Family Ties

My head’s in eight different places. I’m in Morgan Hill, I’m in Pasadena, I’m somewhere between Albuquerque and Tulsa, I’m in Philadelphia and I’m somewhere in the great big Future, doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who.

But for now, I’m folding clothes. Because if I don’t fold the clothes properly, I won’t be able to pack as much as I want into the bag.

It’s everything I can do, to keep my hands busy with Micro in the shadow of Macro.

II

Before my Dad dropped me off at the airport, we had dinner at Chili’s. I ordered a turkey sandwich, not as good as I hoped.

The waitress, who was cute, walks up and asks if I want a box. In the past, I’ve said ‘yes’ even if I didn’t intend on finishing it. Tonight, I’m too tired and scattered to come up with anything nice.

“No, I’m sorry.”
“It’s a big sandwich.”
“No, it’s not. I’m just…my eyes were bigger than my stomach. Not feeling well.”

So I wound up lying anyway. She was nice to say something like “it’s a big sandwich,” but I didn’t have time for any small grace notes. My head’s in the clouds. Heart too.

III

“You realize you’re leaving at the wrong time, don’t you?”
This is what my Grandpa tells me, somewhere in the phone conversation on January 25. His birthday.

We agree to Skype once I’m set up in the city of Brotherly Love. Also, I’m to send him my new address once I have it. He hopes the best for me. Everyone does. No one wishes that I fall flat on my ass.

Though that could happen, too.

IV

My mom and I had coffee on January 26. Her and I had lunch the day previous. We talked about everything going on in the family, and we walked around the mall. I don’t remember the last time we walked around the mall, but it felt peaceful.

At coffee, we talked about all there is to see on the East Coast. Neither of us have been to Washington D.C., and we’d both like to have some time there. We’ll have to meet up at some point.

V

My sister’s driving a lot now. For work, for church, etc. Both her and Tyler. Though I was only up North a few days, I saw them a few times. They’re a great couple. My only wish is that I could have more time with them.

They have a dog, Maverick. When she rests, her lips curl into this odd smile. She doesn’t know me, so she won’t let me take her for a walk. I’m excited to see what happens in their lives; God knows there’s going to be some incredible material.

VI

January 26 is my brother’s birthday. I join him and his department for a little lunch they have planned for him. It’s good to see him doing well, both with his family and with his career. I couldn’t draw you a straight line from the moment of my brother’s high school graduation to where he is now, but I suppose that’s the case with all the good ones.

I remember when I thought, for the first time, that his then-girlfriend might be, at some point, more than a girlfriend. I remember when he told me he’d proposed. I was outside my shitty Crestview apartment, and I was, for a good chunk of time, the happiest man in Azusa.

VII

After my brother’s birthday, I stop off at his house to see his wife and their daughter, Emily. Emily’s playing, and we jump back into the rhythm, playing the same game we were playing (a little too loudly, I might add) at dinner the night previous.

Lauren and I talk in-between play time, grabbing snippets of conversation while we can, while Emily’s not grabbing for a new toy.

Emily and I play with a balloon. She presses it up against her face, and I press mine against the balloon on the other side. We smile and laugh. She takes hold of the string, releases the balloon and lets it bounce against the ceiling.

If I could, I’d listen to that kid laugh all day.

VIII

In June 2011, I left Pasadena for Colorado, moving there for almost three months. At the time, I thought it was the craziest thing I ever did…

And who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?

Most everything is packed, ready for the trip to Philadelphia. There’re lots of prayers and petitions going before me, lots of ideas and heartfelt wants speeding on ahead of me. I know what happens when I try to build a world all by myself, so let me make clear how done I am with that bullshit. I know I need the help and love of others.

Tonight we party and laugh.

Tomorrow we drive.

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Thoughts From a U-Haul

I don’t write because I fear I have nothing to say. Then, as time passes, I don’t write because I fear I have too much to say and no way to express it.

So I write because the words don’t stop.

II

I’m moving to Philadelphia in a few days. First comes a drive in a UHaul. Pasadena to Morgan Hill. Most of my stuff’s going in storage. For however long or short of a time, that’s yet to be determined.

