Red Schoolhouse

Photos from the Little Red Schoolhouse nature center.
Series 1
Series 2
Series 3




It's a good place for me to clear my head. Even though it holds certain memories, sometimes revisiting a scene and making it your own again is therapeutic.

Change Forces

All those articles, talk shows, etcetera that talk about what women want in a man, they all leave out one of the most important parts. Sure, you can be sensitive, fatherly, confident, a good listener, and emotionally open; but when you get into a new relationship, you need to figure out if that is what is expected of you. Does she want someone completely different, or does she want to try taking the same guy she's been dating for years and be the one to change him into that ideal man? I mean, look at the bragging rights amongst her friends: "He was okay when I met him, but look at him now. See how much he loves me, see how much I have gotten him to change?" This notion of men as fixers may reflect reality in a physical sense, but in the mental realm it is the women who want to do the fixing. Show up as a polished gem instead of rough quartz, and what she'll see in the reflection is how little work there is to be done, how little she can take credit for. So even if you have those much lauded qualities, they have to be hidden, at least for a while.
Yes, I'm bitter, and this all sounds like absolute shite. I shouldn't base a thesis on one awful experience. But what is a guy to do? You work so hard to reach this popular ideal only to have it thrown back in your face. Give your heart to someone only to see it put in a jar of formaldehyde, placed on the kitchen counter, and be told "Okay, I'm done with you now."

I was stubborn for a long time, and resistant to change. The women in my life have been trying to change me into this person for a long time; it's a bad trade, really, as others have done all the hard work and now someone else will get the benefit of that. I suppose that is how it usually works, though.

Storytime: California Chasm

Tell me a story.

Okay. Northern California coastline. A cliff, about 200 yards above the shore. I am walking along the edge, and there is an outcropping, shaped in such a way that there appears to be a path cut into it. I cannot resist a path. So I walk it, to a section a little higher, like some random boulder just sitting up there. There is a gap, but I can reach across it. The boulder has worn away enough so that I can get a foothold, and I pull myself across the gap and on top of it.
I sit up there for a while, take a few pictures, have a smoke, and just look at the ocean. I wish there was someone there to share it with, but at the same time I am content.
After a while, I am ready to move along. I turn around and look at the path. It seems to have moved away. And now the gap I stepped over a short while ago looks like a chasm into which I am doomed to fall.
I think, maybe I can just jump it. But I worry I'll land wrong and slide off the path, down to the rocks below. I decide to ease myself down backwards and try to step back over. The camera is around my neck, sunglasses in my pocket. As I bend down, the sunglasses slip out, but I am still stretched over the boulder so they don't go far. I snatch them up and put them on; meanwhile, the camera dangles and scrapes against the rock.
I reach a foot out, looking for something solid, and as I am about to start panicking, I find the ground. I shift as much weight as possible to the landed leg and push myself back off of the boulder.
The path is gravelly, and I slip a little, but then regain my footing.
I stand there for a moment, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. Slowly, I walk back to the rented convertible, get in, and turn the key halfway. I dig through my CDs...put in Telepopmusik, start up the car, and I'm gone from that place.

I'm Still Here

Radiohead, Talk Show Host excerpts.

I want to
I want to be someone else or I'll explode

You want me?
Fucking well come and find me
I'll be waiting

You want me?
Well come on and break the door down
You want me?
Fucking come on and break the door down
I'm ready

Psychic Poetry

Looking at some of the poems I wrote in the days before things ended with B, I am a little surprised at how prescient they were. But then, I continue to spit out my awful blank verse odes specifically to capture certain moments in my life. To remember when I felt like the world was beautiful, or, more often, to tap into whatever was troubling my mind at the time. The best poetry exists to make sense of the world; that is beyond my scope, though, so I try simply to make some sense of the moment.
M and R understood why I needed to write, even if they couldn't always figure out what the hell I was trying to say. Sometimes I don't know what I'm trying to say, I just start typing and see what happens. I never edit, never go back and change anything. This is why I will probably never write a novel.

Once I Loved Someone Like You

Only Love Can Set you Free, by American Music Club.

You say that weakness is only
a way to give your heart to the enemy
but if the blow that knocks you out
is the one you don’t see
then why are you fighting?

Listen: before you lose the ocean from your tears,
before your face is carved out of stone
before they finally force you to your knees -
only love can set you free.

You were no civilian, you fought every war
and now you don’t wanna fear your heart anymore
Now you only do what's good, because you're good
Now you only do what you should, because you're good

Listen: it takes a baby years to know
what’s gonna make it stop crying
that what it wants isn't hard to see -
only love can set you free.

I’ve been so lucky

Now I'm just a normal man, that’s true
And I got nothing to brag about, or yes I do
that once I was loved by someone like you
that once I loved someone like you

Listen: what you find when you lose your way
are gunshot signs on a haunted sky
that only point you to a crowded mystery -
only love can set you free.

I've been so lucky

Framed

I used the walmart website to submit some digital photos for developing. I wasn't in any hurry, so it was convenient to do so. The service wasn't all that great; they neglected to send me an e-mail letting me know that the photos were in the store, ready to be picked up. But, the pictures themselves turned out well.
The photos were from various outings with B.; Michigan, Galena, and Little Red Schoolhouse. There were a few prints I had promised her before the shit hit the proverbial fan.
I try to keep my promises. I suppose I fail too, often enough, but not so often that I stop myself from making any.
I went slightly overboard, though. I picked up some frames for a couple of the photos (for her). Why bother? Why incur the withering response when she gets them? Why invite more conflict? Why not? They came out well, so much so that they deserve frames.
Maybe on some level I'm tired of doing things half right.
And maybe I just want to rub it in her face a little. Am I that bitter? Yes. Toss me out with the trash and I'm motivated to find a way to come out smelling like a rose. Knock me down enough and when you're not expecting it I'll charm you. Sometimes guile and sincerity are the same thing, it all depends on your audience.

Monsoons

Two hot, humid days. Two consecutive monsoons in late afternoon. Probably not so fun to be caught in, but lovely to watch.