Friday, September 14, 2007

Wine in the moring and some breakfast at night
The window washers outside of my window meticulously wash in the morning light. They’re kind of a motley-looking duo, one of them sporting a decidedly Kid Rock-style moustache and the other wears a ratty ponytail that sticks absurdly out of the back of a baseball cap. The Kid Rock guy uses some sort of makeshift watering device, while the other guy goes behind him and cleans away the dirt. It’s kind of a nice, baggage-free profession, I find myself thinking—the kind which you’re amazed technology hasn’t made obsolete in some way already. Hey, what do you do for a living? someone wants to know. Oh, I wash windows. The clarity is refreshing (nix).

I’m experiencing my own moment of clarity right now, wrapped up in the whole seasonal miasma of figuring out exactly how things work. I had this same epiphany last year at this time, as I walked around downtown in a pouring rain. I’m not sure exactly what I figured out, although I’m not sure it was particularly earth shattering. But it’s kind of amazing how life works sometimes, when everything comes together and seems so well choreographed. You can’t help but be moved in some small way, and then be moved by that same movement, like ancient glaciers shifting within. It’s a long life, but you can’t help but be touched by the irrefutable glints of beauty produced around the edges.

Outside the Kid Rock guy has come back around again to inspect the windows and realizes he has missed a spot. There seems to be some flaw in one of the windows, and he goes to clean it again. It’s funny, watching him look directly in. The windows are tinted and I realize he can’t see anything but his own reflection as I look right into his eyes, not five feet from my own. I catch myself wondering what his life is like. Maybe he’s having his own epiphanies, I think, cashing in on the whole seasonal vortex of beauty and shine. Who could say what he’s thinking? The possibilities really are endless. When he’s satisfied with the window, he picks up his supplies and moves along to clean the next window for somebody to look out of with equal parts astonishment and wonder.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Kaiser get in here right now
Ostensibly having lunch with my grandmother. Actually, I have no food or money and so I show up to her house unexpected to make a peanut butter sandwich, deciding to sit for a few moments before leaving. It seems like the couth thing to do, not just showing up to get some food and then leave again. She calls my motive, though, and on going to leave she asks me what's up. "Are you feeling alright?" she wants to know (it's always the inquiries with me, which only leads me to believe that my public persona needs some polishing. --A friend has recently spotted me standing against a wall at a show, totally lifeless and grim, later telling me how pathetic I looked. Thank you, L. Trela: you're always one for words. Although I guess I'll just chalk that one up to the proverbial touche--yeah, i know you read this blog, and may be refering to any number of incendiary things I may have said about you). "I guess I feel OK," I tell my grandmother, simultaneously amazed that she's asking about my well being. "Well you sure are acting strange," she says. I have no defense for acting strange, however, having given that up a long time ago. In the end we must be who we are, the singer sings, and there it is creeping up out of me, like some kind of insane bonsai. There is no hiding it. On my way to the door she holds up some grapes to give to me. I snatch them from her hand and pop one into my mouth, feeling as the sugary sweet tartness from the grape rushes over my tongue, like a piece of candy.