We pack in the rain, and leave in the rain. My dad takes my car, and I take first shift in the truck. 14 foot truck. Way too big for the job. But I picked it, so I don’t really have anyone but myself to blame. Uncomfortable seat, and you feel every dip and hole in the road.

Big rigs don’t make it any easier, and every tiny car whips around you, carefree as could be. We make it through the grapevine, and we trade cars. We leave the cover of cloud and come into a great section of afternoon sunshine. All sorts of blue, rose, purple and gold decorate the sky. To my right, the passing storm. To my left, sunshine.

Minutes later, I see two rainbows on my right. I think about how I never saw that “Double Rainbow” video on YouTube. For a second, I think, “Maybe I missed something.” A second later, “Nah, didn’t miss anything.”

The rainbow’s brilliance intensifies along with the sunlight. It’s been too long since I’ve seen a rainbow, and it strikes me how foreign the whole thing is; a bow of prism-light, the honorable Roy G. Biv blessing us with his presence.

Thanks, Roy. I’m going to miss these wonderful California sunsets. No doubt the East Coast has some pretty sun, but I’ve always enjoyed these moments on the 5.

III

I see my niece the next morning. She’s walking up with my Mom. She’s wearing a jacket I got her for Christmas. Truth be told, I’m good at buying clothes for my niece. I’m not starting a show on Bravo, but I do well. She’s wearing the jacket and looks like a million bucks. Of course, she could wear a burlap sack and look like a million bucks.

She’s big enough now where I can hug her with both arms.

I’m so excited for her to talk; to hear what she sounds like, to hear her say my name and the names of her family. She’s going to find her lens and she’s going to build her Love from the ground up-up-up above the world so high.

I love praying for my niece, and each time I say goodbye, it feels like my heart’s gonna bust through my rib cage.

IV

I put my golf clubs in storage. I don’t know why this hit me, but it did. I’ve played golf since I was 10 or 11. It’s been an enormous part of my life. It’s taught me patience, peace, excitement, the power of a moment, a conversation, and the value of laughter.

When I was 12 or so, my father, my brother, a friend of my dad’s and myself played a round at San Juan Oaks. Great course, yet a little too above our skill level at that time. Every hole, somebody sent a ball into either a hazard/lake/marsh. Somewhere in the 18th fairway, after somehow making it through the previous 17 holes, the friend turns to us and says, “Gentlemen, I believe the only balls we were meant to leave the course with were the two God gave us.”

V

Today, I realize I’m smack-dab in-between 12 and 40.

And I’m moving to Philadelphia in three days.

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Lucky (Heart)Breaks :: Boulder

(part three of four)

Due to an arrangement I’d made previous to all manners of shit hitting all kinds of fans, I had the first three weeks of August to myself in Boulder, Colorado. No responsibility, no pressing engagements, nothing.

I edited a few random videos, watched Doctor Who on Netflix (love the Moffat seasons; don’t have much taste for Russell T. Davies though), and read a few books, including one by the guy who walked between the Twin Towers way back in the 70’s.

One morning, I went on a hike, during which I drank 4 liters of water. One night, I asked out three women; one in a coffee shop/bookstore, one in a bar, and the other outside a restaurant. (Two yes’s, one no.)

I also figured out what I wanted to do with my life.

Not really. Wish it had been that clear, though…

Actually, I take it back. I don’t wish it had been that clear.

I had the unique opportunity to spend three weeks in a pissed off/vulnerable/broken/exhausted/questioning state, and I’m thankful for it, because I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise. If I had returned to L.A. instead of spending three weeks in Boulder, I would’ve broken something. Several things, probably.

Boulder’s a beautiful place, and it’s a great spot to lay out the pieces of your life and see which parts you want to keep and which you want to throw into the river. Instead of working out my doubts and questions in a place with familiar frames/baggage (L.A., Bay Area) I was working them out in a totally neutral space. Not to mention, I was surrounded by people who’d known me for three months. They knew me as much as I was willing to share with them. It created a clear and honest process of grieving and processing the grief.

