Sojourn in Ixtlan...

I awoke the other night from a dream and found myself in yet another one, this time more real. For a moment my already binary existence became even more confusing. In the first dream i was gazing toward the wall lying on my side, my living room around me. And before my eyes, with all the willpower i could summon, formed the shape of an old friend. I studied her face in the light, she turned from side to side and cast shadows from the tip of her nose. I could make out the slightest freckles on her cheek and the sleepiness about her eyes.

I was amazed that i could recreate such an image, a virtual photograph now nearly interactive in its mechanics. I was proud that i had remembered her so well; perhaps her image now was even realer than her original form, i thought. I believe i stole that idea from a book i read in the past few years. That our eye is a camera, both still and moving.

And then she faded and i awoke into the second dream. I fumbled for a pen and lay as still as i could. I didn't want to wake fully cos i could feel these thoughts gently slipping and knew that only between realities would i remember and transcribe. So i wrote a sum of lines about her image, but i couldn't keep it cos i awoke yet again. And so i lay in bed, really this time and pulled my legs up toward me.

I felt a simple sadness of nearly attaining as the greyhound always stretching for the rabbit. It is strange how even as we sleep we stretch ourselves out and attempt to merge with something. And by the taste left in my mouth and nerves on edge, i can only wonder where my heart really lies.


an onerous sign on today's point reyes roadside...

a thousand words...

Kick that !@%$#% ball!

In preparation for Sunday's hopeful kickball game at Dolores Park... i took some practice on the schoolyard. It was second lunch on a terribly bright day, my eyes recoiling from the incandescent celestial ceiling overhead. A spring day in San Francisco.

I was making my recess rounds twirling a whistle around my fingertip and taking a minute to yak with various kids about how to beat the final stage in Super Mario Kart and why Mexico's World Cup team is dangerous to make large bets on. This is my normal day. After lunch i scrounge up a few balls and set up a kickball game in one corner and a soccer game in the other. Sometimes the girls join the games, but for the most part they like to talk in gaggles, giggling all the while. In fifth grade it unnerved me to no end... the burst of laughter from such a flock and my silent sweetheart among them. Was she telling them about my sweaty palms when we held hands? Did they catch me picking my nose?

I was wandering back and forth, i played goalie for a while and screamed and shouted encouraging everyone to do headers from towering kicks. Kids were rubbing their sore heads and smiling; it did kind of hurt. And then looking toward the kickball game i took my leave, electing a new goalie as i walked away. The kickball field was a mess: kids scattered haphazard, bunched on homeplate fighting for position, clueless bewildered outfielders clumped in centerfield unaware of left and right. Not to mention a terrible discrepancy common to schoolyard kickball~ all the cool big 5th grade kids on one team and the shrimpy scraps of 4th grade nerddom comprising its foe.

It was like fetch at the dogpark, big kids walloping balls into gaps and corners and the little kids running to retrieve. Makes my heart kinda skip a beat seeing all this. Reminded me of my poor Mariners facing the Yankees throughout the 90's; a rout, in other words. And me at the ballpark, scraping my chocolate malt with that little wooden spoon, feeling kinda mad at the pinstripes. And to boot, the big kids were cheating, claiming they were safe in shameless out fashion. Like that time Alex Rodriguez slapped the ball out of Arroyo's mitt in Game 6 with the Red Sox. Just shameless...

I couldn't take it anymore. I stepped in, "Terrence, you're out. Gimme a break!" A murderous 5th grade look crossed his face a second before he assented, loping back toward the bench. I helped the kids get the final two outs. They'd been on the field nearly fifteen minutes shagging balls for the big kids. They quickly lined up in nervous anticipation of finally kicking, but sadly their teammates kicked dribblers up the first base line. Two outs. It looked like a one-two-three inning for the underdogs. But then, out of nowhere, Mr. Jesse stepped up to the plate. I turned back and readied the kids for a team run, a special rule applied when all the kids get to run around the bases, like a walk-off grandslam. It usually really infuriates the other team, so i decided this would be a great time. My left foot got every bit of rubber and the ball bounded long and far, twisting by the flag pole. We screamed, we hollered, we taunted... and as we gathered at home plate, the lunchbell rang.

Postscript. Sunday's game is on! Bring your own beer and dignity!

Ode to a friend... and our livers.

The whole of last week was spent with a mediocre person at best. Though she is a dear friend, the fact remains... she is an enabler, a horrible influence. And if i ever have children, a restraining order may be necessary. May G-D bless her cold cold heart.

Yonder by the Truckee lives a lady
young and pretty (she once was)
years of smokin' and drinkin' behind her
and many more years ahead to come...