Straight Edge Life

Writing love letters to women I’ve never met. Dreaming of the climbing physique, a gibs ascender around my neck, fingers burried in basalt. The weight is heavy. Heavier than it’s ever been in my life, but gravity decreases with every clip. The rubber on my shoes splits at the rand. The effects of innefficient smearing. I’ll wear these slippers out while I’m getting back into shape and reward myself with a new pair later. For now they will do. Split rubber and all.

Climbed well tonight. Only did a few pitches, but it was much better than the other night. The temperature was just about right and there weren’t too many people on the stone. The light was good too. Would have stayed and watched the sunset if I weren’t so damn hungry. Anyways. That’s about it for tonight. Catch you all later.

Only a few people in my life have ever told me that I am beautiful. It feels so good to hear it. Out of all the compliments a person can get, I think this is one of the best. For me it’s the only one that you can’t give to yourself. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder afterall, and saying it to yourself doesn’t carry much weight. Really, what is beauty if it isn’t shared with those around you? Now when I say a few, I mean maybe three in my whole life. It’s not a common compliment for a man to receive.

Last night, beneath the stars and fast moving clouds I heard it again. In an instant I was reminded of how rich this life really is. To be happy and sad at the same time. To feel loss and strength in the same breath. To hear pain and joy together in the same whisper. She told me I reminded her of a song about Vincent Van Gogh by Don McLean.

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you, Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you

It was frightening and flattering to hear. Insight to a man’s soul is not openly distributed, but is known by those who love you the most.

I asked her to help me remember how to enjoy life.

Only a few people in my life have ever told me that I am beautiful. It feels so good to hear it. Out of all the compliments a person can get, I think this is one of the best. For me it’s the only one that you can’t give to yourself. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder afterall, and saying it to yourself doesn’t carry much weight. Really, what is beauty if it isn’t shared with those around you? Now when I say a few, I mean maybe three in my whole life. It’s not a common compliment for a man to receive.

Last night, beneath the stars and fast moving clouds I heard it again. In an instant I was reminded of how rich this life really is. To be happy and sad at the same time. To feel loss and strength in the same breath. To hear pain and joy together in the same whisper. She told me I reminded her of a song about Vincent Van Gogh by Don McLean.

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you, Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you

It was frightening and flattering to hear. I was crushed to think that she could tell how close the idea of suicide has been for me lately. I haven’t thought about it for days, but I am terrified by how close to the surface the idea is at all times. How easy it is to think about it rationally. I always used to think that suicide is something that comes as an act of despair, something that comes in an instant of unbelievable pain. And maybe that’s why I haven’t sought help simply because I’m thinking about it. The truth is that I know exactly how I would do it and exactly when, where, and how to commit to it without possibility of retreat. And how to make sure that it would be effective. But I don’t think I could ever do it. If the only reason I can see for continuing is so that I can be there for other people, then so be it. That’s reason enough. And there seem to be one or two people who need me to be here. For whatever reasons.

I don’t know though. I’ve never been a coward. I’ve fought my way through some pretty difficult stuff. What bugs me is that for all the effort and for all the success I do manage to find, I only seem to be finding more and more pain. And so much of it is out of my control. For all my effort to do good, to be straight-forward and honest in my relationships, I can’t seem to escape those who don’t share those same values or passions.

I think my pride and my respect for those who are going through a lot worse would forever keep me from taking my own life.

Last night I asked my friend to help me remember how to enjoy life.

Excellent but flawed.

Ebert described it as frightening. Not really the truth unless you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be thirteen and have a 13 year old daughter. It focuses on the flavor of life at 13 with drugs, sex, and family relationships at the center of a whirling drama as one child decides she’s willing to do just about anything to fit in.

Two things are very unrealistic about this movie. 1. The girl got into the “in” croud much too easily and didn’t question anything her new best friend did in the very least. In fact she actually mimicked her like a little monkey during one scene. 2. There was far less violence and cruelty than I think even most 13 year old girls experience. There was a bit of cruelty but it was executed with far more patience and strategy than 13 year old kids know how to demonstrate.

