Archives for category: Stream of Conciousness

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They have even built their walls around buildings, despite the things they are protecting with walls what are the same thing; also walls.

2 January 2018
Era of the asshole presidents

A wintry day in San Miguel is like a blasé wet day in March in lands where I grew up. The sky is sour with clouds and the chill that normally would ebb, remains. Like a guest that you know you gotta see, but can easily overstay their welcome. The whole day is unplanned and unfiltered. Sarah and Garth are gone for the next few, one of them is getting their stitches out. To my right, through the many walls there is a dog going through something traumatic, as it seems to do everyday about last hour, and then the fallout of that trauma plays out for about two more hours. Next door the lady with a french accent has a guest. She wanders in and out of her apartment, trading words with her friend in the other building, a singer/writer/performer with excellent pipes. A cute little dog has run in and out of our blue portal, it never barks, a only leaves a greenish turd in the gravel behind. The cats are all just really amusingly freaked out.

The time is now 10:58

Time seems to stretch with the sound of the seasons. With the passage of accomplishments. I really want to talk about important things, but I don’t want to talk about certain things, which means that at least some of them must be important. But if I’m not interested in them then how will I know that they are important. I really have no interest in imaginary things that can change people’s lives so drastically, perhaps that’s why I am a fool, but I really have no interest in counting my pennies, and I wonder if I can be around people or a person that can count forever because I’m too interested in how to count forever and beyond where and what I eat then I want to count only enough. For I am prone to waste, and I understand I will be in danger of wasting away if things end up poorly, but I’ve always been poor except when I walked for thousands of miles, even though I had no money to call my own, except for when I did and what can I build with that.
Well I certainly don’t want to build more walls than necessary, and if it could be that all walls disappear, that might provoke beneficial change but only in the long run, because walls protect from reasonable things to be protected by, like cold air, rain is another thing the walls above you protect you from, normally called ceilings or techos and even though they are sealed they are also fallen. the walls are a closing in and they have been building them for centuries, and I might be screen out eventually but that’s because I value freedom as much as I can and as soon as I figure that out I must try to be ingratiatingly steady. I am afraid that the game of chance in randomly assigning resources is the most honest most distrustful and we will still need to move forward and onward, like quadruple accounting but better

The time is now 11:11

When time is forseeably limited, everything seems to become much more precious. And while I do enjoy most of the times when I forget this, it also makes me guilty when it seems as though time is squandered. How I value my life, I can not ask a price. I will tell you how much I need to survive, but if that’s provided, and that’s all that’s provided, I will move on; and I may deserve nothing more, maybe even less, but who are you to decide that?

furthest from my origin then I’ve ever been. Soon I’ll be even further.

We are all further then we’ve ever been, as we fall in a spiral through the universe.

Happy New Year



So sitting here in a fastfood restaurant in Shreveport Louisiana about to head out to find a camping spot, but I’m gonna try to sum up Albequerque to here, with nonstop typing for 20minutes. ( don’t worry there is a post in the works about the bus ride from Tucson to ABQ in the queue, maybe I’ll finish it, or maybe never. )

The time is now 16:29

Abq is a town that makes me feel on edge as I walk down the massive sidewalks and extra wide streets the cracks must be massive here because there are people who are houseless everwhere and with the snow that i’ve gone through leading to the rain in this city and they have nothing but time to sit and read and contemplate in the library and i try to talk to eligible while figuring out where to stay when finally I guess henry relents and affirms that I can visit and the bus ride is short and the walk is short but in my head it is very long because my pack is just slightly too heavy but i’d still like to think that i can tough it out even if the short walk is through houses that are curved and pink and henry’s house is full of things that are important and unorganized and thriving with an atmosphere that is unjudging and never uncomfortable because his parents are just what I expect being sweet sweet people who have deep tastes for amazing things and Henry has games which I delve into the american exceptionalism and play nonstop for a day because when I stay it turns out that the next day is filled with the rainy center of a snow doughnut then the day ends and the next is sunny and bright and chilly and I go to walk on and henry says no gods no medical directors, which I can understand his sentiment, I am excited to return in a month and a half’s time

