Friday, December 31, 2004
Hiatus Forest
I started the month of December, thinking, "I think I'll post something every day in my web log." What a nice thought.
And I had lots to say, that's the funny thing. Plenty has happened. I could talk about the hiring eccentricities of large companies, the dynamic failures of the educated elite in positions of power over the sea of those working 40 hours or more for 30 grand or less.
I could talk more about the funny lady at work and all the things that come out of her mouth. Or the guy who cannot tell a truth. So many words, none of them true. What makes a person make everything up? Things have to be pretty bad to try to form such specific, false feelings in the minds and hearts of near-strangers.
I could write about everybody whose died this year -- the surprises, the losses, the whole summation of this time of year. How it's really too bad to die after Christmas because you don't get a real send-off like everyone else did. I could talk about my old landlord dying, completely expectedly, but sad none the less. He could be the most pissed-off guy on most days, but catching him on a hot, July afternoon, the sun soaking into his leathery, red skin, and he'd grin a "hello" to tell you just how happy he was because it was so hot.
I could write about the big stories of the year, since that's what everybody's talking about now, but that would just mention (again) my disdain for how every thing and every person has become more political now than I ever remember.
I could talk about this winter, how it really didn't feel cold to me until it got below zero. Usually I start getting cold at sub-20. But my body temperature resistance seems to keep dropping. One of these days, spring is gonna roll around and I'll be complaining about 60 degrees being too hot.
I could write about my running, which has been a bit of a mess lately, with my left knee not wanting to heal until this week, which bodes well for next year. But it's been a long two months of trying to run, wanting to run, and stopping after two miles because of a dull pain that eventually stiffens my entire leg.
I could write about all the movies and music I've bought recently. I got an iPod for X-Mas, which I never really wanted, but kicks a whole lot of ass. I've got something like 400 songs on it so far, but given that I've got almost 500 cds, I've got a ways to go. Still, Apple sure knows how to make their products easy. Just saw the Aviator, which was stutteringly good.
But mostly, I haven't been here because I was stalled on my new book and decided to make that a priority. I'm no longer stalled, although writing is still very intermittent. I also needed to finish some things around the house. What a feeling, to have everything in its right place for a while. I don't have any resolutions, really. I never do, but I do like a fresh start, although one could observe that I really started early, several weeks ago. I'm kind of disappointed by not being able to finish the book sooner. I finished a book in January of 2001 and January of 2003. I'll finish CFTP in 2005, but more like July or August.
People ask me what this book is about, and I usually change what I say because it is about a lot of concepts. Lately, I've been saying it's about failure, and that has shut people up the fastest, which is too bad, because I'm happy to talk about it. But most people don't like to talk about failure. Most people don't admit to it, or like to own up to it. They'll talk about next year and next time, and trying harder and being smarter or more prepared. They'll talk about nobility and effort. Learning experiences. They will never discuss that true honesty is a total honesty, and all that "next year-try harder-be smarter-noble effort-learning experience" business is just the future. I've known this for a long time, thanks to running and racing, enterprises that guarantee one winner and many losers. So for the book, I've taken it to an extreme -- one who listens to just one side of conscience.
I have John Lee Hooker on, singing about one bourbon, one scotch, and one beer, and that sounds really good right now. Except I have to run and work yet. Which, I guess is a good thing because I can't stand tonight's holiday.
I've gotten a lot of questions, lately. And that will be good for January's installment. A lot of inquiries about what's going on and how it goes and what I've been doing and how I feel. Most of all, I feel ready.
And I had lots to say, that's the funny thing. Plenty has happened. I could talk about the hiring eccentricities of large companies, the dynamic failures of the educated elite in positions of power over the sea of those working 40 hours or more for 30 grand or less.
I could talk more about the funny lady at work and all the things that come out of her mouth. Or the guy who cannot tell a truth. So many words, none of them true. What makes a person make everything up? Things have to be pretty bad to try to form such specific, false feelings in the minds and hearts of near-strangers.
I could write about everybody whose died this year -- the surprises, the losses, the whole summation of this time of year. How it's really too bad to die after Christmas because you don't get a real send-off like everyone else did. I could talk about my old landlord dying, completely expectedly, but sad none the less. He could be the most pissed-off guy on most days, but catching him on a hot, July afternoon, the sun soaking into his leathery, red skin, and he'd grin a "hello" to tell you just how happy he was because it was so hot.
I could write about the big stories of the year, since that's what everybody's talking about now, but that would just mention (again) my disdain for how every thing and every person has become more political now than I ever remember.
I could talk about this winter, how it really didn't feel cold to me until it got below zero. Usually I start getting cold at sub-20. But my body temperature resistance seems to keep dropping. One of these days, spring is gonna roll around and I'll be complaining about 60 degrees being too hot.
I could write about my running, which has been a bit of a mess lately, with my left knee not wanting to heal until this week, which bodes well for next year. But it's been a long two months of trying to run, wanting to run, and stopping after two miles because of a dull pain that eventually stiffens my entire leg.
