, perfect running weather really. Who knows. Last week I put up some impressive mile, 5k, and 4 mile numbers (for this runner). I am reading an incredible book right now dear journal, "Light in August," by Faulkner. Reminds me of driving late at night through Duck Hill Mississippi. There is really nothing about Mississippi that I look fondly at at all. Though, I can see my headlights going forever on a long dark stretch; some random road parallel to I50. Nothing but trees and dust breaking up the beams. There is a hamburger joint north of Duck Hill in Grenada. Late drives consumed by opiates and death. Marching through fires and boredom.

4 quick miles now two days ago. I wouldn't mind running today but it may not happen. A quick hunt and peck and keys with my hands followed by "Delete" either held down in full or tapped the same number of times. The run two days ago was perfect.
Currently listening to Thelonious Monk. Sometimes I think if I had a piano sitting here next to me I could remember how to play it. The strong odds are that it would sit mostly unplayed and unnoticed.
Gambling on horses running in long circles in about 5 hours. Crisp beers in paper bags. Bets on the 8. Exacta boxes. Listen to what your body is telling you to do there. It is probably right.

"STOP PLAYING ALL THOSE WEIRD NOTES (THAT BULLSHIT), PLAY THE MELODY!"
-T. Monk

Sleep: Dopesmoker

Sleep book ended it my run today. I got the record in Pensacola and it has had a pretty sweet rotation since I got it. Until now I only had a burned disc I found on Napster in the late 90s/early 00s. Though I have no direct memory of discovering this band, my initial thoughts always turn to my cousin who always had a stronger grasp of this type of music than I did. It was in his bands "Children's Crusade," and "Who Killed Keyser Soze," that Luke got to travel the states from coast to coast; something my snobby little indie bands never got off their asses and did. Sleeping on couches, camping; he bought a piece of shit van that lasted him probably a little over a year. I have always been envious of him for doing this. One of the earliest memories I have of his first band was a house show. It was loud as fuck and I was extremely impressed with how sick Luke's band was. The place was packed. I remember near the back of this house was a cage with two iguanas in it. They were as far away from the music inside of the cage as they could be. I know I was drinking beer and a bag and at some point i spent some time in a small circle with a couple of people out in the parking lot. That is about as far as my memory goes.
Lost
Last two runs have been shorter than I wanted but under my average pace. Like running through a Faulkner novel set in Baton Rouge, slight fog, misty air cutting through live oaks and magnolia trees. I typically prefer running through sunshine and cold air but before I hit the three mile mark I was actually running at a good clip. The cigarettes have definitely taken their toll on my air tho. I will be trashing the remainder that I bought on a random parade day. I think sometimes you are supposed to give in to vices though, it makes you healthy. At times you have to do things just to do them, I believe in this fully. Be it gambling, drinking too much, getting in a fist fight (something I have yet to do, thank god). How else will you know? Rita at my works asks me if I want to hear how her second husband died again. "No, I know...its horrible," You have no idea, she says. I will stray from that...
So, the running appears fine.

Yesterday was weird. I knew it would be; I had smoked too much the day before. I had drank to much the day before. But body was pissed. But I got out there...sorta.
No cigarettes for lent? What is lent?

Ran Friday through cool clouded weather. I think its was a five K. Not too much further. It wasn't a thrilling or enjoyable run. The first such run since I got my future device. I didn't top though and I think that is a modest success. I would say two months ago still I would occasionally stop and walk if the run wasn't going by way. My lets were still a little stiff from the intervals I did earlier in the week anyway. I haven't decided what kind of run to do today. Whatever it is, I have a small feeling that the effects of yesterday's parading will take its told on the run.

I just want to get something down now before I forget. I found an old clip of a song on my phone today I had forgotten about. The nonsensical words are either:
gray
hay
yay
nay
stay
hooray
calm
palm
pour
more
store
lore
love
shove
Small Horses
Apple Orchid
core
heart
ache
break
take
broken beer bottle
took
murder
sturdier?
Purdier (sic)
getting old
dying
death
decay
or, "What a pretty day!"
It is really quiet impossible to tell due to me a) not having any kind of lyrical mindset at all, b) purposefully mumbling the words so in future listening I can pretend that I had a good idea that I was working on, and C) the small microphone picking everything up.

Going to to intervals today. Last time I tried this I was just running around like a fool and got tired immediately. Today I am going to just stay at a pace that I want to realistically run a 5k in for 1 to 2 minutes, rest for a minute, and then continue. Cheers.

3.8 miles around the larger of the University Lakes. A sad first seeing how long I have lived here. But it was a strong run. My runs just keep getting better and better. It is weird to admit but satellites flying around in the sky are the direct link to my better running. I am going both further and faster. I do somehow anticipate some kind of wall happening soon. It will probably happen just as I start to experience the kind of "runner's high" you read about it athletic magazines. As soon as it gets good, look forward to the carpet being pulled right out from under.

5 miles

and I think what that means is that you have to push yourself a little further each time. If you want to meet that goal."

