Take off the headphones
for there is the dry rustle of leaves
like layers of fabric falling
colliding, pooling in piles
around the base of the ginkos
like golden skirts from a sleepy lady’s curtsy
spilled low across the green grass.
There are footsteps and laughter
suffusing the sunshine with an aural warmth
that hints of harvest and plenty,
places set at the table,
the ceramic cling of dishes passed
as we all slow down, take
the long way to where we’re going
before the wool sweaters feel too thin
like windows framed with frost in the morning.
— I don’t really have a title for this.
It’s a pity Stephen Hawking can’t do sarcasm.
I thought he was joking about bailing you out
until I saw the picture of you
and the sheep
in the morning paper. Were those my boots
you had on it?
Did the hipsters beat you up
because you are more ironic than they are?
You just stared at your feet and said some shit
about the molecules dancing
and how you had just solved physics.
I always forget that thursday isnt the weekend
in the real world. You closed the sidewalk
off to pedestrians last night.
With a glitter covered safety cone.
Once he started yelling at me in latin,
i wasn’t sure what we were fighting about anymore…
He’s a nude model. What could you have done
to make him feel awkward?
Only you could turn Mozart into a stripper song. Sometimes,
in the course of human events, people get lit on fire.
She just got back from rehab. You don’t
celebrate that with margaritas. Sometimes
when i’m at a cross roads in life,
i think about what i would want my life
-time movie to show what i did?
So she is eating her margarita
with tortilla chips….
like using her chip as a spoon. So I woke up
and found tortilla in my belly button. You woke up,
pulled a beer bottle out of your pants..
took a drink and went back to sleep.
I’m not upset with you; I’m upset with Fox News.
— All the lines are from Texts from last night, I just added in some line breaks and added some punctuation.
I like to imagine that I’m pretty flexible and spontaneous. However, sometimes being on a schedule works well for me. My plan is to start writing more, or to rephrase that to work on the Donnie and Sam novel, no title yet. To do that though or to do it well, I need to start treating it like a job or like coursework. That’s a bit of a shift, because writing has always been fun for me, and I don’t think of work or coursework as always being fun. I’ve been thinking of having some major workdays on the weekend, and then waking up early mornings before work and writing for two hours each morning. Ambitious, but if I want to write a novel, necessary. Right?
The other schedule is getting back to the gym. I’ve traveled most of September and after the MS 150 really haven’t done much active. Especially compared to my pre-race levels. Add into that commuting on my bike and the awful weather we’ve been having in St. Louis, it’s been hard to make it back. That all ends this weekend though. Tomorrow will be the first day back to the gym, and then also see about beginning to lay out the book. Hopefully, after a couple of weeks I can find something that works well, and doesn’t drive me or my friends crazy.
These are pretty cool works of art by Eric Daigh, sort of like pixel art but in a large analog format. I don’t always follow to closely what is happening in Michigan since moving away, but the DeVos ArtPrize came up in conversation the other night, also the artist is from my hometown, Traverse City. Check out his work.
I’m about halfway through Infite Jest, and enjoying it. That wasn’t always the case. The first three hundred pages were a struggle. Perhaps, that’s untrue. There were highlights, moments when I laughed, followed by passages when I was unsure how this section related or who the characters were. In the past six weeks I haven’t had much time to read the novel. When travelling, it’s not very convenient to lug around 900+ pages of prose with another 50 pages of endnotes.
I’ve also been trying to get my friends and family to read the book. Besides Wallace’s love for language, the book is funny. My best attempt to describe it has been to say that it touches on tennis, addiction, entertainment, politics, and absurdism. How those come together, you have to read for yourself.
Went for a lazy ride on Sunday. First one since the MS150. This is the map as well as I can remember.
<p>&amp;lt;a href=”http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/mo/st-louis/654125535630690488″&amp;gt;2009-10-12 Route&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br/&amp;gt;&amp;lt;a href=”http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/mo/st-louis”&amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in St Louis, Missouri&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt;</p>
It’s a Thursday morning and the sky is blotted out by layers of rain clouds. They are dense, nebulous, consuming. The streetlights are still on, their sensors fooled by the dark clouds and downpour. Water pounds the roof of my apartment. It spatters windows with a click and a tap, while I hunt through my apartment. Gortex boots, rainpants, raincoat, waterproof cycling bag, I’m set.
