Nous

                             April 2, 2007

3-16-2007: YESTERDAY

In the cool Texas spring, twittering like a nervous girl, I touched the rough
concrete with smooth hands. Up above the city on the last level of a parking
garage I sat on the a corner of the lot, where a small pillar rises up and
guides the concrete wall down to the lowerlevels to protect careless drivers
from plumetting down a story. I sat in the open lot and I could see the clouds
and the buildings, people hurrying. I touched the rough concrete that lifted
me up to the sky, an offering to lost gods.
Near me, a black bird picked at something resembling chewing gum and I thought
about scaring it -- germ picking on germ. The earth was heaving beneath the
cancer of mankind's glory. Planes roaring and trains howling, and I alone in
the arms of sound. Always alone, always cloaked by radio waves and elevator
humming.
Yes, maybe mankind was not necessarily the cancer upon Mother Earth, but was
rather creating it.
The fluorescent lights buzzing and telephone lines clicking. Technology was
using mankind, not the other way around. After all, what choice did humans
have anyway?

Level 1. That's where I got off. Just outside the elevator was a bench with
comfortable padding. Down the hall was a security officer going about his
business, children running, couples looking serious. It was the museum of
fine arts after all. I had the sudden urge to run up the stairs and fling
myself off of the side of the lot in which I had only five minutes ago
contemplated the meaninglessness of mankind. But I did not run up the stairs.
I did not hurl myself off of the building onto the aching streets below.
Instead, digging through my pants pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and
noticed two missed calls.
Call them back? It's not as if I had anything better to do. But instead of
calling them back, I got up and walked down the hall towards the Cafe Express.
Then I walked back, sat down, and waited. An Asian couple exited the elevator
and I ran in, pressed 4, and waited. The doors opened and I ran out to the
stillness of Parking Garage: Level 4.
And waited.
There were various exhibits I hadn't yet seen in the museum, or there were
people I hadn't yet met. Or there were cigarettes I hadn't yet smoked. Too
many options, so I smoked a cigarette and waited. What choice did I really
have?

The sun setting with electric wires in the foreground disgusted me. Walking
out of San Jac and seeing rows and rows of cars disgusted me. Having to speak
hard to be given a change to be heard disgusted me. Up on the Level 4 I thought
again of walking into the distance.
What if I walked to the sun? What if it took only fifteen minutes to get there?
And that was the end. It was all a set. I was living in a box. Yes, life was
the greatest experiment known to man. And yet, if rats could think, what would
they say? So, what if I walked to the sun?
What would be the one thing I could take with me if I could, the one thing which
moved across years with ease. The one experience which seemed to have a heart of
its own.
Joe Rogan believes in the Truth. He's a cool guy, and I can't disagree with him.
Others, like fellow Sagittarius, Tom Waits, might say Love. What is that song of
his?

"In a land there's a town, and in that town there's a house, and in that house
there's a woman. And in that woman there's a heart I loved. I'm going to take
it with me when I go."

The ding of the elevator echoed clearly to where I sat, above the city. Red and
white gave Collin away when the doors opened. He made a stance like a frightened
deer as he stared at me through the window, and I gave him the finger. Laughing,
he walked out and started walking towards me.
Some days, the answer lies in knowing that even at the top of the world, cradled
by heartless sound and silent concrete, you can be found out. A bit of Joe
Rogan's sense of truth lies in that.
Maybe some hide to hope?

NEW SHIRT

There, hanging in the closet, a blue like in the movies -- a Sea World water
color. My brand new shirt. Doesn't quite fit me, I think. I suppose I could
combine it with any number of hats, caps, pants. Any damn combination, I guess.
It's a short-sleeve, don't usually wear those. It's a Friday. The moon is
disappearing, to return in fiery Aries, and I now expose my arms to the wavering
sun? I suppose there is no better time. Rebirth, in all the world, we have spent
our lives in cocoons.
Or are we going from cocoon to cocoon? Comforting thought to comforting thought?
Sensible explanation to sensible explanation? Lab rats with celestial promise?
I was thinking about what I said about hiding to hope. I wrote a story about
that, sort of, and it's on my Stories section. The link is:

http://www.geocities.com/ravenousguitar/glass.html

FACES DISAPPEAR

A nothingness. The scope of life narrowed by the paths we take. Wherever we are,
we are only there. Think abroad -- wonder. We hold in our arms pieces of things
we loved only to hold on to them. Not because they're true or real.
Still crazy after all these years.
I'm constantly living in the aftermath of Breaking Down. I'm running udnerwater,
and I'm getting desperate. What is real about me, eclipsed by the shadows of other
people. But like the moon, our light is false.