I might compare this movie to Kids, a truly frightening movie that shows kids not only acting dangerous but having dangerous things happen to them. Thirteen doesn’t really show any of the real consequences for their actions. And this is really the 3rd thing that isn’t very realistic about the movie. The photography, acting, directing and editing were all very supportive. Maybe enough so that there could be some awards for this picture, but it lacks when it comes to really hitting home with the viewer. It failed to make me personally invested in the characters. I’d give it a 10 if the writing and plot were a little stronger.

Ain’t a lot to say tonight. Just got back from the Big Bad Voodoo Daddy show at the McDonald. I don’t think people in Eugene really know how to cut loose. Shows in Eugene just suck and it’s all because of the people. BBVD was great; just as tight as when I saw them in St. Louis. The horns especially were a serious blast. I was sort of more in the mood for a ska show but the music was good. I just hate Eugene audiences. There were a few good swing dancers otherwise it was a bunch of burn-out 40-year-old ex-club-junkies, noisy frat boys and floppy stoned hippies. What is it about eugene that make people so resistant to the idea of a little bit of style and class? I’m not talking about conformity as much as harmony here. BBVD puts on a great show, they are talented and really cator to two specific audiences; swing dancers and those who are really into their music. Neither seeemed to be in abundance tonight. One cool thing was that there was no smoking at all. And the bar was totally isolated from the show floor itself. Anyway. More later.

Ebert gave it 3 1/2 stars and I agree with him. Sean Willam Scott, Christopher Walken, and The Rock (ok I can’t take it, I’m calling him Rock. I refuse to call anyone The anything) do an excellent job together in this entertaining action flick that plays out in and around a mining town in Brasil. One of the things I liked a lot about it was that the special effects are very believable. No guys jumping impossible heights. No flames shooting out of a guys chest when he’s shot with a standard bullet. You might actually find yourself saying ouch, shit, ooh, damn and stuff like that specifically because the effects are well done. The fight scenes are excellent and well choreographed. There’s a bit of humor, and a relatively believable plot. Can’t ask for much more in an action flick I guess. Cool enough.

“We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.”

– Robert Frost

Funeral Blues
W.H. Auden

 
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

This here would be a dumping ground for the stuff that doesn’t fit anywhere else. The uncategorizable, the unwanted, the unsuitable. The outcast and the outlawed. There are things that other people don’t need to hear. There are things that I don’t want to hear, don’t want to say, don’t want to have in my head. There are things that simply don’t need to leave this room. And there are things that need to be remembered.

I’ve told lies in my life. At times I’ve told so many that it was hard to keep up with them all. Being caught in a lie sucks, but it’s rarely enough to make a man quit cold turkey. Nichole lied a lot. She lied so much it made me stop lying. It was disgusting to be surrounded by it. Her deceptions, her dishonesty, her absolute and paralyzing fear of the facing the truth, it all added up to be one of the worst experiences of my life. For a woman with such a strong sense of self-preservation, I’m amazed she’s done so little constructive work on the core of her problem. Lies… lies and running away will only take you so far.

I did love her. And I grew to love her more as time went on. I would have stuck with her, for all her faults, until the very end. That was what marriage meant to me. It breaks my heart that it just didn’t mean the same thing to her. Even now I don’t hate her. I pity her. I pity the journey she has ahead, and the amount of suffering she will likely endure on her path. So much of it could be avoided. But I don’t know if anyone, anywhere will believe in her as much as I did. Perhaps someday she will believe in herself as much as I did. Perhaps then the lies will stop.

But it’s out of my hands now. I suppose it always was out of my hands. God, chance, statistics, probability and murphy’s law all had their parts to play. I was a minor character in this movie, hardly a director. At times I felt like an extra. At times, I still do.

I don’t need to think about today. I don’t need to think about tomorrow. All I really need to think about is destiny. Perhaps I’m meant to be a writer. Perhaps I’m meant to be a photographer. Perhaps I’m meant to be a programmer. Or perhaps I am meant to die tomorrow. The only way I will know is if I open my heart again.

If I were a betting man, I would bet that I’ll be alone for a while. Neither a bachelor or a monk. A traveller possibly.