sick day

i have been losing the fight against gravity for several days now,
magnetized to the iron in my bed frame
chasing sleep, who wants nothing to do with me.
words circle my head
recycled, repetitive, a fountain of unoriginal thought,
a special kind of hell

a friend told me i should be moving on
where "moving on" = dating again
i fail to see the forward motion implied in
entering another binding relationship
when it was specifically the bondage that drove me from my previous one

why is coupling considered progress?
what is progress in life, anyway?
we talk as if there are correct, known vectors, when really there is only
aging, which happens no matter what i choose to do.

i seem to be moving side to side
not aiming towards any direction, but paddling furiously to simply stay
afloat.

OOJ: South Broadway Cultural Center

"Freedom Flush" by Eric J. Garcia

South Broadway Cultural Center never fails to supply me with OOJs. This month's free exhibit, "The Bomb", features local ABQ art from the past 10 years (runs through 2/28/15), such as this one. "Freedom Flush" is painted on a Kohler toilet specifically made for the prison system.

SBCC is also dear to me because it houses my nearest public library. Today I went to pick up one book on hold and ended up bringing these titles home as well:

Sobriety: A Graphic Novel

Lonely Planet's Instant Expert: A Visual Guide to the Skills You've Always Wanted (includes chapters like "How to Be An Emergency Dentist")

The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression

The Elements of Resume Style: Essential Rules for Writing Resumes and Cover Letters That Work

Susan Point: Works on Paper (see image below)

from www.burkemuseum.org

OOJ: Full Moon Rising

view from CVS parking lot on Coors, ABQ

Nativity Scenes

Normally, I have zero interest in nativity displays; who needs more glorified white faces? But leave it to fair trade gift store Ten Thousand Villages to carry nativity sets that actually caught my eye. Post-holiday sale going on now, 50% off, locations nationwide.

NFF: Central Ave Post Office

Location: Post office on Central Ave, ABQ, 2 weeks before Christmas

There were eleven people waiting for one clerk when I walked through the doors of the post office one late afternoon. They all seemed to have agreeably accepted the fact that they'd be waiting for a while. "It's like Black Friday," joked an older woman wrapped in numerous dark-colored layers to the man in front of her. A second woman, farther back in line, complained in return, "Those Walmart employees, they don't know where anything is."

A man wondered aloud, "What do I get as gifts for spoiled, yuppie grandchildren?" "Athletic equipment," suggested the Walmart-aggrieved woman. "iTunes gift cards," I offered. "Yeah, but then they'll want newer devices to play their music on," grumbled the grandfather. 

We fell momentarily silent, perhaps thinking about people in our own lives for whom it is hard to choose gifts. I got my turn at the window and was told I needed a different form than the one I'd filled out because my package was 6 ounces over a designated limit. I headed back to the end of the line to work on my new form.

Suddenly, the grandfather was yelling at the postal clerk. "How about if I write to the Postmaster General and tell him about how you refused to help me with my problem?" 

I looked up, startled at the sudden change in mood. I didn't understand what the grandfather wanted. He'd shaken several sheets of stamps out of a large envelope onto the counter and continued to talk loudly over the clerk, who was patiently attempting to give the man an explanation. Finally the grandfather scooped up his stamps, threw out his last indignant words, and exited the room.

I approached the clerk for the second time. "Sorry about all that," I said.

"It's ok," he replied. "That guy had a problem when he came in, and he had a problem when he left."

The grandfather started yelling again, just outside the door. "So now he's talking about customers behind their backs!"

"He wasn't talking about you behind your back," a woman yelled back at him.

"Hope your day gets better," I told the clerk, as he stamped my forms. 

"It already is," he said. "You can't let that stuff get to you, or else it'll drag you down. That guy already has problems, but I don't have to let his problems become my problems."

Shit gets real deep at the post office. 

12.5.2001

Suo Gan, a Welsh lullaby

Chanticleer singing it in Welsh: "Suo Gan"

English lyrics:

Hush, my dear one,
Sleep serenely,
Now, my lovely,
Slumber deep.

Mother rocks you,
Humming lowly,
Close your eyes now,
Go to sleep.

