I haven’t posted anything in here for months. The Vigil is still going on. We protest war, defense spending, skewed budget priorities. We need singers, musicians, dramatists to join us.
I’ve rediscovered James Taylor. I wrote him off — with justification — in the eighties. But I didn’t realize that he came back and recovered his quality and form. Also, he’s still touring and making public appearances and, will, hopefully, record some more original work.
His stature as an American musician is second-to-none, and as a cultural icon, he’s approaching the top, too. I confess I haven’t listened to anything new that he’s recorded since 1998. He has done at least one album of new stuff, plus a couple of live albums. Still, I’m hoping he makes it into the studio one more time… at least. The guy is amazing.
I guess we need to tell The New Paltz Times that Mary died last night. We’re writing a letter on her passing for friends and family. She’s gone now.
Poor Loretta must feel really down. She’s exhausted, too.
i’m better than I was. I’m now on Calzaprone, or something like that, the generic form of Adavan, and I’m sleeping some every night. I just woke up because of horrible leg cramps.
But I can concentrate again. I no longer feel like my attention span is as seen through a pinhole cmera, a black field of vision pierced by a solitary field of light and color. My fear about sleeping is subsiding now, replaced byte looming fear of returning to work on Tuesday.
last night my wife took me to see the new Tom Hanks movie, extremely loud, incredibly close which we have been discussing today. there were a lot of interesting points to raise, which we did in discussions today, but not last night.
loretta said that last night i absolutely ruined the viewing experience for her within minutes of leaving the theater. at that time i had said that i really enjoyed the film, found it emotionally moving and intellectually engaging. the story was good, too. but the directors took you to the 9/11 bank of psycho affect without ever letting on that 9/11 was an inside job–an insurance scam cooked up to avoid the cost of renovating the buildings in order to bring them up to code.
then loretta says that i ruined it. actually, the film was cashing in on a lie.
so we talked about the film today instead. no problem. we talked about the significance of the grandfather, yada yada yada.
oh, another thing that sucked about that movie was the popcorn. i spent $7.75 on a large that tasted like it had been popped days ago.
so tonight loretta whips out these new chips, cape cod kettle cooked 40% reduced fat mesquite barbecue.
i’ve never been a barbecue chip guy. sometimes i’d eat a few if that’s all there was. but i generally avoid them like parking tickets.
but wo. these new chips are off the hook. i even went back in the kitchen after i ate to surreptitiously let a few more land in my bowl even though i’m supposedly on a diet. no one was looking. i got away with it. these chips are f**king great!
A cardboard box packed with tobacco smoking pipes is missing at 255 W. 108th Street. It’s not in my closet, which is where it could have been hiding without being discovered until I emptied the closet in a protracted search yesterday.
At times like this, I wonder how I manage to keep track of anything I own.
I don’t remember what pipes are in there. I’ve been fantasizing about it. The pipe box has to be upstate. Don’t know exactly where, but it must be in a box on a shelf in the basement or the garage.
The biggest factor negatively impacting my quality of life right now is that I can’t sleep. There was a point last week when I had gone seven full days with no more than 2 hours of fitful rest on any given night. When I walked, I staggered like a drunk. I was completely exhausted and incapable of concentrating on anything, incapable of doing anything.
Right now it’s almost 2:00 o’clock AM and I can’t fall asleep. So, I’m here typing. I did have almost 3 hours total of naps today so far, though. Still, if I am not able to rest, I can’t reasonably be going back to work. I was scheduled to return on Wednesday–three days from now.
Did I mention that it’s 20 degrees outside? There’s nothing to do and nowhere to go. But at times like this, I FEAR trying to fall asleep. There is nothing more frustrating. I can lay down, exhausted, but feel an inexorable pressure to get up out of bed.
The seat post on my bike was too short. It was only about 8 inches long, or less, and I needed about one and one-half feet. The shorter seat post meant I couldn’t extend my legs when I pedalled the bike. Plus, pedalling, my knees would rise up too high–above my shoulders, which were bent over the low-curved handlebars.
So I took it to Marcos at Champion Bicycles to see if he could give me a longer seat post, but he said he couldn’t. He said they don’t make that model of bike anymore, and it’s foreign anyway.
The thought of selling the bike became the next step in the process. How could I keep it–as nearly ideal as it was, its imperfection, sole defect, seat height, destined it for an exchange with a lesser-but-more-serviceable replacement, maybe something made in China.
