Saturday, November 27, 2010

reflections on a post-thanksgiving dinner:


i had the opportunity to have a couple drinks and dinner this evening with a good friend, her fiancée, two of her sisters, a mutual friend, and a few other friends in the crowd. sifting through the details of the evening, i finally happened across the topic of importance as i sat quietly observing my surroundings: i did not belong. it was not the lack of intellect, it was not the lack of class, nor the lack of the care of the people around me; it was that i simply to not fit with the "independence" and capabilitty of savoring the higher cost joys without finding the sum in the background dwindling, diminishing significantly, maybe a more accurate word would be noticeably.

i cannot blame them for accepting a challenge placed by peers and the predecessors of peers, nor can i say that the luxuries should not be enjoyed. what i can say is that i really no longer have a place in the festivities of a voluptuous bacus and her rowdy entourage. what was once a place that i belong without any doubt, has now become the figure that casts a shadow over my corner of the table. bacus now appears to have slimmed greatly, becoming a near anarexic shadow of the lover who prostituted herself to the mortgage of a man.

past "lives" have offered me events hosted and attended by only the elite, being a guest of distinction at one, a simple wall flower at another, and at best a buzzing fly for a third. a question comes to mind: what story is it that age then begins to tell? is it the same story of a progress toward "greatness" that just doesn't fit without the tight confines of the über elite? or just finally being able to recognize where it is that one actually fits within these crowds and mini-classes? the reflections of this evening bring me closer to a moment of understanding an "artists" discomfort with the world of "fine" things when those things are not something that should be so easily attainable for such a short period of time.

they are the shadows of the ghosts of what could have been at that moment, under different circumstances and with different influences. born to more over-worldly pleasures, and distanced from more grounded, simple joy. how long can you belong to something that cannot possibly imagine you within it before it recognizes your presence and spits you out the rubbish discharge, trash not dissimilar to the worn cog, that always refused to fit properly wearing the edges of its own cogs, as well as the cogs that tried hopelessly to fit against it, and finally being chewed and spit by the machine for which it was supposed to be a functional part?



not really a relevent photo
















Friday, November 26, 2010

his life really was never really all that important, at least that was his perception. all the value that he saw in himself, and the value that he perceived others found in him, seemed always sourced from those that surrounded him. it was never explicitly him. even in groups formed by his friends, he found himself completely isolated, as if the source of his value was also that which consumed every last once. when your source is also your leak, where can any progress be made? of course he could answer that question, since i am not him you will have to look for him yourself to find the answer. but one piece of advice i would like to give: don't look for too long.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

so i am hoping to return to the original purpose of this blog: meetings and paths. for some reason over the past few, there was some distancing in regards to the encuentros part, but now, i think that will have o be a nearly daily exercise for me. i have many back logged photos, and that will be the source of visual information for those involved. also, i hope to have no order to those people being "treated" within the brief un-authorized biographies, but plan on putting a reasonable number up. the only stipulation is that the photo used be in black and white and that the un-authorized biograpies may be disclamed as such, meaning that the facts have not been verified, and may distance themselves from the truth a bit. first entry to come soon, and from then... so many paths but only one a person can walk at a time.

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

just for the fun of it, we have this post: something along the lines of there being "one person left after an earthquake to tell of it." it came from a short story la noche de ramon yendia by lino novas calvo. seemingly intersting to consider the use of a natural disaster to describe events of great trauma in latin america. return during a moment or two, for instance, to the use of the earthquake by mario benedetti in a previous post in the parallel blog.