the sun is bright and Austin picks me up and we listen to his hip hop creation beats that seem to match the scenery very well with the clouds mimicking his cold piano chords and the road and wind buffering the beat of the bass he takes me to santa rosa just to drive and see if his car can go and I give him a fiver because he was once a dj but now delivers discs of pizza

and hour of walking goes by walking down one of the saddest roads that I’ve ever seen with garbage on the sides that were one businesses lining the road and they are now husks hollowed out from the times of change that this city now no longer uses but it is okay because the bank is still on this road and it is very shiny and spiffy with its neon sign and then I get to the onramp

the truck that stops to pick me up is filled with chris and his dog robin and oh my gawd why did I not make the christopher robin connection before while riding with him in his truck alllllllllll the way to shreveport, he even lets me sleep in the sleeper because the night is going down to ten below freezing and our talks stop and start being pleasant even though we are two very differently motivated people who have very little in common and 16 hours is a long time to fill when you’re afraid of offending each other and the night came and went and I had dreams of Nightvale the radio show and the after party that was filled with dances that were spinning and a beautiful latin lady who spun and danced the flamenco while manipulating a puppet that was like watching it througha rotoscope and then its heart was revealed as I spun and spun and spun

Before too long we are in shreveport. but not before I was gifted a burger and many tiny dog pets and cuddles and perhaps I will be able to be back before long and even though I’ve made it so far it is evident that this journey is just beginning.

the time is now 16:48


As 2015 opens, I’m getting the impression that this is gonna be more of a year of rage than the last one. Here’s a quick stream of conciousness post that may be pretty incomprehensible, you probably just want to skip be low it, here, I’ll turn it bold so it’s easier to dismiss.

I’m listening to Of monsters and men, AWOLnation, and The tallest man of earth

the time is now 11:01 pm

and I sit here in this tiny cell of a house which is comfortable to me if it has become a prison for my friends. it’s like seeing two terrifyingly beautiful birds in a cage of purpose and necessity. they are happy, and annoyed, frustrated, and sarcastic, and have had to believe in things that not many of us do, though we believe in things that are stupid and pointless and dumb and don’t make sense to them, and that is not a criticism, though I feel it, but I don’t ever want to criticize them, I don’t want to criticize their actions while I observe their reaction but I also want to be criticized more because they can do that between themselves and it’s a tiny thought that enters my head a tiny mote of paranoia that I feel with everyone that meet and have had learned to surf like a wave or like the internet

i know that they are kind and loving with the games they make for each other the play and the reaffirmations of the irony of most of their life in the terms of endearment that their words for behavior that they have for each other and are willing to explain carefully to me an inside joke that I know always will belong to them as sacred as sacred can be in the world because nothing can affect the way that they do things and if it does it is a reflection of what we can truly do to one another even with the best of intentions

the time is now 11:11

wow, that was weird, I guess I desire attention through criticism, so what? I can get defensive? It’s like this whole thing about muslims needing to claim responsibility and apologize for the actions of a few insane people. Let’s kill people who want to kill us, let’s kill people who think differently than we do.

Hey, here’s a dark thought, I believe humanity needs a good die-off because it appears that we have surpassed the means of this planet to sustain us and much of the life that exists.  I don’t like this idea but it’s one that seems to be proving itself more and more, double-but that doesn’t make it all right nor all right.

Of course it should be up to us on what that will look like, and currently it seems like we are best at fighting each other to those ends.  There is also the environmental collapse that we are living through right now that can get us if we don’t war ourselves to death. I am so angry at everyone right now that I am realizing that I’ve always hated the world as it is. I do not like to hate, but it is the defining characteristic of love for without it, we would be more connected to each other and peaceful and also ominously detached. 

