By Nous August 8, 2005 July25: Pretty Ballerina One thing I hate about myself is that when things don't come naturally to me, I get very frustrated. Too frustrated. I want to not live anymore. I just want to forget about it and immediately do something else. Well, I had to learn to parallel park today because I'm finally trying to get my license again, and this isn't one of those things I can forget about. So the whole time I was driving I was pretty pissed. I was feeling very shitty. Plus, I'm with my mom, who can always say the exact right thing to get me pissed, which may be the case with most moms. She concluded that a logical step would be cigarettes -> marijuana. And that was the opener. When I got home I heated up a pizza and sat down to watch Days of Our Lives, but mostly when I watch soap operas, I can't eat. I watch the actors doing their thing and I just want to throw up. I wish it was Halloween or Thanksgiving or Christmas just so I could sit down and watch Susan Lucci enter a creepy room or have Alicia Leigh Willis sucking down martinis at some lame office party. If I could meet anyone famous, who would it be? Conan O'Brien, yes. But maybe Natalia Livingston. I can always watch General Hostpital if there are enough scenes with Emily, who was portrayed (prior to Natalia Livingston) by Amber Tamblyn who is now the star of Joan of Arcadia. Those are the little useless things I know. Once I decided I couldn't take anymore of Greenlee's yapping and whining, I grabbed my plate and cup of tea awkwardly and opened the door to my room, but I dropped my pizza, which landed face down of course. Would God have it any other way? He has a pretty good sense of humor. NOT COLD ENOUGH I sort of want to go to the thrift store. Or maybe even the antique shop, or the park. But at the same time, I don't. I don't want to talk to anybody but I can't just be alone. I guess it's that 'misery loves company' thing, but I'm not miserable. I'm just feeling shitty, for reasons I've just explained. Then I start thinking about how even if I wanted to go to the park, who would I go with? Nobody wants to go to the park. Especially not with me, but I'm not bad company. At least I don't think so. It wouldn't matter who I called, they'd probably be doing something, most likely with someone else. Then again, would I want somebody who I could call anytime and they would be doing nothing? That would make me pretty depressed. And my english is sucking right now, and if that bothers u....BITE ME1! I'm a tall intellectual who enjoys mechanics and riding my cousin Harley. I guess nobody really gets that reference, but there would be no point in NOT making it. ART FOR THE GREASE OF ART Midnight wore candlelight You came in heavy wool Shimmer the ancient stars Which through time extend And through us rule I wrote this two days ago, I think. I gave it away, because while I liked it, there's not much you can do with a poem but give it away. AUG6: Old man Jenkins always moves so slowly. It takes him five whole minutes to get out his front door and into his car. And God help him when he forgets something inside. That car seems to idle for hours. I thought about him moving the way he does, how its a mystery to me that he can do anything at all. He walks all stooped over, from step to quivering step. I thought that he must be working the same job now he was working when he was a young man. Those old guys don't ever change, do they? How often have I watched him walk to his car or go inside his house? I did see him mowing the lawn once, I think, but I can't be sure. He's pretty old. I do remember he had on a straw hat though. Today he had on a maroon sweater which I'd never seen him wear. It was a gift probably and that was even weirder to me. He is somebody's grandfather, father, uncle, brother, husband. I thought about how I wouldn't want to live to be that old. I thought about how lonely life is. STILL FALLS THE RAIN I haven't seen a summer day like this since senior year of high school. That summer brought the rain which became the muse of many of the songs I wrote at the time. Now the air rumbles, threatening or commanding. Now the skies close their eyes, the earth grows still with reverence and turns to shades of blue. And I remember four years ago. The rain followed me down to a small town near the equator, four or five hours from Acapulco. The rainy days were dotted with brief sunny hours. It went on that way for three days. On the last day it rained at ten in the evening and the power went out. The second day was stubborn and the first day was light as a feather. Outside by the house my grandfather built for my father, beyond the adobe kitchen, up the steps past the lime trees just before the shower I sat and was happier than I'd ever been. Four years passed and things had changed, but nothing ever really changes. Not so much. We ignore and defy but we do not change. And things gone linger on past cessation or the illusion of ending. And new lives are always emerging, stories always beginning. So while the rain falls just outside, I am caught up in the loneliness of lingering. Suspended, moment to moment, am I left to the arms of endlessness. Here there is room enough for one and no more. TENNESSEE WALTZ Redd Stewart and Pee Wee King lull me to sadness. I'm looking at them on the back of this record cover and I can't help wonder just how racist they were. They were country singers after all, and white people in general were damn racist back then. The two "nicest people in Country Music business" were probably as angry about black gorillas stealing their white Debbies as anybody else. Sometimes I wonder where that came from, racism. How it started exactly. Why it started, if there wasn't maybe a real purpose behind it. Some sort of mechanism. White people did rule the world for quite a long time. Did they just pick up that attitude? Maybe they were afraid black people would rule the world and didn't want there to be any chance of that. Sometimes I wonder why the Irish are so known for fighting, and if that is true, why they fight so much. I wonder why Texans are so much harsher than other people. Why are all things from Africa bigger and stronger? RUNNING TO PARADISE Stop rushing me, or else stop taking your time.