Obsidian Noise

My buddy and his wife arrived from the woods around the time I got off of work. They found a parking spot right in front of my building, and that was very good luck since he had to lug his musical gear out of the car for security.

He’s in town to play two gigs, tonight and tomorrow, at a nice venue in Midtown.

They came in and presented me with a giant bottle of Jack Daniels, my favorite (though I don’t drink much of it) and we caught up for a little while before going to eat.

The guy has a natural, NH strength from working hard every day. I remember in middle school he was quite scrawny, but when we got to high school he started growing muscles everywhere. He didn’t get very tall, but his shoulders just morphed into giant bowling balls and his forearms like giant… squashes (?)

We had a shot of Jack and then headed down to my favorite BBQ place about 10 minute walk from where I live. I invited the girl to join, and another friend, and my NH mate had his wife, so there were five of us in total. We had a great time. Dogfishhead 90 minute IPA, x 3. That will wreck you, and it did. Each pint is almost 10% alc.vol, so three of them is actually more than a six pack of your standard brewskie.

We walked home the back way, along the dark road under the giant bridge, and up the giant stone steps that wind around. We passed some kids hiding out there, on the staircase, and I said “hi” as we passed, to make them uneasy. That’s a good way for someone like me to prevent any conflict. For some people it’s better to keep looking away and just walk past. For me, it’s better to look up and say hi. They’ll probably think it’s not worth it, once they get the sense that they’d lose a confrontation.

Once we got up to 135th, my buddy’s wife asked if my neighborhood was safe, and I said it was one of the safest. As we walked up 135th from Riverside we passed the usual groups of people standing around on those stoops, watching people go by, doing their thing, which was probably drugs. I said again that it was a really safe area, and that the dealers don’t really mess with anyone besides themselves.

We made it up to my place pretty tired out. My friend’s wife headed into Hollow Way to crash, and we stood out on the balcony, chatting. He smoked and I declined.

As we were talking…

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

“Holy shit, is that a gun?” My friend asked. While I was about to answer,

BANG BANG BANG

There was a gunfight down on 135th between Broadway and Amsterdam, and we watched the last couple of shots fired. It’s strange to be around that stuff in other parts of the world, and to suddenly see it practically on your doorstep. The shooting took place on the sidewalk we had just walked up, and ironically right where I had said the neighborhood was one of the safest.

I don’t see any news updates on it yet, but I received this email from the Community Relations Officer for our precinct early this morning:

This morning on my walk out, the area was ribboned off for the investigation. And I’m trying to get this guy to come visit me more often, and his first night here there’s a shooting within a single block, visible range.

Come to think of it, we should have ducked down.

Two more big meetings to go this afternoon, and then free. I’ll head down to the venue with my friend and help them set up for the gig, and then we’ll see what happens. The girl is coming with me, we’ll see how that goes. Trying to be a good guy. I think she might be a bit naive and I don’t want to take advantage, especially now that she’s said she wants to try something together.

Damn conscience.

Off tomorrow, monkeys, and I bet I’ll be needing that for recovery. Hope you’re all great and I’ll check in soon.

Downpour in the city and the coffee is perfect. My office window is cracked so I can hear the cars. It’s 8:15am.

One of my best friends from my hometown is coming down with his wife to stay three nights, starting tonight. His band is playing in Midtown and they’ll be crashing in Hollow Way studio for the duration. I can’t wait. I took Thursday off so tomorrow night I can stay out with the bands, and have the next day to recover as needed.

Friday a very good friend from LA is flying in with her boyfriend for a wedding, and they’ll be crashing until Sunday. Those two nights they’ll take my room and I’ll be crashing at another friend’s place as he’s on a business trip to Sweden. Trip crash trip crash trip crash.

I really need to clean the bed skirt and floor…

Busy day ahead.

Girl coming over tonight. I explained that I have to clean in preparation for my visitors, she was fine with that. We haven’t kissed yet, but I think it’s going there pretty quickly. She’s a designer by day and she does improv comedy downtown every week.  There’s quite an age difference, but. You know. It’s dangerous because she’s part of my work community. No idea what I’m doing.

But I’m in the State.

So have mercy and hope that I might be spared my disillusionment.

Came home to find all my perishables perished. The big bag-up and toss down was satisfying. The chute seemed hungry. The plump bags like tasty morsels, down the hatch, one by one.

You know how dogs stare so deeply at their object of desire, that morsel of whatever you’re eating, and you know how when you give them a crumble, they devour it so ecstatically, like it’s the ultimate joy in their life–and it probably is, though maybe next to playing around in the woods–but regardless, you can see, hear and just feel the enormity of their joy. It fills the room. It’s whatever heaven we can imagine.

As a kid, I was cognizant of the power I had to create that state of joy in that other being, and it was a strange feeling. It made me feel like a kind of god. The way a dog sits there, so intensely, every second transmitting the universal prayer, and all power rests with you– the power over The Absolute Joy.

So, sometimes I’d give a morsel, and The Absolute Joy would happen.

It was always a flash. An inhaled, instantaneous, lightning strike of a moment.  It was a GULP! Gone. Seriously gone. Did it even happen? Did she even realize it happened? Is it possible that was so reactive that she didn’t even know the Yearning Prayer was answered?

There were times when I’d end up powerless to watch. I’d end up absolutely showering her, making something she knew was impossible, possible. I’d give a second piece, then a third, and just when she’d be ready to think it was over, I’d start tossing bigger pieces, pieces of a size she’d never had someone give her before, and I’d make it just the beginning, and sometimes there was no end, where she could experience the joy for longer than a gulp, longer than a flash, and the joy was infinite, and I was a loving god, of plenty.

And suddenly she was the one being worshipped.

And it all was gulped.

Holy fucking shit. It’s July 24th already. The summer of 2013 is more than halfway gone.

I don’t even know what that means to me.

As we age, our perception of time changes, presumably because at least part of our mechanism of perception is based on relative percentage of time experienced. What does a minute mean? Well part of its meaning has to do with how many minutes we’ve experienced– that’s how we can know approximately what it is. We need that issue of “amount” to really have a sense of what “a” minute is. How about a month? If you’ve only had 36 months pass in your life, each would be a damn near eternity. When you’re at your 396th month (ahem) they begin to pass more like weeks used to. Weeks begin to pass like days, and days somehow end just as you thought they were starting.

It’s just how things are.

Training today in a about an hour. I got a good sleep last night, and I ate clean last night and this morning. Should be good. I feel pretty good. Need to read more, though.

It’s all shitty and humid and nasty outside. The fat illiterate women of my neighborhood, waddling along, gripping their spawn roughly by the little arm, yanking them along, barely able to think, barely able to speak, barely able to write, barely able to consider themselves in the world, operating in survival mode, where life consists of feeding and fucking. They get huge, their children multiply, and they wheeze. That’s the meaning of life… the BBQ party, the TV show, the kids who, when doing well are there for the bragging, and when they fuck up, because they are fucked up, it’s poor mom.

But my issue isn’t with them. It’s with the system that created them. It’s a form of violence committed against them that they should be born into such a hopeless space of survival-mode living. What made that the case? What makes people fall into survival mode– the mode of life and death falling into relativity with each other, where people matter less. What creates that?

What prevents that?

Could it be a necessary consequence of our system? Could it be the case that we wouldn’t be able to have the system we have if we didn’t have a huge impoverished class of illiterate, obese fuckheads? Could it be that our system makes them, because that’s what it takes for the rest of it to work out for everyone else?

Fuckers.

Hi Monkeys it’s a runaround day. Hopefully update later.

What.

Watchu lookin at.