I decided not to respond to such a ludicrous statement, pulling the covers over my head and going deeper into run along the University Lakes. It was cool enough for a jacket. Thought the sun was still somewhere behind the clouds to the west, the moon was above a clearing and already starting to show. I spoke softly to my friend next to me, "if we talk too much louder, it will break up the lakes." She looked out over the lakes and we noticed the glass calm; reflecting clouds and the trees that lined her edges. Under the viaduct which used to be my one mile marker when I lived on Ovid, a small group of ducks paddled about, their wake spreading for miles in either direction.
"I haven't showered in three days."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" We laughed at that one good. At a certain point the sky wasn't even over us anymore, it was just reflected from the lakes. Some repetitious John Cale album was playing somewhere on my headphones. It started pulling me out.
"Wait," I said to myself.
Rain was pouring through the roof, covering my bed and my dresser. I need to stop this, I thought. I stood up and started pressing my blankets into the ceiling trying to stop the rain.
"BREEP BREEP," I hit snooze as a distant train began pulling its whistle. (It is coming closer...whispered in my ear), I can't stop thinking about sunlight and oak trees. Trees hanging over Myrtle Street, forming a gauntlet. The same for Ingleside, pushing through these ancient gateways.

Just three miles last night. I got home from work and it was cloudy. I dug through all my dirty clothes and found shorts but no shirt. I worried how I would look but by the time I went out it was dark anyway.

I have taken this route a hundred times now: Down capital heights, left on Steele or sometimes Florence street. After about a mile I start forgetting the roads and where I am. It doesn't matter as long I don't stop to think about it. In the past, especially on night runs, I would sometimes kept this creeping feeling of being lost. At a certain point it just becomes rote. I took a run a few months ago in a major downpour. It was amazing. My shoes sloshed through puddles and water just flowed all over me.

I was thankful for the dark because I didn't have to worry so hard about the GPS watch I have been wearing lately. It keeps great track of my movements but it sometimes hinders my thoughtlessness. Meanwhile, a loud patron yells into his phone. He wears an orange General Lee shirt. When not on his phone he tends to say "stop," and "quit," to his kid.

I should have done yard work yesterday. I should have gone out there with a rake and put leaves in piles and the set the piles on fire. There were sticks to pick up, probably trash from the street blown into bushes. I did manage to get a run in. A quick 3 miles. I don't remember the weather or anything; perhaps it was warm. Warm for January anyway.

I aimed to time my run so I ran past the 5:30 chimes at St. Joseph's Academy. A simple noise but one that seems to bring me further along each time I hear them. It was people watching and listening to the wind under the Bell Tower in the Parade Grounds at LSU that began to grow accustomed to the quarter hourly rings. Sometimes from my tiny apartment I could still here them, faintly. At that time I vowed to someday own a grandfather clock so I could hear those chimes forever. As a kid my grandparents had one, i want to say once my graddad died, my grandmother gutted the clock and turned it into a staple of country living design: plastic field mice running around it, fake apples and cakes planted inside on glass tables where the gears turned inside the clock. There are fake memories of a grandad I don't really know waking in the early morning to wind the clock, inserting a great key. Nonetheless I remember its chimes clearly. When I was living on Ovid street, our garage apartment backed up to a railroad track. I grew to love the sound of a passing train 30 yards from my bedroom. There were various kinds of train sounds: space train, old timey train, drunk conductor (He had to be drunk. This happened periodically: the conductor would pull open the whistle at intervals every five second: "Toot...Toot...Toot," you could hear the train just ambling down the night, miles away, "Toot...Toot...Toot," even half asleep this sound always made me laugh), sometimes a train would wait until it was right on our house to pull its whistle, starling you out of bed...but only for a second, and your dreams turned to train runs and dark canyons (always?). If you couldn't sleep you sometimes lay there and wait for that train. You hear it coming, and your fall asleep before it touches you. This train was in my head as I rounded through the streets through the garden district. Fast forward a mile and I see the same stretch of rails intersecting the long shallow street that connects Perkins with Lakeshore drive. Overall I went about 5 miles. My thoughts flooded me early, the blue chandelier hanging from the house on the corner of Steele and Capital Heights, the smart couple with the dog. Once I crossed Acadian I was in a different world. The sun was setting slowly and over my shoulder I could already see the full moon pale against the still blue sky. Thick slices of pink and orange marked the sky later with the moon getting brighter. I followed the moon after my turn around; first to my right shoulder and then later in front me. I used to make a similar run listening to John Cale. This was several years ago and i remember it being one of my better runs at the time. Instrumental music in layers. Now its more "one is the loneliest number," my Harry Nilsson (actually this didn't happen so much during the run, its on now. My dog chomps his food, my coffee is way too strong and I can't take my eyes off the wall). I think three dog night covered this song, Amy Mann in the movie Magnolia, me only once on an old keyboard without a real grasp of anything lyrically except "one," sorta moaned and shrugged over. Maybe weekly.?