21st Century

My kindle died on Saturday.  I was devastated.  We will be away and what would I read.  On skype to Amazon.  They are very sorry and they will send you a replacement immediately even  though you are now in Spain and not where you originally ordered from.  And they do.  And it is by UPS and sent from Kentucky and arrival is promised to happen on Wed.  I sit around, smoking, waiting, until ... it arrives.  And it does. And the guy who brings it is wear(where)ing brown shorts and the machine is as at home.  I remember a time when being in Europe meant being away.

Later in June

So I am amazed at the power of the written  published word.  I know who reads (or read see below) the blog, so what do I say. Is it for 1 or 2 or 20 or two trillion.  Writing for 2 excites me.  I indulge my exhibitionism.  Pretending that it is private and saying things that I might not say.   Dropping a pretense.  Is that bad, even to 200 or 2000.

Anyway having extolled freedom, I will now, in the interest of probity, say nothing more.
But I will say more.  Perhaps more things (some different) than I should say.

Some are true and some are not.

I'm a conceptual artist.  My life is my work.  There was a period when it was boring.  Kind of like working for 30 years at IBM.  I'm trying to pick it up now, get an upbeat ending, maybe put it in a festival or two.  Who knows?

Our daily contest is for meaningless quote/clip of the day.  I ask you to participate because considering the social capital represented by the members of out to pasture enterprises . com, and using the facebook model  of valuing social enterprises, I value our group at $943. and I need to do something about the storm windows and that would really help.

Then there's the question of how important is sex. What's the question.  What might be the answers?  No question.  Ask my other. Not my Mother.  It is a question that I might have wanted to discuss with my mother if (with a mother such as mine) a discussion such as that would not have violated propriety.

But then maybe I should direct this post at my sisters as well.  Double my world if they would invest the time.  It'll be like my last blog post except in email.  Would either of you, or did you, discuss sex with our parents.  Or your parents? or your kids, or their kids?

So that's what we'll do here.  Talk about sex.  Why?  We each have our own answer.  I am old and I am still interested.  I hope.  But you may disagree.  Please do ....

And I find myself writing and, who knows, maybe publishing, soft-porn.  Perhaps the next Nordic trilogy (whose name I obviously forget) will spring from my our not yet arthritic finger tips.  


So gentle readers, the stage is set.  Will I , or will you blog readers do it for me, send emails to my sisters.  They are "fortunately entitled to their privacy so I can't give the emails here".


So, is this insane.  Yes or no.  


I'm undecided.


Tag your it.

Barcelona: June 2012

Sitting in the Park seeing the scribbles which brought me back to Sunday and a beer with Jennie and Luis, I thought how nice it is to live in a park.  After what was lifetime in the box.
And it is.

Crossing from sun to shade and seeing the fountain from another view.  A schizoid homeless guy is my only companion and the difference is that I have a pencil and write my thoughts.  No one else is alone to enjoy it all as it unfolds.  Is this consciousness of self, self-consciousness, or is it included by Feynman's wonder that his understanding of the heavens could fail to enhance his joy at their beauty.  

To hear the sound of the fountain and see the shadows.  It is easy to imagine the desire to capture it and share a vision.  I prefer to enjoy alone, sharing, if at all, with a companion.  So I decide that I will start and try to share her madness as she has promised to try and share mine.  And so, tomorrow, I will be with her when she paints, and then who knows.

And then I go back in somewhere, here, and have my way and say what I will and what came before is not followed by what came next.

I sit watching, seeing first the fat girl with the bright red hair wearing a striped, tight shirt;  and then, the medi-ambiente worker in bright yellow vest.  They punctuate the air.  Life happens and I am there, observing.  A part of it and apart from it.  I write it, making it happen.

The writing itself is a shuffling of worlds.  Is that a way to see something new.

Walking to another spot where a woman and her dog walk away.  I sit and watch the 20 somethings play balance in the air and remember what it was like to be able to do anything.

It is a joy to be here.  I am lucky.  I am fortunate to be, to enjoy,  For years, I was only what I did.

The next morning at the beach.  The sun is hot, the water cold.  Music plays: the sound of the surf mixed with Pharaoh Saunders.

My sybarite's dream fulfilled.  I am easily pleased or very lucky.

Or both.  Anyway, a week later things are pretty much the same.  Works for me although I wish I would ...., I wish I would ....  And back to being a 63 year (almost) year old youth not yet able to function in an appropriate fashion.  I think of the evening and wanting sex.  And now I'll find out who (if anyone) actually reads blogs.

Back in NY

I seem to be spending time here, much as I was in Honduras, with a few minor changes.  Here one lives to eat.  After 2 months of Baleadas and spicy chicken wraps, a visit to Xuan foods or Lan Sheng or a taste of any of Janet's wonderful creations or of my own pizza are all very welcome.  What is missing in NY are my fellow DMTs (and other companions), and the opportunity to function comfortably on island time.