I also had a lot of good coffee. And beer. Not at the same time, though.

This was when I drove to the Colorado-Kansas border and back, and this was when I talked to a dear friend, Tyler.

Anybody who has a blog and who knows Tyler will, at one point, write about him. Tyler excels in conversations. He asks insightful questions and is an incredible listener. We talked under the guise of catching up, and I clued him in to a portion of what happened over my summer. He asked what my plans were; leave Colorado at the end of August, drive for a week with my Dad, and then wind up in L.A.

“You miss L.A.?” He said.
Without pause. “No.”

And it wasn’t the “no” that surprised me, but rather the calmness and sureness of it. I knew why I didn’t want to return, and I knew I had to make it a goal to do something about it. If I didn’t do something, on purpose, about changing my life, I would’ve lost it.

So it wasn’t that I figured everything out in Boulder, but it was in Boulder that I figured out everything needed to change.

(to be continued…)

——————————————————————–

part one – Breakdown
part two – Burlington

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Length x Width x Height

There are three dimensions of any complete life to which we can fitly give the words of this text: length, breadth and height.

The length of life as we shall think of it here is not its duration or its longevity, but it is the push of a life forward to achieve its personal ends and ambitions. It is the inward concern for one’s own welfare.

The breadth of life is the outward concern for the welfare of others.

The height of life is the upward reach for God.

- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, The Measure of a Man

II

A-B-C…easy as 1-2-3…or simple as DO-RE-MI, A-B-C, 1-2-3, baby you and me, girl…

- Jackson 5, ABC

III

Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight and was full of violence. God saw how corrupt the earth had become, for all the people on earth had corrupted their ways. So God said to Noah, “I am going to put an end to all people, for the earth is filled with violence because of them. I am surely going to destroy both them and the earth. So make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in it and coat it with pitch inside and out.

This is how you are to build it: The ark is to be three hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide and thirty cubits high. Make a roof for it, leaving below the roof an opening one cubit high all around.

Genesis 6:11-16b

IV

Like a fool I went and stayed too long
Now I’m wondering if your love’s still strong
Oo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours!

Then that time I went and said goodbye
Now I’m back and not ashamed to cry
Oo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours!

-Stevie Wonder, Signed, Sealed, Delivered

IV

Henry: Now, he who finds the Grail must face 3 challenges. First, is the Breath of God: Only the penitent man shall pass. Second, is the Word of God: Only in the footsteps of God, shall he proceed. Last is the Path of God: Only in a leap from the lion’s head shall he prove his worth.

Indy: What does that mean?

Henry: (Laughs) I don’t know. We’ll find out.

- Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade

V

By my estimation, I’ve purchased 600 feet of bubble wrap. I’m on my third roll of packing tape, and I’m going to need more boxes.

They sell some at Target, same place I picked up the packing tape.

18 inches long, 16 inches wide, 16 inches high.

Length. Width. Height.

Multiply all three and you discover the volume of said rectangular object.

4,608 inches cubed.

Packing up all your things means packing up all your things. Packing up all your things means making a decision, every single time, on how much this particular thing means to you. It makes the whole notion of packing up and moving so much more concrete.

At times, I am comforted by someone like Dr. King, who views life in such a way that it has three dimensions; the length, breadth and height. I am challenged by the way he uses the phrase “upward push” and what that means for someone like me.

At other times, I’m comforted by Henry Jones, who speaks in such a moving and poetic way of the three challenges that face whoever seeks to pursue the Holy Grail. The first challenge begets penitence; the second begets knowledge, and the third begets faith.

Still, at other times, I’m comforted by Motown. Just because they’re so damn talented.

Lastly, I’m comforted (and humored) by the fact that, when God tells a man to build a giant ark in the middle of the desert, in the midst of a drought, into which he’ll cram his entire family and two of every animal…at least He gave him measurements.

So I keep packing.

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Lucky (Heart)Breaks :: Burlington

Right before I had a conversation that signaled the beginning of the end of Creative Endeavor #2, I grabbed a cup of coffee and a cookie at the University coffee shop.  I’d turned in the latest draft of the piece, felt good about it, and took a walk.