I remember observing my father, who has not been confrontational on any issues that I’ve seen except through sacrifice, or outbursts of anger. The most unique to me is one where he quietly, under his breath, rages at the world. I wonder if he does that anymore. If he does, I would encourage that he do it over his breath at least as a beginning or if he doesn’t then he’s lived enough to be detached if he wants to be. Sometimes I wonder, with all the attachments we are born with, if life is ultimately a quest to give up those things because we ultimately with have to.  with that typed, I still have the urge to make more friends, be better at the things I do, and perhaps the world would be a better place.

Okay, so I began these travels with the need to break the patterns plaguing my life. Then it coalesced into the desire to find, have, or figure out the idea that will be for the survival of humanity.  I don’t claim to have a hard line opinion of what ideas are right, or what humanity is, or if survival is an accurate term or the highest ideal but there are a few things that I’ve learned in my travels that I always knew but never had the courage to express with as deep passion as I am typing them now.

1. Without this planet, we can survive, but we must come to grips that our home is not forever, and that humanity will eventially be homeless, if we survive.

2. The opposite of destruction, can only be placed on a spectrum between that of creation and preservation.

3. Peace is the only power than cannot be used unjustly.

4. Peace, at its worst is ineffective, or changes everything. At its best, prevents the violation of another life.

5. Global warming is real, the climate is changing, temperatures around the world once again are on an upward trend. ( This may be an observation and not an idea, but the caveat is that it should be taken into account for everything that we do. )

6. There is no such thing as renewable usable energy. Nothing tangible is limitless. 

7. Meaning is everything, it’s understanding the difference between the existence of an event and the spin. (or interpretation )

Hmm, seven is a good number right?

I might have been going for ten, or overshot five but it’s cool that I’ve landed on seven.

So this is where I’m at at the beginning of the new year.  A little older, a little wiser, a little more incomprehensible, and full of myself. Hopefully this year I’ll be able to do better at my resolutions 4 of 7 years running.

i’ll put these in bold so you can easily skip passed them if you want to.

1.  find, have or figure out the idea that will be for the survival of humanity

2. speak well in front of a large group of people

3. quit smoking

4. lose weight (be healthier)

5. write a letter to my mom

6. write a letter to my dad

(this next one is actually a new one)

7. write more letters that mean something in general

8. write (express and create and preserve) more

The weather while I’ve been writing this has gone from cloudy and cool to darker and chilly to “partly sunny” to cloudy and warm.  Sarah is working on a project as is Garth, with the patience of a thousand breezes. The neighbors walk and drive by on the dirt and gravel road. They get into their trucks and cars. The sounds of the highway and construction bleed through the music of my fancy new noise cancelation headphones but I am still thankful for being aware.

Because I can also hear the babbling choir of desert sparrows. Watch the cobblestone clouds sweep over the mountains. The rounded cacti scattered like pebbles in the sand between the many brooms of abrasive shrubs and trees. This hard, more tan, and less red earth; where puddles are preserved and allowed to evaporate away rather than soaking in.  Where it is obvious that the sun has the most power of all here, it can change everything in moments.

So yay, I’ve made it, thanks to everyone who helped me get here, even the one who tried to ditch me. Staying in Missoula for about half a week, then I’m gonna hang and catch up my writing and help out where I can and do artsy stuff and experience stuff.  Pretty much all the same stuff I do now, but not with the travel aspect.  Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up with it, or I just won’t post in a few months and perhaps the recap there will be even more incoherent than the last.  

So, a couple notes from the last post. Garth and I were married about two years ago when he stepped on a piece of glass that shattered and by Jewish tradition we were married. Sarah is his mistress because they get to have all the fun anyway.  And, I may not believe he gives her enough pretty things, but he does give her portions of the world that she doesn’t already get herself. So my meager present of a  handmade scarf using a loom really is just a trinket.  (Kinda like my Origami, only with slightly more use.)  

