Category Archives: Daily Life

Everything from impromptu thoughts to well-constructed observations.

Parighasana

Quick Thoughts, Yoga

There’s an asana nicknamed Gate Pose.    It’s one of those random poses that gets forgotten because it’s pretty awkward to get into.  You start kneeling and then extend a bunch of body parts to one side and then the other.  It’s easier to show than describe and I assure you it’s difficult for anyone to actually pull off.  Not only is there a fierce lateral extension involved but balancing on one knee is just plain unnatural.  When I attempt parighasana it takes every muscle in my body to stay steady.  So today, I did it 3 times.

I’m starting to understand how this gangly half-brother to long, graceful poses like trikonasana fits into my practice.  In nearly all standing poses, my  torso extends out of my hips to create length in my sides.  This is easiest when I’m straight up and down or doing a simple bend in one direction, like uttansasana.  Trikonasana involves two directions because I’m extending out of my hips while also turning my chest.  It gets even more complicated with twists.  Parighasana technically only has one bend, but at the strangest angle.  Pulling my leg into the hip while extending my torso all the way toward my thigh.  I’m dizzy just thinking about it.

Porgasm

Art, Book, Future Plans, mur, Reasons for Things

I pop zits.  I know I’m not supposed to but I do anyway.  Nothing makes me crazy like a bump.  I’m not particularly vain, It’s a textural thing.  Same compulsion that makes me pick at scabs.  Unlike scab-picking (which hurts) zit-popping has a visceral element of relief.  A gooey white glob of gunk erupting from the peak of a tiny, engorged pore.  An effect I can only call gratifying.  I’m not too concerned admitting this since I suspect facials are a Brazilian way of doing the same thing.  Continue reading Porgasm →

Lila

Book, mur, Quick Thoughts, Reasons for Things, Yoga

In yoga class my teacher brought up lila, a sanskrit word that expresses the inherent joy and playfulness necessary for creation. Something about the way she phrased it struck a chord in me.  Willingness to play around with something leads to new creation.  There’s a joy that comes with the act of creation. That’s why we do it.  Most brilliance is perceived as as odd at first.  Artists embrace the odd, seeking the joy of creation that only appears when you’re on the right track.

I’m essentially creating a new life across the country this month.  Only taking what I can fit into my subcompact, I’m trying something completely different from what I was taught to do.  It’s a massively serious undertaking that I’m approaching with capricious enthusiasm.  I choose to believe that things will work out based on the fact that my true needs are simple.  I don’t have a map but I know where I’m going – serenity from minimalism.  Lila explains how I find the energy to do it.  I don’t mind messing up.  Even making mistakes is fulfilling when you’re on the right path.

Questions dealing with the soul are onerous but what would you do otherwise?  The light of meaning calls to us. Even if you can’t see, it you know it’s there.

Creeping Sadness

Book, Daily Life, P & H Cafe, Quick Thoughts, Random

Words and feelings seeping out at angles painful to watch.
Emblazoned across the sky for all the moon to see
Not full until she says we can stop
Fulfillment is not something you can buy

Craven, small boys below the bed, sleeping on mattresses from the floor.  The floor of where is the question.  Location location location.  The locomotion of crazy makes a train-ride out of the city hard to ignore.  Confetti and silly string is not punk rock, but then again I’m a sap.

I had a pain in my shoulder I can keep off my back with one more reason to go down.  Down town to the place where Leroy brown might be found on the ground.  A pound can be the puppy or flesh.  Ragged, swelling at the sight of blood all over your cock.  You don’t mind.  You don’t know.

Better to skip the holiday party, in my experience.
Watching the movie is another way to buy into the hype.

 

Wuh?

Art, Quick Thoughts, Random

Withering wisened widows watch wunderkind
Knowing the maid doesn’t make her your friend
Wombs wantonly whispering western works
Next on Broadway: Aborted Baby Monologues
Wrinkled women wistfully weep while wasted
Heavy pour for my dead dogs and aching knees
Whales willingly wallow weighted with wanderlust
Rent is the cost of sleeping closer to happiness

Art, mur, Quick Thoughts, Random

Sauntering by, so sure
The gang of boys
Good boys, old boys.
If you only knew

I see you.
The weak you.
The wanting you.
I see you in a dark room before you fall asleep.
Cuddling. Comfort. Care. Caress.
I can provide these things.
But first you have to do me a service.
Touch me where they said don’t touch.
Wiggle my squiggle with soft attention.
Let me know
That you know
I’m different.
Not you.
Just into you.
Hoping I’m the one.
The prize mare
You choose to breed
And feed
Unbridled affection
For your hopes dreams and desires.

The desire unfulfilled
Yields more empathy
And the story not told
Suspends empty disbelief

Victimism

Art, mur, Quick Thoughts

When asked about your pain on a 1 to 10 scale, always say 10.
(If you worry about opinions, try to ham it up a little.)
The person paid to care dispenses tablets
The rats learn to say it always hurts.
Do we really know pain?
Savoring the searing tattoo needle
Wincing at a sharp word.
Teaching mortals the way of least resistance
Daring heroes to dance with the devil
Deepening dependence on material cures
Numbing the squishy awkward parts
Until there’s not even a seam between the two
Personalities colliding overhead
On the bench, from behind, with 2 fingers.
No Clue.  It’s a game we call Snatch.
Don’t tell them it hurts, just scream.
Only feeling pain, the hunger goes away.
A dull heart beats, aching agony all-consuming.
Just remember no one cares and go to sleep.
This broken system won’t stop working.
Gonna have to break it to get a new one.

Relativity Speaking

Art, mur, Quick Thoughts, Random

Here’s what I think.

When it comes down to it, we don’t get to choose very much. From birth, thousands of decisions are instantaneously made for us.
Age, sex, location.
Name, address, SSN.
Size, weight, color.
Income level, insurance company, citizenship.
DNA map, eventually.
Seemingly unimportant, mostly indisputable, these are the tiny clear rods that Doozers use to build our fragile identities.

After that is just years of abiding by the choices of your literal guardian.  Can’t choose your parents, can’t choose your siblings.  Stuck with whatever blood you have in your veins.  A ticket in the mandatory lottery of existence.  By the time you’re old enough to have dreams most of them are out of reach. Cultivating a culture devoid of artists, minds numbed by aptitude tests and network television.  Remake everything until you can’t remember whose idea is was in the first place.

The medium doesn’t change the message, just how powerfully you get to ram things down throats.  Choking on tropes stuck in the back of my throat.  Holding high standards is relative to your idea of rock bottom.  I giggle at funerals but didn’t murder anyone.

Finished always looking over my shoulder.  God gets to judge His children and I hope not to be here when that happens.  Nothing personal.

Name Changed

Book, Daily Life, Stories

 

The air in probate court is just as heavy as any other court.  At least , for me because I always assume the worst where courtrooms are concerned. We all sat there huddled in squeaky leather chairs, footsteps shushed by thick navy carpet.  Something as simple as a name doesn’t require much paperwork. The court only meets once a week for this specific reason and there are only half a dozen requests even that often. It’s the most service-like of the civil service proceedings I’ve witnessed.  Continue reading Name Changed →