Second Update

Now that I've stretched my imagery muscle I have to clarify that riding in the car for hours with my family really isn't awful at all. The point was that it was beautiful and (even though I despise the word fun because it sounds artificial and forced) a feel good time. I don't know - judge me but when music is playing and it's sunny and everyone's talking and the mountains are gorgeous and I have a good book in my lap (Hours by Michael Cunningham omg) I like riding in the car for hours.

Add that to the fact that the shore was radiant in a classy sort of way and the house was beautiful and elegant... good vacay. I'm ready for a routine again dare I say it. I need dance 4 times a week and 6 hours of structure a day. It's good for the upkeep of my mind. That's all.

"Twig"

Construction

Try to see everything through the lens of beauty. It makes the ugly experiences less so when you are forced to deal with them.

The overweight construction worker, his face dusty and haggard. The five o'clock shadow on his square jaw guarding the burden of fatigue from ever leaving. His work boots seem permanently laced to his feet with the cement that he uses each day. Yes the wrinkles in his hands and eyes go down all seven layers of skin. If you count them you'll know how old he is, like the rings of a tree. He is beautiful.

The white dotted line, tracing the highway. It looks the way the inside of your lips taste after 6 hours in the same car, leathery and traveled. That fractured line has seen more than all the stars because it's closer to the action. It has seen the mountains, and then has not seen the mountains as they were replaced by interstates. The line never makes a sound; it was never one for casual talk. The line is beautiful.

Cow country. Each house mirrors the 1800's. Not a roof shingle to be found. The radio dial is fiddled with, but all that can be found is country music and lectures about finding Jesus. Both of these are too awkward to fill the already awkward silence in this vehicle. There are overgrown gardens and horses and cattle who are grazing, always grazing despite the brown splotches of grass that had long since had the edible vegetation plucked out of them. But the cows have their noses to the ground anyway, like it's their dead end job to provide for their family of organs. Behind the houses are sprawls of mountains. As many trees as are people on the earth fill this one range. Harmonious and thriving, trying in earnest to reach the unending sky. "Who would want to live here?" an impertinent voice calls out to the squalor. Who wouldn't, I think. Those cows are so beautiful.

I relish in his orange reflective vest. I wish I could wear a vest that warned people to stay away from the mess I was making. I lust for the cows- who wouldn't want to live there. I envy that line. I envy the layers of dirt covering it; one for each broken family who's wheels run over it because the kids are yelling too loud for Dad to pay attention to lines.

Have I been spending too much time on 495? It's so good to be home.

August Break Day 3

"The Shore"

August Break Day 2

"Packed"

August Break Day 1

"In Repose"

Also I know it's the third but... well it's my blog and I must insist.

HD

My dad told me once that the human eye is the most powerful camera out there. It frames perfectly, has the highest of HD, produces vibrant colors, requires no flash, charging, or battery, and has infinite memory space. If you pay attention, that is. I really wish I could record what I see without a camera. I wish I could play it back without recounting it inside this box through words. Everything I see through my eyes is beautiful and perfect and I want a Polaroid of every memory.

A lot of people give up when they first realize that what they produce is shit but I realize with each day that you have to fight through that gap to become great at whatever it is you want. Yesterday I made myself a lovely meal of under-cooked pasta and burned sauce. It was awful and I ate it. I chewed very slowly. Today, though, I made myself a sandwich of fried egg, maple sausage, and Monterrey jack cheese and it wasn't that bad. I think, for right now, my greatest aspiration is to do this with every experience. To start out totally... lousy at something and then to get better. Even just slightly better. Even from bread to toast. I don't know it's just astounding to me to have that much growth in such a small amount of time and with such an insignificant minute detail in my life.

It's the small stuff that gives you practice for the bigger things at any rate. So. That's my wonder for the evening.

Just Bringing This Back.

Remember when joy tasted so much sweeter when you were little. Surge after surge of pure happiness floats into your soul, then explodes like the knowledge of illegal fireworks on the fourth of July. And you know you can't tell anyone that this makes your life a snugger place to be, a place that fits you easier, but in some ways it's better. It's like your own secret haven, where every decision works out, and the summer days last as long as you are able to remember them.

Remember when you would get nervous about the stupid stuff, like the dark closet in your room, or running out of highway when you got sleepy on long car rides, or trees potentially falling into the house? Or your father being swallowed up by the monstrous waves at the beach so that you are no longer able to see his bright yellow swim trunks? Growing up begins to define itself, Captain Hook is replaced by the rapist alerts on CNN, and the irrational fears fade away into the mist, are replaced by more practical ones. And those are so much scarier, because they might actually happen.

Remember when you were small, and got angry... like... REALLY pissed. Just at everyone. For the stupidest shit. The dog knocked over your blocks, or Mom friggen threw away that your box of valentines from your whole 1st grade class? And your house no longer felt like a home and you just wanted to run away to Alaska because it was the farthest place you could think of... and then two seconds later you just completely forgot about why you were mad... because Mr. Rogers was on. He was great.

Have you ever looked back on your memories from when you were really little, too little to know what everything meant on a large scale? Too little to recognize the toll these experiences would have on you once you grew up? Have you ever looked back and thought..."That's why I did that" or "That's why that happened"? I do that all the time. It makes me feel like I'm time traveling. Don't judge me.

Sometimes I wish the world never knew sunlight, and Earth was always shrouded in nighttime mystery. And then one day, out of the blue, so to speak, the sun would rise. And I just want to see every one's reaction. We would all feel like children, afraid of the big sphere of fire up above us. I think if that happened the word beautiful would have a whole new meaning.

Sometimes I hear people say that they have a fear of not being remembered. I think I'm the opposite. I don't want to be remembered. I want to die without leaving my dirty fingerprints on Earth. I want to be the quiet strumming of the acoustic guitar in the back ground, that fades away before the climax of the song. I want to be the left hand of the piano. I want to have an effect on people, but have it be invisible, so that they don't remember why they're like that. I want to be the change you only see if you're looking for it.

Please look for it.