It was also my niece’s birthday.

Earlier that morning, I’d choked up while leaving a message on my brother’s cellphone.

“Please tell Emily her uncle loves her very much…”

I wanted to say so much after that sentence, but quite honestly I didn’t know what, and I didn’t know what good it would do to say anything more.

I mentioned my niece in every discussion.  Couldn’t help it.

“Do you have any experience investing in MFI’s?”

“My niece is a year old today!”

“Oh.”

I’d seen the girl who worked the counter in previous trips.  Cute.  Long brunette hair up in a messy bun.  Loose, flower-pattern top.  Summer number.  A small cluster of freckles bridging across her nose.

“How are you, today?”

“Great.  It’s my niece’s birthday.”

“Yeah?  How old is she?”

“One year old.”
“Does she live here?”

“No, Northern California.”

“You must miss her very much.”

We talked for a little while longer.  Optimistically, I thought I could make this work.  After all, I still had two scheduled months out in Colorado.  Two months is plenty of time.

Twenty minutes after I sat down to my cup of coffee, I saw someone who I could only assume to be her boyfriend lean in and nearly swallow her head with his kiss.

Thirty minutes after that, I was fired.

II

Long story short is that I was hired, fired, re-hired in a different role, then released from that role earlier than expected.

After the second firing, and with no cute-coffee-shop-girl to keep me grounded, I felt like drinking.  Once that subsided, I felt like driving.  A long way.

I figured I could make it from Boulder to New Orleans and back again (because I had to be back there at the end of the month) within two weeks.  I could visit friends along the way, and it would be one of those cool, “exploring the depths of myself” mid-20’s chapters of my life.

I left Boulder around noon.

I made it as far as Burlington, CO.  Right on the edge between Colorado and Kansas, about 200 miles east of Boulder.  I exited for lunch, and ended up walking around town with my camera.  I took stills and video of a small, out-of-the-way town that used signage on the main road to promote its “famous” carousel.

Were it not for a head full of directionless rage, I never would have found the place.

And when I was finished walking, finished shooting and back at my packed-for-thousands-of-miles-car, I felt ready to return to Boulder.  I’d made too many friends and loved the place too much to leave early.

I needed a place to ask questions and create without restriction.  For reasons too lengthy and tiring to explain, I’d been under a cloud of creative tension, and what I’d been looking for, even without knowing, was the chance to create freely.

And on the border between Colorado and Kansas, I found fresh air.

The video is nothing Oscar-worthy, but I enjoy it if for nothing other than its openness.  I made it when I was questioning everything I thought I knew with certainty.  I didn’t know if I was good at anything I previously claimed as a talent.  For all I knew, this was the moment I discovered I was nothing but an impostor.

This was me facing my broken heart.

(to be continued…)

—————————-

Part One

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Lucky (Heart)Breaks :: Breakdown

Around this time last year, I was destroying my printer with a nine-iron.

Mind you, I did it clean.  I placed the printer in a garbage bag, took it into the garage, cleared a space so I wouldn’t cause any collateral damage, and then swung for the fences.

I had the printer since January 2006, which, considering the lifespan of technology nowadays, feels like it served a good long term.

But I’m not telling you this in order to sing the praises of Canon printers.

I’m telling you about how I broke my printer because I was heartbroken when I did it.  I’d put a lot of time and energy into a project, and despite all of my efforts, things weren’t turning out as I hoped they would.  Matter of fact, they were worse.

II

A few months later, sometime around 10:15 PM in the middle of the week, I was sprinting around the campus of Colorado University.  Shirtless.

Stars bright; warm air.  CU campus is littered with gorgeous brick buildings, corridors and staircases.  I’d be surprised if they didn’t lose a few dozen freshman every September on account of its maze quality.

I know it’s a maze, and I know my way around the place.  But I’m running my hardest because I want to get lost and be rid of myself.

I’m not telling you about running shirtless at 10:15 in order to promote Colorado University.