Then one day I walked by Innovation Bike Shop on 106th and Manhattan Avenue and explained the situation to the owner. He told me he could replace the seat post Marcos couldn’t replace. I should just bring the bike by one day when I had the time and he would do it. By now I had begun contemplating just throwing my Pugeot away, leaving it to the hands of the scavenging night walkers who pick through the garbage lining the streets early in mornings on Mondays and Thursdays. My bike would lay out there among the broken furniture and appliances, the bursting green plastic bags and all the other refuse passersby had just thrown onto the pile, carelessly, meaninglessly.
The idea behind a seat is providing an optimal position from which to conduct an activity, whether it’s driving a car or a bicycle, working at a desk, or attending a meeting. The success–or even, the possibility–of conducting the activity is governed by the quality of the seat. For example, it would be virtually impossible to play a game of cards while seated on a moving ferris wheel or golf cart.
Likewise, the bike seat has to facilitate the use of the legs to pedal (and step down, and stand), and seeing ahead with the eyes.
Once I came out from work at Weil on a summer afternoon a few years ago, to find the seat on my bicycle had been stolen. I had to ride to a bike shop for a new seat with only the barrel of the post insert under my heinie. It was nearly impossible to ride at all. In the same way, all actions are facilitated by the seat of understanding or awareness that one has. One can perform some actions badly, or else with great difficulty, without the conjunctive awareness of the whole activity, but more than likely, one shouldn’t or can’t perform actions at all without the proper understanding of the situation.
Without the understanding of the need for a proper seat, I never would have gone to thte correct mechanic — I’d already been told it was impossible. Also, Leo at Innovation had to have the proper orientation to know how to adapt the seat post he had in stock to the barrel insert on the bicycle to make the new seat possible.
So just as the proper seat is necessary to perform an activity, so is the proper understanding required in all human action to perform and to grasp the nature of the action.
Last week, on January 23, I was returning to normal, the hard way. After weeks of delusional babbling and stumbling over connections that seemed far-fetched (at best), not to mention the kicking away of the stool of my support networks, eight days on a locked psych ward, oh yeah–and trying to work through the damage control in my relationships–I was riding my bicycle back to normalsville and a life of repeatable, successful and reasonable actions.
The seat on that old, steel-frame Peugot is too low and I haven’t been able to get a longer replacement seat post.* Still, it’s more comfortable than the mountain bike I ride.
I pulled up at Richard Brown’s for the local executive board meeting of Peace Action, and who should I see in the lobby of the building?
Frances Unsell. Frances Unsell–nothing like a memorable flat tire or a Chinese New Year celebration missed due to lack of correct address.
She kept saying, “Connecticut,” “I live in Connecticut,” “I just came down from ‘Connecticut.’”
What if you run into somebody you haven’t seen in 25 years and they decide –after they recognize you– that they would really rather not talk to you, anyway?
By the time I finished talking to the doorman and turned back to where she was standing, she was gone, apparently left across the lobby, out the door to the parking lot and on her way back to Connecticut.”
Brian Green and Mishio Kaku
Green and Kaku are saying that there may be a different underlying structure to the universe than we learned from Newton and Einstein. In the space-time continuum there are possibilities such as the idea that we don’t each inhabit our own separate corner of the universe–that those points in space and ti.me all overlap and intersect. Furthermore, anything that can happen, does happen, in other dimensions (right here) that we normally don’t experience in our common three-dimensional sensory mode.
Running into Frances Unsell that night was like traveling to some other dimension where space and time converged from different corners of the map, of history, and overlapped right there in the lobby of Richard’s building.
Besides, isn’t “Connecticut” on some other planet, anyway?
There’s a big Time’s Up Valentine’s Day party in the works, as usual, but, before that, two ecological events will be taking place with OWS Earth Summit and Time’s Up!
Tonight Harold Channer was telling me that instead of waiting for the politicians and the attorneys to pass laws we’ve been waiting for, we can just do it ourselves from now on by organizing and getting it for ourselves. The idea is growing in the public consciousness!
I’ve been trying to start the Volvo for the last few days. Couldn’t do it. Battery was dead. So tonight in the rain Elvis and Manny came out and helped me with a jump. Turns out, Max had left the interior light on. Once I started the car, I realized, too, that I was completely out of gas.