It doesn’t matter the day of the week or what the weather is doing, there comes a point when I love my commute. Almost to work, I cross a pedestrian bridge over Forest Park Parkway into campus. Traffic spills in both directions. Cars, people, annoyances packed together in start-stop frustration. I may be a little damp, it could be incoveniant to dress for weather, but I feel free. My feet move, my tires move, I propel forward two stories above the traditional commuters. At that moment upon the bridge, I don’t care about the money I’m saving, the carbon footprint I’ve reduced, the calories I’ve burned. At that moment, I breath deep, enjoy the pleasure of the ride, of being free from people looking caged and claustrophobic. At that moment, I feel the rain drip through my hair and patter on my jacket, and ride the last remaining leg unimpeded.
One hundred fifty miles on a bike seems like a long way to go. Looking at a map, I guess it is pretty far, the equivalent of biking from Lebanon to Columbia.
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The first day, I didn’t really know what to expect, and I didn’t do a good job of keeping track of my pace. I met up with the rest of the people on the Local Harvest Team or as I thought about us, Team Carrot, in the morning. We stayed together through the first rest stop, but then through large crowds of people I pushed hard up a hill. That initial burst got me going at a new pace, and I drifted between trains of riders. The weather was gorgeous. Sunny, 60’s and then 70’s. Not too windy. By the end of the first day, fatigue had set in some. I just wanted to be through with the ride.
The second day was much better. I’d slept more and ate better than the previous couple of days, so it seemed like I had more energy. Also, I knew I could do it for sure now since I completed the first day. Due to crazy travel plans (I had to fly out to Santa Barbara that night) I started the ride without Team Carrot at 7:00 a.m. The sun rose over fields of corn, and trees rising in clumps among the low hills. It was peaceful and relaxed. This time I only stopped twice. Once for lunch at 9:30 and then a quick break twenty miles later. I finished the ride at 11:40 a.m. and had a pace of over 17 mph. Initially, it hurt to get back on the bike, but my legs loosened up and I was rolling. The only thing that was strange were the moments of extreme isolation. There’d be miles where I saw no one. Just the road beneath my tires, listening to the thrum of the rubber over concrete. Birds dotted wires like weary observers having better things to do. The horizon stretched out. Sometimes it felt claustrophobic as walls of corn pushed close to the road and the sun rose higher. Thoughts devolved into thinking of cadence, of keeping my legs moving. Then as if being disturbed from a revery, a group of cyclists would power by me. Sometimes I would push and ride with them for a bit, but then fall off, alone. The last stretch was full of hills. They flowed down and I sat tucked tight on the bike, flying across the surface, when they pushed back up, I’d try to power my way on, keeping the gears where they were to get maximum distance.
The finish felt great. It was still early in the day, not yet noon. I packed up my bike, folded up the tent, and stowed the rest of the gear. A few hours later I was on board a flight bound for L.A. I’ll do it again next year, and I think you should too.
I’m sitting in a camp chair at the Boone County Fairgrounds, just outside Columbia, Missouri. The noise of cars sound in the distance, a mechanical drone next to the whir of crickets tucked among the high grass. It’s the kind of weather where you think, maybe I should put on a sweatshirt as the breeze flows over your skin. I’ve put one on. Also, among these noises are the sounds of people laughing and talking as they sit outside their tents, feet propped on a cooler, beer in hand. They’re happy sounds, content sounds, the ride is tomorrow so for now it’s all energy. After so many months in the city, it feels good to be out.
I’m not nervous about the ride anymore. There were some days when I wondered how it’d all play out. Now though, I’m here. There doesn’t need to be anything else. I look forward, somewhat guiltily, to hitting that point where I have no real thoughts. No worries for those I love, nor doubts about the future, only a physical demand to pedal, to go on. Pedal. That’s all there will be tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it. Just riding, feeling the wind blow across my arms and face. The sun absorbing into my skin. The burn of muscles as they contract, push, pull, and repeat. Life will catch up later. This is just a brief respite. Soon enough, I’ll be back at a computer like the rest of you, inside, working or just wondering why your not out here, feeling the rush of a downhill ride and the patience for the next ascent.
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