Angels hover, 
Ever nearer,
Looking on your
Smiling Face

I will hold you,
Close enfold you,
Close your eyes now,
Go to sleep.

We Love You, Ms. Watson

luminarias in honor of Melissa Watson,
teacher, Valle Vista Elementary, ABQ, NM

we entered the school gates bearing the necessities for mourning: kleenex, candles, crock pots, krispy kreme donuts. the sun set and we huddled around a candle-lit heart shape outlined on the ground outside of the fifth grade classrooms. the candle in my hand burned steadily, an outrageously obscene contrast to the hope in my heart that had been so recently extinguished, that was now no more than a thread of smoke drifting towards the sky. most of us stayed quiet, subdued in our shock, though a woman sang "this little light of mine" in an irritatingly forceful, raspy voice that maybe was comforting to her. outside of our cluster, small children hopped, stabbing the gravel with their rubber-clad toes, their spirited, squeaky high voices clashing with our general hush. i felt jealous of how lightly they moved, free of grief's weight; i envied the bliss of their ignorance of our monumental loss- of a compassionate educator, a beloved colleague, a supportive friend, a committed mother.  

OOJ: Orange Series

orange clothes i've bought in the past 4 months
(l to r) dress, dress, cardigan, sweater, skirt, hoodie

Financial Advice from a 10-Year-Old

"Tell your mom you only have half of how much money you really have so she'll pay for the rest of what you're buying. That's how you save money."

OOJ: Farmers Market Jewels

seen at downtown growers' market, ABQ, NM. i think they're tomatoes?

How to Profile Passengers on Your Southwest Flight

somewhere along the ABQ-LAS flight path

i've been flying on Southwest Airlines (SWA) since the '00's, when it was the scrappy upstart airline and i could buy a ticket home from Chicago for a sweet $39. These days, SWA is known for its entertaining flight attendants (they sing or tell jokes, depending on who you get), low(ish) fares, and its infamous open seating policy. 

For those of you who either refuse to fly or use your own private jets, open seating means you are not assigned a designated seat when you buy your ticket. Instead, you are placed in groups with the other passengers based on when you check in. You then board with your group and choose your seat from any seat in the cabin that is still available when you enter the plane. Basically, it's no different than boarding a bus or train.

Over the years, i've advanced beyond basic window vs. aisle questions (window to snap photos or sleep, aisle for frequent bathroom access) to a list of rules that helps me decide who i'll sit with by making snap judgments about people based solely on their appearances. In other words, i profile the other passengers in hopes of securing myself my ideal flight experience: quiet (noise level) and undisturbed (by other passengers). The following are my rules. I even made an acronym out of them: W.A.L.K. (Women, Activity, Layers, Kids). If you board these flights hoping to find your new best friend/soul mate, do the exact opposite of what i say here.

somewhere along OAK-ABQ flight path

1. Sit with WOMEN. No need for entitled masculine energy clouding my trip. In my experience, men are more likely to push jovial small talk on me (are they bored or do they just really love the sound of their voices?) Their bodies invade my already cramped space, elbows spilling over my arm rest, knees spreading wide as if repelled by each other. If you do have to sit with men, try to follow Rule #2.

2. Look for someone who's brought a long-term ACTIVITY: books good, magazines/newspapers bad. Inflight magazine/Skymall, extra bad- they're desperate for entertainment. Choose someone already plugged in- headphones, tablet, e-reader, other electronic gadget- they're not interested in chit chat. Portable battery pack- jackpot!

3. Consider smells, like body odor and foods. People dressed in LAYERS are your best bet for covering up B.O. Men in tank tops are the worst. Avoid passengers with fast food bags or large drinks that can spill all over everything (remember when plane seats had cupholders?).

4. Stay away from KIDS. (I say this with a heart full of love and compassion for my friends with kids. You are all wonderful parents, and when your kids act up on the airplane, it is not an indication of the quality of your parenting.) Give yourself at least a couple rows of distance from small kids; kids sitting behind you kick your seat, and kids in front of you can be squirmy, jostling your tray table or knocking their seat back into your head as you bend down to get something from your bag. Multiple kids in the same row often fight or whine. Bless their little hearts. On flights, i prefer babies to kids- there's a good chance they'll fall asleep and be a quiet lump for most of the flight. 

