On Water

They can slowly grow from humble beginnings, like a forest of frozen dew crystals. Or catch experiences in mid-air, like the glistening stalks of grass along a frozen lakeshore — caught in the surf’s nightly descent into solidness. Or they can be free to meander about, a skin-tingling mist, pulling in passing rays and exposing their true colors.

And in a moment of beautiful creative mania, they come pouring out in a deluge as though from a ruptured vessel.

And yet, they are not so essential, as those life-giving molecules of neutral-clear tastingness.

Creative Non-Fiction v2 (work in progress)

There is a look that I have grown to recognize; one that creeps up mid-conversation and fills me with dread. It says “Ok, I hear you. Uh, yeah. Okay. I get it already”. It says “Why is he still talking?”. It shows a polite disinterest, a rising level of conversation-fatigue. My mind floods with questions: How long have they not wanted to listen? How do I rescue the situation? Why aren’t they interested? Was it the way I was explaining things? Did I say too much? Too fragmented? Too much detail? Too tangential? It only happens at parties, or at dining hall.

Attention deficit? But I have no shortage of attention, if anything there are times when it is in excess! Yet there is some truth to this, as researchers have consistently found AD/HD to be linked with inefficiency in the allocation of attentional resources.

Continue reading “Creative Non-Fiction v2 (work in progress)”

Starbucks: The Present Moment [3/20/06]

I’m sitting in a Starbuckstm, my eyes are fixed on the trail of ink left by my rhodium nib. My ears dart back and forth, from the the Starbuckstm brand Musak to the clang of a nearby cellphone. “A dysfunctional group, or a core group…” A meeting. A child eating, a cookie. A barista laughs, “It really is!” he chortles. “A life coach” “Cause I know a lot of people who are stuck…” Tamborines, the scent of coffee, the buzz of refined sugar and amphetamine derivatives dancing their dance with my neurons. My savory soup of neurotransmitters churning away inside my braincage. The pungent air holds the snarl of coffee. I’m wondering how the corporate bozos at Starbucks calculated that this “music” would make anyone want to buy coffee. it makes me want to buy an ice pick and a smile. Everyone else is writing more than me. not really, but my brainvoice is telling me so. I snarl, and with a wimper it retreats back into the damp cave from whence it emerged. The grind of beans splintering floats above the din. It isn’t quite a din. the music continues. How many cycles do I waste on hating it? how many process moments — bits of ethereal phytochemical liveliness? My mother wishes she could ask them to turn it off.

In Class Incoherence – 3/12 9:08pm

I think this was the result of that exercise where we had to choose famous people, and then people close to us… and write a story with them both. Written in-class on 3/7. The handwriting contains lots of information lost in the blog-version, but just use your imagination… Perhaps I’ll do some scanning later… (hah)

Yeah… don’t ask 🙂

Blah Blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blahd buddha bagabout a borta aorta abort aortasseacov(?) blah blah Michaela is my sista she is small. But not small and she is like Ludvig von Bismark because she unified Germany like the great Teutonic rocker we know her to be. Her feats are famous — I hear and know all about them. I read the symbols on the wall. Yet do I know her? who was that Wilhelm, or Ludvig — Blah Blah (dissolves into gibberish)