The Energy

Poem About An Owl

by Deborah Garrison I've never seen an owl Not a real one But often enough at night Have started up at the wingbeat: Long, with loaded silence between lengths Like velvet ripping The children's-book eyes Saucerish and startled with wisdom Sweeping the forest floor For a little something, a little something And I leapt from sleep If indeed I was sleeping Belted my robe like a mother of old And rushed to their beds to see If it got them, the skidding talon, Where they were quietly Breathing in their own Animal dreams "Poem About an Owl" by Deborah Garrison, from The Second Child. © Random House, 2007

Dreams Come True

Can't stop eating Ramen noodles.

Carlock Confessional

I do not like the music of David Bowie. None of it. I'm sure he's a great guy. And I've got plenty of friends who allegedly like his music, but I just don't get it. Yes, Ziggy Stardust was one of those pioneer moments in music history. I can appreciate the significance. But you'll never find any of his music on my iPod.

Note: His appearance on HBO's Extras was phenomenal and hilarious:

Athletic Wood

Last night would have been a good night to be a werewolf. The menacing kind, I mean. I don't know if the moon was full, but the dense fog had me flinching at every muffled sound on our cobblestone sidewalk as I waited for Leia to sniff the grass. I wish I knew the secret code dogs have with their noses and piss. Actually, no I don't. I once dated a girl who eventually started to smell like pee so I broke up with her, so maybe we do know the secret code.

It's funny how much we take our noses for granted. Think about all the smells and scents that keep you coming around. Sauteed onions, Christmas trees, a lover's skin, new electronics fresh out of the box.  Campfires. Wanna get laid? Build your chick a fire. Boom.

There's a lesson in there somewhere. Something about fear of what we can't see and appreciating the crooks of our wives' necks. AKA don't fuck it up. Drink that shit in like forbidden Gatorade. Also, make sure you got plenty of wood, because you might need to keep that fire going all night. Also, there's no such thing as werewolves.

Murders and Parliaments

A couple days ago Raihan and I went for a walk through the abandoned parts of the hospital campus. There have been numerous accounts of ghost sightings from employees and patients, but anytime I bring it up with people who have worked here for a long time I don't get eye rolls or chuckles. Allegedly, the ghost sightings are eerily routine. Given that this used to be a Civil War hospital, it doesn't surprise me.  I was thankful that we were doing this walk in the daylight, because I honestly felt like many people were watching me from the darkened, open windows of the old structures.  It's hard to ignore the crows, too. They're everywhere, the murders of crows.

By the way, a group of owls is called a parliament. 

Hallmark

Last night Oliver Stone's movie The Doors was on my television. I remember seeing it in the movie theater when it came out and there were a bunch of old guys yelling at the screen at the end when it was revealed that Morrison died of heart failure. I'm not sure what they were yelling about. Back then there were plenty of rumors going around that Jim was not dead. Or maybe they were yelling about the alleged cause of death.  Either way, it was apparent to me then as it is now that Jim Morrison and The Doors were very important in the music world. And maybe even in the spiritual world. Imagine spirituality in a physical sense and not just some word we use in greeting cards.

Question

How is playing the banjo like watching hockey on TV?

Danke Shoen

You're still here? The movie's over. Go home.

Seriously, if you're reading this I owe you a thank you. It's been a while since I had an original thought or idea. At least one worthy of bloggin' 'bout.  Writer's block? Exhaustion? Boredom? Who knows.  Anyway, I'll keep writing.

I'm not sure who my audience is anymore though. Perhaps no one. S'fine. I like writing enough knowing that no one is reading. Cool. Cool.

I went to the gym this morning. James woke me up at 4:00 AM and I couldn't get back to sleep. It's funny how rude I can be when I'm talking to myself at 4:45 AM. I really need to cut down on the swears. Even when I'm trying to get my fat, lazy ass out of bed before 5:00 AM. But guess what, fuckers, I did it.

Sorry about the fuckers thing. Plus, if you're here reading this long, lost blog post I really shouldn't be calling you names.

The SiriusXM app isn't working properly today so I'm listening to my entire music library on iPod and came to the conclusion that Lynette and I have excellent taste in music.