I’m telling you about how I ran shirtless through a college campus because I was heartbroken.  Again, I’d thrown my whole being into a project, more than the first project.  Heart, mind, soul, strength.  I’d put almost everything on the line.

And that night was the night I knew I’d failed.

III

I broke a printer and ran through the streets because I wanted to be rid of me, because I thought I could exorcise heartbreak through exercise.

I assumed I could expunge all the bile and panic and rage and confusion and fear and loathing and guilt and shame and sadness, as long as I ran hard enough and long enough.  As long as I swung with enough force and broke it into enough pieces.

The only thing breaking a printer brings accomplishes is increasing your number of trips to FedEx Print Shops.  The only thing running through a campus without a shirt on accomplishes is decreasing your self-esteem when you see all the weird looks you get from the other students.

At the end of both exercises, I was only brought closer to my failure.  Not further.

My woeful attempt at an exorcism had only brought the demons into sharper focus.

I’m not telling you this because I’ve decided to take up plumbing.

I’m telling you this because these are two moments I wouldn’t trade for anything in all the world.

.Me and my Lucky (Heart)Breaks.

(to be continued…)

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The Music in My Mind

Beethoven said “Music is deeper than philosophy.” That’s why I got that picture of Ludwig, looking at that brother every day. I said, “Ludwig, what do you mean music is deeper than philosophy?” He says, “Well, because, in the end, we finite creatures, we don’t have a language or even a linguistic eloquence that can even begin to be fully truthful to the experiences that we have in the short time we’re here in time and space.

So therefore, you need some…sounds…some…even some noise, organized noise.

We need silence, between the notes and the sounds that get at the deeper truths of who we are.

And that’s not a statement against linguistic eloquence, but it’s one that recognizes varieties of eloquence.

And therefore it requires a deep courage.

- Dr. Cornel West, featured on “Beethoven,”
off the album Choices, by Terence Blanchard

II

In 1936, the Central Children’s Theater in Moscow commissioned Sergei Prokofiev to write a new musical piece for children, to spark curiosity in music from the child’d first few years in school. Sergei wrote his work, Peter and The Wolf, in four days.

Sergei assigned different instruments to each character, so as to create a more engaging ensemble and, in some way, teach the kids about music.

Bird — Flute

Duck — Oboe

Cat — Clarinet

Grandfather — Bassoon

Wolf — French Horns

Hunters — Woodwind theme, along with gunshots via timpani and bass drum

Peter — Strings

Most people, me included, know Peter and the Wolf because of the 1948 Disney cartoon. It was the first thing I saw where the music took control over the story.

Music was the story.

III

I’ve never seen a Jerry Lewis movie, at least not start to finish.

So here I am, watching a documentary about the man, and up comes this clip from the 1961 film, The Errand Boy.

He’s pantomiming to the Count Basie Orchestra, and it’s a work of art to watch the man inhabit the sounds and swells of the hot-hot band.

Again, music is the story.

IV

Synesthesia is “a neurologically based condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway.”

The most commonly known form, “Grapheme — Color Synesthesia”, individual letters or numbers are seen by some to have been tinged with color. In another type, “Sound — Color Synesthesia”, sounds are again associated with color.

Most recently featured in The Soloist:

(No embedding; darn.) WATCH HERE

Music, my man. Music.

V

And that’s how I started earning a six-figure salary.

- Or -

And that’s how to maintain a healthy and happy marriage.

- Or -

And that’s how to jailbreak an iPhone.

Or…not.

I’m not prescriptive. Tried, felt awful, so I stopped. I’m descriptive. I’m not, “here’s what to do and you’ll be all better.” I’ve made changes in my life and I know how I’ve made them, and you’re welcome to ask me anything, but I can’t write to merely validate any feeling/position/emotion.

I was making a salad from a recipe given to me by a friend, and I’m listening to Spotify. I hear the quote from Dr. West, and ever since then I’ve been thinking about music.

Cornel triggers the memory about Peter and The Wolf, which calls back the clip from Jerry Lewis, which, as a form of expression/POV, segues into The Soloist, which leads me here.