How things change.  Janet left a week ago - actually 8 days.  Zena just left.  She has been visiting since before Janet left.  Mark spent the weekend++.  A good time was had by all.  Ate, drank, visited.  Had a better time than seemed likely, which is a good thing.  I should build this with pictures but these days they go directly to facebook which makes putting them here a bit redundant.  On the other hand, on facebook I say nothing.  Haven't yet learned how to use facebook as a blog, or if you should.  So there it is, photos and words rent asunder.  At least until later.

Aliens

I have a T shirt in which space aliens abduct a sheep from its flock - and he likes it.  This is my life.  Should the sheep resist or follow the flow.  Or is should the problem, in which case,  does a question remain or is Baba Ram Das' Be Here, Now - the operative mantra.  I admit to confusion which suggests, I think, that I am not so old.  Still young enough not to know the answer.

I call Janet wondering whether it is 9:10 or 7:10, a difference which may reflect itself in my reception.  Anyway, the machine answers and its back to the blog.  I try to take a picture, but this beiing windows, cannot.

Today, I hope, I think more about being here.  I want a place to be, a bit more ccomfort-centric than the DM house.  A few pots and pans.  Taking boarders would be OK.  Weekly cleaning.  Perhaps DM++.  Must follow up.

Oh my god, just made a post on facebook  It is forever known in the electronic universe.  (and so is this)  Is this an error?

And now it is tomorrow (or the day after tomorrow) and my day off.  .  Last evening, meeting Luke's friend Peg(Meg), sitting, smoking, wondering what I'll do when I'm through with tonight.  I listen to M-Y music.  Thank god, to each his own.

I told Janet about real estate and now have an appointment today re: same.  House (2 bdrm) above sunset village  and two rental cabins near woody's.

Things are looking up: Today she said next year.

And now it is April and I'm in Manhattan (Cole Porter please).

Lots of things have happened which may appear in later segments, but for now: I am back.
I have eaten noodles beneath the Manhattan Bridge.  I am in New York.  I wear long pants and turtle necks.

Bye for now.

An evening

Began with putting on my long pants.  I am wondering now whether I can blog a story which begins with a ritual act and ends at bedtime, and means nothing without all the history which I have already omitted.This, is an evening.  So this is a different sort of blog entry.  One which might be due to the blogger or his intoxication  or is there a difference.

I've already decided that no, I can't do that.  I can't violate people's intimacies to people who don't know them.  All I can talk about is the environment which is awesome.  Raining as I left home, but still with venus and jupiter clear in the sky.  Sat on the porch waiting for my boat to come in.  Watching the sky darken.  Smoked a J on the dock under a full moon and planets.  Walked to the reggae bar, smoked, chilled, and moved on.

To encounter a mixed, inter-generational group where two wizards performed. Joined   Chatted.  one  charms young damsel; one argues with friend.  Then, back here to free myself from having forgotten it rained.

And sitting here naked in front of my laptop, 3G-blogging somewhere that never existed. The computer rings and its my wife.  What kind of world is this?  Belongs in a dylan song.  I open G-Music on my Android looking for Dylan but It's only Rock and roll is on; but undeterred I find (and hear) Highway 61 Revisited.  Call me a fossil.

Making plans for next winter.  I like good weather. Please visit.

30 Days

Is not a long time, but it's not nothing either. It's how long I've been a DMT (DiveMaster Trainee) on Roatan, how long since I've left New York's bright hole  for West End's brown one.  It has been an interesting month.  Lot's of time to look at sunsets and stars and to be sad about being alone and not wanting to be.  Also diving and carrying tanks and not killing yourself with your sausage and listening to Memphis Slim.  Traveling, or being. sure is different.  You are never off the net, never (or always) out of touch.  Local R-O-A-T-A-N radio blares where XM once ruled.  Shows local control is not always the answer.

Tonite, I've been wondering whether people see the same thing when they look at something.  I don't mean whether Jo looks mad but whether blue is blue and how many blades does the turning fan have.  I've also been wondering whether the act of retirement inevitably alters one's life.

I remember years of walking from the car to my office and saying goodbye to the day - emerging in darkness. Here I watch the sun set, I live with people who want to have fun, I visit a magical world, and I get paid too (OK - not true). Can I maintain my attitude in my usual environs. Tune in for the answer to this question.

The place is magical: beach, sun, openness, freedom. Weather amazing. The town sits around a mud track which keeps the pace safe and sociable. The plan is to pave it, thus enabling profit and commerce. After the skies of NYC, the stars are quite unreal. Perhaps not the stars of the high desert but magical in themselves as three planets divide the sky. Reminiscent of the sky above Tulum in the fall of 74 and that's the problem for it is 2012 not 1974, and I am at the other end of the reef which decorates the coast of from here to there, and perhaps at the other end of a life as well.