A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || October 5, 2006 || 12:25 pm

Whenever Wherever Whatever

This morning my hair insisted on being unbridled and fuzzy. I struck a compromise with it, allowing it to be fuzzy but gathering it into a high, loose knot. The typical refugee locks (left front, nape of neck fringe) sprung triumphantly forth and made themselves known, curling and defiant. No surprises there.

Having a few minutes to spare, I opened wide the french doors and stepped barefoot onto the cobblestones just outside the bedroom to squint quietly unsettled into the trees and sun and softness of the morning. Hello, Indian Summer. I thought you’d abandoned us this year. I stood there a good five minutes, insides deliciously blank (but still roiling about), when I leaned against the doorjamb and spotted a tiny black cricket on the thick, thatchy carpet just inside the doorway.

Feeling a strange sort of affection in that moment, I scooted him gently toward the out-of-doors he was remiss in abandoning. Some cultures believe these tiny black marvels of song to be good luck; that had nothing to do with my patience for him. My heart was just not in a place for killing today.

I wish I had more control over it. My heart, that is. It wantonly and drunkenly goes pitching about, exhausting me, wearing me so thin that I grow embarrassingly (to me, anyway) transparent. And God, how its swooping, diving, expanding fierceness must tax others, as well.

For all I’ve seen and lived, I find myself constantly searching out the next adventure, planning, eager. I don’t even consciously do this, really: I seem to live with this constant ache, a presence that tells me that I’ve so much living yet to do. My eyes widen with anticipation at the horizon every time I fix on it, and I sometimes wonder what it must be like to be a person who is never so readily eager, a person who takes coffee and the paper in the morning and a bath in the evening and is content with every single moment in between. A person who does the same thing over and over and over and never mourns for those other things out there, tugging at the spirit and the gut.

I am tired and wanting today. The very core of me is churning. I’m on a two-day signal delay with extended periods of static in between. The signal, when I do indeed fix on it, is strong and maddeningly insistent but prone to riddling vagaries. I am capable enough of deciphering these high-flown things, sure, but sometimes you just want to drink deeply of the wellspring without the bother of buckets or pulleys or ladles; you Simply Want To immerse your head in the pleasant coolness and suck down great, sweet and satisfying draughts.

Today’s recommended listening:
Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite

4 worked it out »

  1. The Dane 10.5.2006

    Advice: Never you for one moment imagine that the person who is satisfied with what life brings them, who takes their paper in the morning and the bath at night, who goes to the same job for thirty years, who loves the same spouse with constancy and certain loyalty, who greets each experience as it comes instead of rushing out to meet it—never for one moment should you imagine that this person does not have a zest for life and a whole lot of living to do while on this earth. Never for one moment imagine that every moment of that person’s life can’t be an adventure, that such a person cannot approach that paper or bath or spouse of constancy with a relish that surpasses everything you have ever experienced that you might think to consider relish. Never once imagine that a life out there and about, experience everything you can get your grubby paws on, is any more fulfilling than a life without those things.

    For, and this is my grand, wise lesson to you: it’s not in the experiencing of new things that life consists, it’s in the approach to the things one experiences, whether new or old.

    It’s a small-minded heart that forgets the abandon and joy that even the simplest pleasure can provide day-in and day-out. It’s a small-minded heart that needs something new. It’s a small-minded heart that loses verve when satisfied. It’s a small-minded heart that fears satisfaction.

    Rejoice in the new paths and adventures and experiences that life offers you, but never imagine that if the offers don’t come that life has ceased to be life. That voice, in the pit of your stomach that you hear? The one you’re mistaking for Life Passing You Bytm? you should know better. That’s just simple Dissatisfaction and he is nothing more than an ornery old coot dressed in slick shoes and a dreamy coat. And he has nothing to sell you—but he’ll sell it anyway.

    And if you listen to him, thinking he’s Life? Thinking he’s something special that you need? Well then, fuck you. ‘Cuz he already has.

  2. Jettomatika 10.5.2006



  3. Jettomatika 10.7.2006

    Hokay, the promised rejoinder:

    I must once again state the fact that I lovelovelove your reaction here. As long as we’ve been ‘Not Reals, But Real Pals’ you have kept an even, cynical and humorous tone. There have been times of warmth, amusement, annoyance and dismissal. These are things that are truly part of a friendship, and I find it amusing that you keep a bemused sort of detachment in most comments I see you post here and yon about the interwebnets. You value being measured and laid-back, at least from my perspective.

    For a second here in my comments, You Sort Of Lost It. So now I know: Your set-point is round about seven years, give or take a few minutes.

    One of the drawbacks to this medium is a lack of conversational tone and inflection. You know from speaking to me live that there is a sort of earnestness and mirth to most everything I say. I know the same about you. I also know you are quite full of crap sometimes, and vice-versa. It’s part of the reason that we are ‘buddies’. We both got heart. (not to be confused with having a heart, because I’ve no idea where you put yours…teehee) We each recognize that in the other, and that is part of the draw. We are each savvy in entirely different ways, and I think those ways complement one another.

    All that having been said, I wrote this from one perspective, and I believe you read it from quite another. You believe I was debasing Joe Everybody, when I wasn’t. I was simply expressing a wish to set aside my own crippling vice so as to live with joy and peace in a simple fashion at all times, ‘like they do’. I was in no way proffering up insult or calling out that person as a Simpleton Who Knows No Better. I didn’t once question that someone can live a simple sort of existence without spirit and gusto.

    Hell, I’m the person who can make a thouand-word post on the adventure of going to the potty. I relllllish life (and mustard it, too); you didn’t forget that, did you?

    “It’s a small-minded heart that loses verve when satisfied. It’s a small-minded heart that fears satisfaction. “

    It IS a small-minded heart that does these things. I think, above and beyond everything else, that’s what I was writing about here: My struggle to NOT be small in that fashion. It is my struggle. It has been my struggle, and may well continue to be until I’m wormfood. But at least I’m still conscious of it and trying to stay in the game.

    This was really a self-deprecatory and -condemning post. I think you may have read it with more a sense of irony than it was intended to convey; you believe me to be gloriftying something when I was actually doing the opposite.

    I hope someone else shows up to comment. We need a monkey in this middle.

  4. Jettomatika 10.7.2006



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