This stream of conciousness experiment is becoming a little weird because I’m comparing how I write these with my normal writing and I’m really not noticing any difference, it’s just shorter. So, I’m on an actual laptop right now and not using a touch screen keyboard, so let’s see if shifts how the thoughts get put down.

The local time is now 13:58 PM.

Sweat Bee Buddy

The little sweat bee landed on my hand and I just stared at it for a while. Burnt Prarie wasn’t necessaricly a barren wasteland just a  tall thin raked land that had very little features. It also didn’t get as much traffic as it could have. I waited for a good four hours and literally 20 cars passed me by, although I was able to conjure up about half of those as smiles. The time was mostly spent thinking about my friends, letting the little sweat bee flutter around me, in fact I grew quite attach to it because it would always land on the side of my left hand just above the first knuckle of my index finger. It would side with my bag or flit around the water bottle that was still filled with manufactured hydration fluid that tasted like pink would taste if you were to take something that was not normally pink, probably yellow or green and then turn it pink.


The truck stop that I sat at sold burgers very cheaply and I wanted to try to talk to the cashier more. She, however wasn’t having any of it and served my burger and fries with a brisk attitude and only a reactionary smile when I said how grateful I was. I sat and ate and made some notes and then a truck driver also ordered some food at this little divey type of place and sat down behind me. I didn’t even know they had squeeze bottles of ketchup and felt silly about the four or five packets I grabbed that still wasn’t enough. So when he was finished making his potato and ketchup soup I asked if I could use the bottle.

I’ve met truckers before, only because they’ve picked me up but this one was terse and I tried broaching the topic of hitchhiking and he said some BS about liability that trucking companies are supposedly responsible for, but I think it’s just because there’s no money in picking up hitchhikers. Or maybe he just had never been a rule breaker.

It was a hot day, actually a hot entire week which I will mention in many of these posts I think even though it doesn’t seem all that bad now also I think writing froma remembering perspective is getting to be more pontificaty so I hope I don’t do that, that’s the one thing– but anyway after the trucker leaves, nothing in his head changed and I doubt he will even remember the interaction, I also felt that it was time to just go stand by the road when I pass a guy who’s smoking a cigarette. and I think well, might as well have a bit of comfort, not to mention it’s also a way to hang out by someone and strike up conversation without it becoming too weird. I bum one and notice that he’s wearing a UK hat and him if he lives in Lex and he said that he used to.

Well, he turned out to be my first ride, but he was going in the opposite direction. Sometimes you have to take a step back to take a step foreward, and Evansville was a much bigger place and not too far back.  So it seemed that it would have been easier just to the car show but I felt like my time with them was done. Besides now I have an over idealized memory of the Kiser Farm and that is enough for me.

The drive is spent going over what I do and all that, and it was before I started writing down people’s at least first names and so I think that Gideon (not his real name and not to be confused with the Gideon that took Sara Garth and I to outside of Indy.)   was a very nice fellow. He told me about the sociology books that he liked to read, and I folded for him a Lotus. He had a beard and a good smile and a fun sense of music. He dropped me off on the turnaround in Evansville and it was too dark to get another ride, so I walked a couple miles past the truckstops, through a large feild of empty space in front of large McMansions and at the corner of two soy feilds and some tall trees behind a fire pit laid down.

The time is now 2:18

Stopped after finally getting further out of Kansas City, in a place called Mound City, and they say city, but pop is just a bit over 1100, so city? Really? And the people here sure do have judgy eyes, it could also be my pack, they also have not returned a single smile, and I’m literally the only non caucasion in this entire building. Oh well, on with the experiment!

