So Much Things to

say. Thank you, Bob. It is difficult to organize thoughts that are coming randomly. In the last five or six hours of my consciousness, and I would imagine that previous to that time while I was sleeping, my mind, as most normal human beings mind’s, has moved through an incredible range of reflective topics. The mind is an absolutely fascinating, unbelievably powerful, deliciously comprehensive muscle. It can be developed, as any other muscle to perform unrealistic feats.

I just thought about how you always give me what I need. Previous to that I was contemplating the budding trees outside my window and wondering why they can’t be like that always—and if I would appreciate them if they were.

When we are young, the mind is so supple. I remember a brief period of my life where I wandered around the world ensuring that I appreciated things as much as I ought to, and I say “things” intentionally: the ostrich egg on my table, the eyeglass case full of insight, and the plastic bottle full of life-giving water. But this is a double-edged sword because sometimes we ascribe to dear a value on things that do not deserve them: our cars, our jobs, our careers, the merchandise we’re selling, our TVs, and our iPhones.

And it’s funny the way history can move so slowly sometimes, moving like the last drip of molasses from the spoon, and then turn around the next day and move like a heavy metal guitar solo. I think it moves just right when set to the rhythm of the blues. But I have come so far from the boy I was only four years ago, and I have come so far from the boy I was only two years ago. The tumultuous upheaval of history can make a body somewhat seasick. Bill Martin and Bob Avakian would disagree with Stephen Dedalus in that history is not a nightmare that they are trying to wake up from it’s something they’re trying to learn from. Or maybe waking up is learning: “I have a vision, too.”

It’s that kind of music that just makes you want to put yo’ head in yo’ hands, and cry.

I like fixing things. Today I fixed the broken leg of my coffee table that’s been wobbling for well on a couple of months. Then, in a spirit of DIY, I went over to the door that has been hanging off of its hinges for the last week and fixed that son of a bitch, too. I forgot that this was something I used to do for a living when I was in college. Paint, patch, fix, mow, repair, install, and entertain. That’s what I learned how to do while I was learning how to read.

Fuck that pronoun “you,” it just means too much. You, who? It means absolutely nothing out of context. And indefinite pronoun they call it. It’s nice having a you, no matter who you are.

My arms felt longer than usual again yesterday. This is always an odd phenomenon for me to experience. I just get up, stand up, and there at my sides hang the longest appendages I have ever seen. I can scratch that itch on the back of my knee with ZERO effort. I can touch the ten-foot ceiling above my head. I can reach out and touch somebody’s soul. They are mystical, you see. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I think it feels nice.

Decisions made in a rush can often be hard to keep to, if only because when you absolutely HAVE to make a decision, it is in the heat of the moment, and you are only doing what you feel is the best decision for that moment. The next moment you could realize that your previous decision was composed mostly of dogs bollocks and you immediately change strategies…difficult to stick by. I decided today that I would travel back to that place where I told everybody the truth all the time. My job makes me a liar. It forces my language to conceal as it reveals, and the true mark of professionalism is knowing what to conceal and when and how and what to reveal and when and how. Get some perspective.

I think I would choose to be a merman, even if it was against the will of god.

I’m just so happy when I see you happy. It’s kind of unsettling, and I think about the sublime. And I think about love, too. And I think about how terrifying beauty is so related to love is so related to Jimi.

To do what one wants, is not that the desire of most of humanity? You certainly don’t want to do what somebody else wants you to do, unless it’s helping you get where you’re going. We make decisions like that all the time. I don’t really want to do this, but I believe that it is moving me towards my ultimate goal, so I’m going to go with my intuition here and move in that direction. I just want to go with how I feel.

Like my only job here is to care for and covet you, dear.

The body has come back to me lately—funny how something like that can “come back”: my mangled right hand with the scar from twenty-seven stitches, the scar from skin grafting, and the thumb that you think is resting on top of the joint from that time you dislocated it wrestling in Oklahoma at the Junior Duals and never got it even looked at. I’ve lost a lot of weight…apparently. When I came to where I am, I wore a forty-four. When I got to where I’m at, I wear a thirty-six. I’ve lost eight inches off of my waist by doing next to nothing more than I usually do, eating healthier, and keeping my body’s well-being front of mind.

He said as he lit his cigarette. Front of mind: historical materialism. What am I to you? How are you? Would you?

I love those very brief moments in my life when the brain can rattle along its merry path unencumbered. There is an incredible freedom in it: skipping down a dirt trail through the mountains.

Maybe I’ll teach high school in Oregon, I thought to myself.

History is moving quickly now, and I’m strangely comfortable with its velocity.