often, the state of
the kitchen is the state of the mind, confused and unsure men, pliable men, are
the thinkers. their kitchens are like their minds, cluttered with garbage,
dirty ware, impurity, but they are aware of their mind-state and find some humor
in it. at times, with a violent burst of fire they defy the eternal deities and
come up with a lot of shining that we sometimes call creation.... the man with
the ever-orderly kitchen is the freak.... his kitchen is his mind-state: all in
order, settled, he has let life condition him quickly to a basened and hardened
complex of defensive and soothing thought-order....
Charles Bukowski
...badly underemployed and working on a novel about
dysfunctional superheroes...biking downtown daily for the most intense and
demanding vinyasa yoga classes I can find...discovering new ways and means for exploring
and exploiting edges...leaving a pile of sweaty t-shirts, along with other laundry,
by last week grown to the point that now I don’t want to deal with it simply
because there’s too much to carry...sunlight can, now, be seen through four
significant areas of my yoga mat...in line with hands and feet...which might
seem cool in a sunny, happy, yoga hippie kinda way...put it in the right words
along with a picture of a sunset and it’ll get a thousand “likes” on
Facebook...but maybe, really, I just need a new mat, badly...writing about
other people’s books*...piled around the deteriorating Ikea chair friends find so comforting...mp3 player blasting X, Cat Power, Mary
Halvorson, Arvo Part, Frank Zappa, Miles Davis, and the Stones’ Get Yer Ya Ya’s Out...coffee ready if I can get up the gumption to
go and pour a cup this early in the morning...glasses held together with tape
on both sides under disheveled hair badly in need of basic grooming....for a
while, I was getting haircuts from this old guy who’d be asleep in the chair
when I got there, and I’d have to yell to tell him how I wanted it cut...the
last time, he seemed so out of it, didn’t even ask...
....one thing you have to get used to living in the big city
is that it never really gets dark...wildlife is the birds always coming and
going from the power lines outside my windows, their flight sometimes causing
shadows inside the apartment, making me think, for a moment, that they’re in
here with me...
...Democracy is messy, by definition...the trouble with the
concept of heaven is that none of us, in the long run, could really be
comfortable there...an eternity of having our every failing magnified in
comparison to the perfection all around...messiness is our condition,
underneath all the careful ordering and cleaning products...but that doesn’t
mean I don’t need to do something with that pile of dirty laundry, and soon...
* my latest rants & reviews at Elephant Journal: Addressing the Question of Whether Matthew Remski should be burned at the stake for Yogic Heresy and Ahimsa Be Damned: When Buddhists Attack...