Jazz trumpet, Professor, Beethoven, Russian, Cartoon, Comedian, Film, Orchestra, Color.

Music.

What I mean to say is I’m cooking now.

What I mean to say is I’m trying to look at things in a new way.

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Fresh Pages

I was having a crappy afternoon yesterday.  Too many songs in the brain, too many words and too many thoughts and too many instruments and too many cooks and not enough practice, not enough swings and not enough attempts at speech.  Instead, I crawled deeper and deeper inside of my head.  Falling down my own rabbit hole.  I was Alice, tumbling ass-over-tea-kettle, and I was the Rabbit, late-late-late for some kind of amorphous “date”, and I was the Mad Hatter, incomprehensible to anyone around, unable to form a comprehendible sound.

So it makes sense that the opening paragraph to a novel written by an Australian fugitive about a guy who breaks out of jail and spends ten years in India could course-correct my wayward heart.

Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts

“It took me a long time and most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured. I realised, somehow, through the screaming of my mind, that even in that shackled, bloody helplessness, I was still free: free to hate the men who were torturing me, or to forgive them. It doesn’t sound like much, I know. But in the flinch and bite of the chain, when it’s all you’ve got, that freedom is an universe of possibility.

And the choice you make between hating and forgiving, can become the story of your life.”

And that’s the power of a great story; pulling you out of whatever mire you find yourself in, and elevating you.  It is, praise God, a new breath.

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A Friend Should Sound Like a Saxophone

When in doubt, always listen to jazz.

Because you spend the first fifteen seconds why you can’t “feel the beat,” (meaning why it’s not in a standard 4/4 time signature clicking away at 115 beats per minute) and because you spend the next fifteen seconds wondering when the first verse is gonna start, and by the time you hit thirty-one seconds, you don’t know where the hell you are.

Because Jazz actually transports.

Because Jazz actually takes you somewhere.

I want my relationships to be like Jazz; something born in one place and traveling ever onward. I want ebb and flow, motion that evokes emotion, emotion that provokes devotion and the promotion of others over the self, over the established rhythm, a song that carves out living quarters for several smaller songs to revel in the shade.

Because a good relationship, like good jazz, isn’t going to hit the same notes over and over again. Themes, yes. “A” sections, maybe. But we’re gonna take things for a walk, you know? We gonna go a-wandering, wondering what we’ll find. Let’s explore and test the suspension on this thing, yeah? Let’s do different on purpose and see where that leads. A melody ad nauseam ain’t melody; it’s background, it’s musak.

I don’t want my relationships to have musak rhythm. Jazz has me thinking about relationships precisely because I wasn’t thinking about relationships when I started listening to jazz.

Lots of music is simple emotional confirmation. Jazz, at all points and for all time, is confrontation.

Jazz, sitting across the board, slamming its hand on the clock, grinning.

“Your move, my man. Your move.”

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An Infinite Number of Green Parrots

Two guys sit down behind me; one in his 40’s, another wandering through his 50’s, angry at God knows what, but God knows he’s angry.

Before they sit down, I hear the Angry Man kick out words like “pathetic” and “stupid,” both in the direction of his conversation partner.

I might call them friends, but then the Angry Man might turn at me and call me “pathetic” and “stupid” as well.

“Look at this,” spoken with the utmost venom, his finger hammering down upon a headline in the Los Angeles Times. “Just look at this…I told you, didn’t I? I told you.” The Angry Man spoke with anger about whatever this particular article had to say about its particular topic. “Write this name down. Write it down.” He read aloud the author of the piece, each syllable laced with Anger.

His rhythm reminds me of marching, reminds me of the firing of a gun, reminds me of the nails in a coffin.

I left the house because I had a headache. I bought a coffee with a gift card I’d received for Christmas and I sat outside with the intention of letting my mind wander.

And right now, all I can think about is the Angry Man behind me, and how no matter what I do, there are always going to be angry people, and they are always going to say angry things, and regardless of how slow or soft I speak, there’s going to be someone shouting, someone jamming their finger at the headline of an article as if planting a flag for their hate and rage, someone running on bile and fury and I won’t be able to stop any of it from happening.