OOJ: North Bay

view from my seat on an OAK-ABQ Southwest flight last weekend

OOJ: Waffles and Chocolate

new and improved breakfast! trader joe's dark chocolate mint creams on top of a whole grain frozen waffle- minty chocolate goodness in every bite. be jealous.

OOJ: Dried Rose

Zozobra 2014

Zozobra 2014, Santa Fe, NM 

it's pretty brilliant, actually. choose someone to accuse of being the source of an entire community's anxieties and problems, and immediately, poof: relief. no need for self-reflection or accountability, just burn a poor mofo at the stake and rejoice. so simple, so clean. too bad for me that i am that chosen one.

whoever came up with the idea is a marketing genius. first, they renamed me: Old Man Gloom, Zozobra- by now, i doubt anyone remembers my real name. then they created an entire celebration out of the burning of me: kettle corn, lemonade, firecrackers, live music, a parade. come one, come all, pack a picnic and bring the entire family out to watch a man go up in flames!

i get it, i see the appeal. life is much simpler with a living, breathing (though soon i'll have neither of these qualities) villain- that's me. people are overwhelmed by their fractured lives, their competing passions and responsibilities. they exist in a constant state of uncertainty, guessing at the "right" decisions, clumsily making plans for the future when no one of us is even guaranteed a future to begin with. add on top of that the daily tragedies that show no sign of ceasing- accidental death, paralysis, an unexpected diagnosis with a timeline- and it's easy to see how the troubles can pile up. in many of these situations, there is no obvious villain, which makes it all even harder to swallow. 

that's where i come in. because even a fictitious reason like me is preferable to the truth: that more often than not, things simply happen, with terrible results. call it what you will- fate, bad timing, natural consequences, some higher being's fucking Plan- but i have nothing to do with any of it. i'm just the guy they picked, the one who never fit in to begin with, and who therefore was an easy sell. pin your troubles on me and send them up in flames.

the crowd has been gathering for hours, the last rays of daylight fleeing the scene. a man in a suit appears and, like a bad actor, melodramatically bellows a list of accusations against me, ending with the predictable outcome: "GUILTY!" he repeats it too many times (hey buddy, less is more). the crowd screams; the people look joyful. beachballs are unleashed above their heads. a woman in glittering red spandex with feathers sprouting out of her head dances on the stairs in front of me as the band resumes their festive beat. from my vantage point, i can see everything: kids on shoulders, couples taking selfies, the vendors, the hooded figures carrying torches making their way towards me, and the infinite darkness beyond them all. 

SOD: J. Cole, "Be Free"

It's been a summer of sorrow for both ABQ and the U.S. that has once again forced us to recognize that residents in this country are not equally safe and protected. Michael Brown's death in Ferguson, MO, has been feeding the news crawl for weeks now, but here in ABQ, public attention has been on violence against homeless individuals. In June, Nancy Myers was killed by a driver who appeared to have aimed his truck straight for her while she was sleeping on the sidewalk at night. Then, in July, two local teens beat to death Allison Gorman and Kee Thompson, two homeless men sleeping in an empty lot, while a third teen stood watch. Both incidents seem to have been unplanned, triggered merely by the sight of people sleeping outside and a twitchy impulse to harm another being. 

Last night, i walked under a bridge near the train station at around 10:40 pm in downtown ABQ. i passed two individuals curled up in sleeping bags on the far side of the street, their heads tucked down out of sight. i believe that people who live on the streets have tremendous internal strength, resiliency, and ability to mobilize resources, but from where i stood, at that hour, they looked soft and vulnerable. It's incomprehensible how someone could make the decision to attack another who posed absolutely zero threat.

Just as it is incomprehensible when police shoot individuals who pose no more threat beyond the color of their skin. Here is today's Song of the Day, J. Cole's "Be Free", written in tribute to Michael Brown.