The time is now 12:12

The Kiser Farm

Walking with Sarah and Garth again is like a shovel digging dirt. Despite the messy soundi ng metaphor it is also the most accurate. There is something about each heavy step that makes me feel good about life. We walk and talk about our observations. Sarah remarks about how satisfying the sky is, but then we do something completely new to me. Well, not new new, mjust new new new. Waiting for a ride with them is fun. Garth finds a golf ball and launches itnusing a reflector strip on the side of the road. Sarah mentions that they have a set ofnrules for those that would not pick us up. And calls them out as each driver passes us by, “No pretendi ng we’re not here!” At the next place, Garth torments sarah with a cattail while I play around a bit with her new ukelele. What ancool instrument. After we spend the night at the rest area where we’ve ended up we start to sing aboutngetting a ride to Effingham. Genius lyrics like “For christmas dinner we’d like some f-ing ham” get a ride not only just to our requested destination, but all the way to where garth’s dad picks us up.

Ron is a tall thin man with white hair and has a jovial tone to his voice and critical words on his lips. He has a horticulture degree I believe and it was fun to pick his brain even if only briefly. I mostly doze on the way to the farm. Two dogs yaps and yip at us as we pull in, and the older black one stinks as much as thenyounger gray one has energy enough to spin in circles, but it was enough that they have really expressive faces. We go on the tour, the main house with a wonderful sun room, the two gardens where I learned that Sarah loves blackberries, because she said so and not because of a stain on her face or anything. There was also a barn with an amish quilt star pattern on the side of it reminding me of PA. And the pond where frogs shout’ erp!’ followed by a sploosh when you walk too close. And then th ere is a lot filled with 50 or 100 oldstyle cars of makes and models that anyone who knew anyth in g about cars would be able to tell you. Yeah Garth grew up here, and how could I forget about the trampoline.

The time is now 12:33

Wellthere’s another stream, and it’s a little frustrating that I could go on more about the farm, or the adventure getting there, but maybe theynwill come in time. See you at the next stop!

Okay, so I am not good at posting content, so there must be something wrong with how I go about this. I think it’s got something to do with how I agonize over every detail and want to be specific and just how timeconsuming it is. So, I’m going to start new little stream of conciousness posts about things that happen. At least Ten minutes, at most twenty, constant typing. This will be interesting because I don’t have a keyboard right now, so the onscreen keyboard may make some funny errors and characters. Before I start this experiment, here’s what I’ve done since my last “real” post.

Was able to hitchhike the rest of the way to Stacie’s house in Kentucky, rode an Amtrak for the first time met a sketchy bus driver, a passionate artist, a wry geologist and a spunky Ashevillian. Stayed up all night in a Wafflehouse folding origami after getting freaked out by People on a Patio. Which inspired this poem:

The People on the Patio

Did I just hear you ask who was out there?
Is that you calling your lover out of bed?
The sound of the highway is too loud in my ears and head.
The only one who seems to be able to hear you is me.

I would never light a fire in such a beautiful place.
Okay, are you out there? Hello? If you respond then I’ll know that I was imagining it.
If you don’t then I know you’ll call the police.

I’ve got a Gatorade for them when they have to climb up this hill.
This difficult difficult hill.
They deserve a reward some might say and others believe they are the problem.
No I am not drunk, if that is what you said with your voice that may or may not exist.
Although it may be the most evident in the highest honesty of hopeful dreamers that  I recognize your land as a haven for the lost and lonely.

Who are you?  To make an assumption so perfunctatory? To marginalize?
Why haven’t you called the cops yet?
Did I just hear them pull up?
Why are there no lights? The single beam of a flash light would show me I am not just being plagued by fear.
The maps showed this place as safe, but I don’t feel it.
Did I just hear them pull away? No one said anything.
The people on the patio just stare out at what they wish not to touch.

I worry that people are so afraid that they will not talk.
Asking questions is the important thing.
Your land is crying out, and the trees are falling down.
The very young and the very old are strained.
And all you can do is look out into the darkness,
Fear filling your head, all the voices screaming danger.

Whoever’s there they can leave.

