n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Sunday, June 11, 2006


Ever seen that TV show, "The Deadlist Catch"? Where the crew is out in the Bering Straits as the ice pack careens southward, threatening to cover and sweep away the crabbers' buoys and leave them poverty stricken. Or worse yet, swamp their boat and send them to a hypothermic death. The guys, constantly in layers and layers of gear, trying to protect themselves from freezing up and turning into virtual zombies as they go about mindlessly and mindfully collecting pots and scraping the contents into the hold. As they do this, they watch out for big waves, ice on the deck, great shifts in the boat's direction, ice falling down from above, the pot swinging and taking off their leg. And then when they're done with this, they have to sledgehammer the ice off the decks before they get their three-five hours of sleep, and then do it again when they wake up. Ever seen that on TV? It's pretty awesome.

Sometimes it reminds me of dealing with chronic depression.

Internet has been bumming me out, among other things. I think it's an okay mode of communication and interaction when plenty else is happening to accompany it, such as work, galleries, shows, get-togethers, classes, walks and so forth, so that internet feels like down time--a mellow oh-I-don't-watch-TV-and-so-this-is-
my-virtual-equivalent, not to mention a mode of keeping in touch with folks very far away. But i'm in a new joint where maintaining my sanity and peaceful goodwill towards humankind (including myself) is a full-time operation.

So, that's what I'm doing. I'm going to be focusing on not getting down. And that means I'm going to avoid spending very much time feeling bummed out about not hearing from folks via electronification. No worries or gripes, however; I think summer is actually meant to be spent away from radioactive screens anyways. I'll be writing, but I don't think I'll be posting my fiction or personal doings, although I'll try to put up a hike-a-week thing, since that'll keep me doing a hike a week.

Speaking of which: I'm going on a two-day kayaking gig with one of my best buddies tomorrow. I'm super-happy about it, and I will have pictures, I'm sure. And I already feel that good softness that comes from paddling for hours with the waves breaking on the tail. I've noticed that staying happy means staying light, which is the nearest sensation I can describe it as: float on the top of things and not let myself think of the memories, worries or criticisms down below; that is, not to sink into them, but to skate on the surface, like a runner on the asphalt, like a hand dripping over the side of a boat, like a bubble dropping, but not like an apple looking at the ground. soft, soft, soft.

On a very odd and somewhat-related topic: on Saturday, I saw my Bville Ex walking down the street. She looked pretty much the same, although she was talking on the cellphone, which is already more social than I remember her. Still had that walk you can tag from two blocks away... nature scientists everywhere would be totally stoked to have an observed animal with such a noticeable gait. Anyhow, it was benign and I was at a safe distance, but just seeing the ghost for 30 seconds was enough to literally give me such a splitting headache that I had to go home, take aspirin, and lie in bed for an afternoon.

Note to self: Holy Crap. That's some strong kung fu.

Fortunately, on Saturday before that point, I ran into the Bville Farmer's Market, which has grown exponentially since I saw it last and has such good vibes and smiling people that I got all wiggley and realized I found a Saturday writing spot. Wow, it's been a long time since I've been in the presence of such mobbed happiness.

I also went dancing by myself for the first time in eons, and I realized I haven't actually dancing since dating b... boy, I must've gotten busy. It took me about four times the length of time it usually does to get into the groove (in fact, there have been abortive efforts previously, when I went out in Bville with friends but felt so pissy I didn't get any quality dancing in). Anyhow, it turned wonderful and I felt so joyous to be back in my body, and everybody was having a good time, the bar had some queers in it. It did get sleezy around 1-ish, and so I left. But that's a good realization to have: pre-1am, things can be good-o. Back to the bones, back to the muscles, back to the stretch...

All this moving my body has been making me feel better, and I'm excited for myself. Excited to be investing in my zing, my body, friends, getting fit, but moving, getting moving, getting out of my homecoming funk and finding out where, and where not, I feel that wwwhhhheaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-pow. So, my friends, I will be on here far less, but wishing you great summer stories to gossip and tell me afterwards. Oh, and cross your fingers that I get to see a whale up close tomorrow!
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