Which was the wrong time to read an essay about infinity.

II

Anthony Aguirre wrote the essay, featured in the book Future Science. I don’t understand three-quarters of the essay, but it sounds as if he makes a very logical, step-by-step argument for the possibility of the existence of an infinite universe, as well as infinite sub-universes created in its wake.

I try to remember an idea about a short story I wanted to write. It’d be fast; flash fiction. Less than 750 words. Maybe 500 words.

Parrots, you see.

A certain breed of parrots were, at some point in the Way-Back-When, brought to the local Arboretum. The parrots, what with their wings and habit of flying, migrated to Pasadena. Now and then, you will hear squawking. And if you decide to look up, you’ll see green parrots perched on telephone wires.

I saw four parrots side-by-side-by-side-by-side on New Year’s Morning. Perfect blue sky behind them, their plumage must’ve made quite an impression in my mind.

Because then I thought about what they’d say to each other.

First and foremost, of course, would be “Happy New Year.”

III

Coincidentally, I looked up a few hours after my experience with the Angry Man. In the sky, against the Perfect Blue, skywriters spelled out “Happy New Year 2012.”

Within ten seconds, the smoke had already drifted to the point of making the text unreadable. Had I looked up fifteen seconds later, all I would’ve seen was smoke. I might’ve mistaken it for a cloud.

IV

I walked to Vroman’s Bookstore and picked up a Moleskin Journal. I started writing down what books I want to read. This marks the first time I’ve put together a book list, but I have to start somewhere. I have to start putting down all the thoughts and randomness down somewhere.

A Book List is one example of me trying to communicate. If only back to myself.

V

Seth Godin has a great blog. Far better than mine. He’s knocking it out of the park.

Two blogs of his I read as of late; “The Chance of a Lifetime,” and “The Artificiality of Time.”

Yeah, I know. Again with the ‘time’ thing.

From TCOAL:

The thing is, we still live in a world that’s filled with opportunity. In fact, we have more than an opportunity — we have an obligation. An obligation to spend our time doing great things. To find ideas that matter and to share them. To push ourselves and the people around us to demonstrate gratitude, insight, and inspiration. To take risks and to make the world better by being amazing.

Are these crazy times? You bet they are. But so were the days when we were doing duck-and-cover air-raid drills in school, or going through the scares of Three Mile Island and Love Canal. There will always be crazy times.

 So stop thinking about how crazy the times are, and start thinking about what the crazy times demand.

There has never been a worse time for business as usual.

And from TAOT:

Until the transcontinental railroad, there were no time zones. Each village kept its own time, based on its own steeple and its own high noon. And why not? There was no good reason to go through the pain of coordinating the clocks.

Factory work forced us all to know exactly what time it was. The shift couldn’t start until the foreman and the workers were ready to go. Synchronicity paid big dividends, so we embraced it.

This notion of lockstep started to inform all elements of our culture. Not just what time rush hour was (what a bizarre concept) but how old you should be to go to college and to get a job and to get married and to have kids and to retire.

The web is asynchronous…Celebrate New Year’s when you want to, and as often as you choose. They’re your resolutions, not ours.

VI

And all at once, I’m thinking about the infinite number of the infinite sub-universes, and all the multiple versions of me and my headaches. And all at once, I’m thinking of the infinite number of Angry Men. And all at once, I’m thinking about the infinite number of Green Parrots. And all at once, I’m thinking of what Green Parrots have to do with helping the Angry Man deal with the source of his Rage. And all at once, I’m thinking about that one dream I had where I looked out the window of a plane and saw a cloud of hummingbirds floating by our side. And all at once, I’m thinking about all the different things that could happen at any point in the day, that something different could be done.

But it would have to be done on purpose. With intention and aim.

VII

I’m going to read Seth’s blog.

I’m going to keep making a Book List and I’m going to follow through on them.

I’m going to write that story about the Green Parrots.

I’m going to ask the Angry Man, whoever he is, to calm down, even if just for a moment.

And I’m going to look up.

It’s a start. And an end. And all at once…

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