Postcard from Taos

view of Rio Grande Gorge from the trail to
Manby Hot Springs (Arroyo Hondo, NM)

three weeks into my Taos Ski Valley "residency", and i have disappointingly little to show for it. i've barely touched the many pens, blank paper, art supplies, and music scores that i brought. so far, this is all i've learned:

1. i don't like living in a place that has only one way in/out; i feel surprisingly trapped. though TSV is undeniably beautiful in the way that ski resorts are in the summer, it's a curvy 30-minute ride down the one road into town, and if anything happens on that road to block it, you're stuck on one side or the other until the block is cleared. TSV itself (in the summer) features one bar; one tiny cafe; one tinier "grocery" store named 'Bumps' (quotes around the word "grocery" because it's basically a liquor store with junk food and a couple lonely apples rolling around in a basket); one coffee stand; and a couple ski shops (why are they even open now???). which means that any time i get a break longer than 3 hours, i'm flying down that one road off the mountain like a bat out of hell. 

2. nature is not inherently enlightening. as someone who was raised among shopping malls and fast food chains (and who now prefers living amid the pavement, people, and commotion of cities), i've always thought there was something mystically superior about people who lived "in nature". i suspected that their decision to live in remote areas indicated a more highly developed sense of being, in the same way that i suspect that people who only read The Economist and listen to NPR podcasts must be superior to me, with my love of British fashion mags and commercial pop/R+B music (even though i know it kills my brain cells). i now realize this is complete bullshit. people who live in TSV all year round are as ridiculous as any fool off of any city street. 

3. because nature is not inherently enlightening, i have not become a more evolved human after living here for a few weeks. i have not solved any of my own problems, much less society's. i haven't had any revelations. i am not more patient and kind to others. i am as judgmental as i was before i arrived (see my comment on ppl who live in TSV). at first, i was disappointed with my lack of self-improvement. but now i'm content to admire the trees (which i swear are closing in on us, inch by inch); enjoy the thunderstorms; and thank the universe for DirectTV. 

OOJ: Guillermo Ochoa

very few things or people can hold my attention for 90 minutes, but one who succeeds at doing this is Guillermo Francisco Ochoa, goalie for the Mexican national team in this year's World Cup in Brazil, who has definitely established himself as the star and savior of the Mexican team this year (no thanks to you, Rafa). this 28-yr-old native of Guadalajara (where i lived for a few months!) debuted with Club América a few years ago and spent his last year playing for a French team and is now a free agent. Ochoa punched out, hugged, and blocked countless goal attempts while looking cool as an otter pop straight from the cooler. Mexico sadly hit the end of their World Cup run today after two successful penalty shots by the Netherlands, but hopefully Ochoa's performance this summer will bring him more opportunities in the international arena.  

POD: Antonio Machado

it's been forever since my last Poem/Poet of the Day (POD). here are a few lines by Antonio Machado, a Spanish poet (1875-1939). i "found" the first few lines in Helen Oyeyemi's novel, Boy, Snow, Bird, and looked up the rest; i think i've found my next tattoo. they were later incorporated into a song by Joan Manuel Serrat, a Spanish singer, in 1969, whose music is pretty sixties-fabulous. so you get a song too today- buy one, get one!

Caminante son tus huellas
El camino nada más;
caminante no hay camino
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino
sino estelas sobre el mar.

Traveller, the path is your tracks
And nothing more.
Traveller, there is no path
The path is made by walking.
By walking you make a path
And turning, you look back
At a way you will never tread again
Traveller, there is no road
Only wakes in the sea.

Edible OOJ

deep-fried ritz/taro sandwiches, danshui, taiwan

these days, when i travel, i could care less about seeing "the sights". all i want to do is eat local food and see inspiring art (preferably not housed in museums). in taiwan, you seemingly can't go wrong with eating (nor art). its street food is famously stomach happy-making. here on the left is a pic of my favorite find: slightly sweet taro paste sandwiched between 2 ritz crackers, and then- of course, because it's street food- deep fried. 

clockwise from top left corner: squids on sticks, ready to be deep fried; fried
tiny bird eggs; crispy noodles; a stand selling tubes of fried dough with
ice cream jammed through it; various tropical fruits

surprisingly, my stomach has had a hard time adjusting back to my U.S. food routine of turkey sandwiches and granola/yogurt. it's a shame you can't record a taste or smell memory the way you can take a photo of something visual.