I could write about all the movies and music I've bought recently. I got an iPod for X-Mas, which I never really wanted, but kicks a whole lot of ass. I've got something like 400 songs on it so far, but given that I've got almost 500 cds, I've got a ways to go. Still, Apple sure knows how to make their products easy. Just saw the Aviator, which was stutteringly good.
But mostly, I haven't been here because I was stalled on my new book and decided to make that a priority. I'm no longer stalled, although writing is still very intermittent. I also needed to finish some things around the house. What a feeling, to have everything in its right place for a while. I don't have any resolutions, really. I never do, but I do like a fresh start, although one could observe that I really started early, several weeks ago. I'm kind of disappointed by not being able to finish the book sooner. I finished a book in January of 2001 and January of 2003. I'll finish CFTP in 2005, but more like July or August.
People ask me what this book is about, and I usually change what I say because it is about a lot of concepts. Lately, I've been saying it's about failure, and that has shut people up the fastest, which is too bad, because I'm happy to talk about it. But most people don't like to talk about failure. Most people don't admit to it, or like to own up to it. They'll talk about next year and next time, and trying harder and being smarter or more prepared. They'll talk about nobility and effort. Learning experiences. They will never discuss that true honesty is a total honesty, and all that "next year-try harder-be smarter-noble effort-learning experience" business is just the future. I've known this for a long time, thanks to running and racing, enterprises that guarantee one winner and many losers. So for the book, I've taken it to an extreme -- one who listens to just one side of conscience.
I have John Lee Hooker on, singing about one bourbon, one scotch, and one beer, and that sounds really good right now. Except I have to run and work yet. Which, I guess is a good thing because I can't stand tonight's holiday.
I've gotten a lot of questions, lately. And that will be good for January's installment. A lot of inquiries about what's going on and how it goes and what I've been doing and how I feel. Most of all, I feel ready.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
I'm like a fish with legs.
I now distrust anyone who tells me to "get in touch" with someone or something else, all the while not referring to use of the telephone.
I know how to get in touch with people by phoning them. Someone please explain to me how to get in touch with my inner self. Or how to get in touch with the instinctual nature inside of me. Or how to get in touch with my feelings. How did we get out of touch?
I know we've been a bit negative (or nonexistent) here at wrfarah.blogspot.com. I suppose there's a reason for that. Perhaps I'll come back soon and everything will be all better. Now it's time for work. I suppose that couldn't be part of the problem, could it? I better go get in touch with some soap and water.
I know how to get in touch with people by phoning them. Someone please explain to me how to get in touch with my inner self. Or how to get in touch with the instinctual nature inside of me. Or how to get in touch with my feelings. How did we get out of touch?
I know we've been a bit negative (or nonexistent) here at wrfarah.blogspot.com. I suppose there's a reason for that. Perhaps I'll come back soon and everything will be all better. Now it's time for work. I suppose that couldn't be part of the problem, could it? I better go get in touch with some soap and water.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Sitting in Your Car With Nothing
Convenient parking is way back . . .
Started in the parking lot . . .
Off to other cities . . .
In Tennessee or West Virginia . . .
Off to other cities . . .
Aren't you feeling a little dirty, sitting in your car with . . .
"I done told the bitch about the turkey, but she ate the whole thing, Will. The whole, fuckin' turkey. Just cause I done told her 'bout the damn turkey don't mean she gotta take fuckin plates out to her people in the streets."
"That's a bunch a shit."
"And that ain't all. This bitch I found out the other day just put the heat ON. She didn't get cold and put in on the auto. This bitch put in on ON."
"Whoah."
"Whoah is fuckin' right."
"You should kick her out."
"Aw, Will, you don't even know, boy. You just don't even know. She's the cancer, I'm the lung."
My heart's the long stairs . . .
Ravens and the seagulls push each other in and outward . . .
Absence versus thin air . . .
Years go fast but the
days go slow, slow . . .
Started in the parking lot . . .
Off to other cities . . .
In Tennessee or West Virginia . . .
Off to other cities . . .
Aren't you feeling a little dirty, sitting in your car with . . .
"I done told the bitch about the turkey, but she ate the whole thing, Will. The whole, fuckin' turkey. Just cause I done told her 'bout the damn turkey don't mean she gotta take fuckin plates out to her people in the streets."
"That's a bunch a shit."
"And that ain't all. This bitch I found out the other day just put the heat ON. She didn't get cold and put in on the auto. This bitch put in on ON."
"Whoah."
"Whoah is fuckin' right."
"You should kick her out."
"Aw, Will, you don't even know, boy. You just don't even know. She's the cancer, I'm the lung."
My heart's the long stairs . . .
Ravens and the seagulls push each other in and outward . . .
Absence versus thin air . . .
Years go fast but the
days go slow, slow . . .