Yeah, that was a pretty dark night. Then I stayed with Stacie for quite a few months. Cleared gutters, planted stuff, tended the garden, cooked food washed dishes, laughed at Apple Inc and at College students. Gangstagrass for my birthday. Hung out with a fellow Walkupier John Oshea. Went to first Pride festival, saw my first Midnight Rocky Horror Picture, thanks Burt and Eiglebach. Connected with divestment campaign of UBS (please stop funding MTR you bank you). Crushed hard on a contortionist, who’ll never know my feelings. Got dropped off on the side of the road by Stacie who drove off as soon as emotions started flowing, she then circled back around to mouth out a proper goodbye message. . . As proper as that sounds.

The new journey to Chicago began for Alec. Got a ride to Louisville really easily by a statememployee who told me a story about a backyardnfull of roses to counterweight a room filled with shelves filled with jars filledmwithnJapanese beetles. Was found by a random old friend who treated to dinner and let me stay for the night. Journeyed up to Ft Worth, met a progressive thinking cattlefarmer and nice guy networker responsible for maintaining the data flows of the LHC.

Ft wayne, Yogini Medic who can charm her way through a police line at a coal power plant blockade through I don’t know what, some kind1 of magic. Boobs boobs boobs, Save Maumee. Grateful Dead cover band. Used a juicer for the first time. Apple Carrot juice is pretty much like crack. Tiny baby lungs are powerful.

Leaving Ft Wayne and walked for a bit. Found a ride quick to Valpo, hung out with John and played videogames. Made a delicious stir fry, he dropped me off at the train station which I took in to Chicago.  Got lost in millenium station. Then finally was able to take a bus to Grace and Esther’s in a most corrupt town called Cicero. Had many amazing conversations wi th them. Got to meet brave hunger strikers. Did a cute little march, and rather larger demonstration. Stayed a couple nights with Ben, got to see Too much lightnmakes the baby go blind, a jumble of miniplays randomishly ordered.

The time to leave Chicago again came and took a trip to South Bend to meet with old friends. Sarah and Garth.


I think this is where I’ll begin, we are not yet caught up to current time yet, and really that last bit was just as stream ofmconciousnessy as this probably will be but hey, I’ve got a lot of catchingmupmto do.

The time is now 14:43

The Vonnegut House

Sarah and Garth did not look any different than when I remember seeing them last. Although they rode up in blue besse a good looking truckmthat sounded and felt dependable. I was very nervous seeing them again and they had been doingmso much. The truck ride to Culver was a game of pong as we passed stories backnand forth of our travels and experiences. It is interesting the way people are always going tombe the same, they talked the same and their voices were familier, but the idea of them was harder, as if etched into the side of hard stone, a bass relief becomingnclearer and clearer. Garth and Sarah’smstories of overseas sounded wonderful, just the difference in people and the vitality of ideas.

The vonnegut house was neat, I was inspired by the lake and I will remember my sho rt stay there. The library had the largestmcollection ofmDvd that I’ve ever seen. They made my think that the library was more formentertain, ent than for knowledge. The military academy wasnnot in session and I so wanted to seee horses. Sara and I bought way too much food, and I hope that those who are still there would eat it. I made guacamole though I wanted to make Pico de gallo. And Ingot to speak with John.

That was a conversation that confused me and frustrated because ofnhis restriction that asking about events past is in his eyes considered unproductive. Maybe my wording of the question wasnover formal and it definitely touched a nerve. Maki ng a resume to tell others is not a good way to make friends, it’s about the goals and ideas that you have now that make for a good c on panion. That’s what I came to understand from him.

I folded some origami for the house and he worked dilligently to fold on of the patterns as well. When I found out we were leaving, I made sure to make a copy of the diagram and leave it for him along with some squares of multiple sizes so he could make a forest if he desired to.

We walked away from the vonnegut house. And I would meet some of Garth’s Family.

The time is now 15:03

Okay, so if you think that was incoherent, you should check out my notes. I’m gonna go try to catch a ride now, and the next time I have wifi, I’ll do another stream of conciousness about The Kiser Farm.