I didn't forget the reason, I just felt so hopeless after a while that I began to believe that any effort made was without purpose since the situation is too big to face. But that's like saying the mountain before us is too tall to climb, so instead let's sit down and stare at it ignorantly smug. You never know how far you can ride your bike until you justget out and go. The incredible, inexplicable part about being alive is serendipity, and the odd coincidences that dance their way into our lives. But those coincidences, also known as opportunities, will only exist if we put ourselves out there in the first place, in the crossfire of mystery bullets. No, the reason has never gone away. It's actually gotten bigger. You know what I did? I gave up. I looked at it, cried, shrugged my sad shoulders not knowing what to do and sat down to stare at the impossible mountain, stare at the obvious trailheads right in front of my face. Glaringly obvious, in the afternoon sun. How many nights have I camped in front of these trails, not an inch closer to the mountain nor his summit. The reason is there, and more beautiful than ever. It's in trickster tales, Terminator Salvation, in every pair of Chacos I've tried on, every buck I've pocketed from work, every friend I see online, every time youve been in love, every picture youve taken, every time a song gives you chills or a movie makes you cry. The reason is filling my heart and is not cold or stale. It's the reason we all have, and its more beautiful than ever before.
Don't convice yourself that you are alone or that there is no reason for why you are here. There is a reason and you are the bringer of light for your fellow people. You are not alone because I too am a bringer of light. And so is she, and so is he, and everything that we do brings light. Don't ask yourself any more questions, just let it lie and bring us all light as you climb that beautiful mountain before you.
Goodnight
Migs
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
I've decided that it is time
Time for a change, and maybe even a change in blog.
Hello blank white page, it's Mikie here. I've been rounding around the prospect of leaving you, page, but of course find myself heartily on the return.
What time is it? It's May time. Some planet somewhere is in retrograde.
It's time for a change, at least for him. I'm sick of waiting, and hoping, and wishing and praying that sometime, someday I'll do something worthwhile with the extraneous amounts of time that I currently piddle away on a daily basis. There's moments of the day when I am nothing, have nothing, think about nothing, feel as if I know nothing and therefore represent Nothing. And if any of you already know me (which likely is a thing that you do do) then you know too that Mikie Beatty is not nothing. So when those moments arise and I think "Wow I am nothing" I am now initiating a change, for those moments. A counter, so you might say.
See, when this happened (twice now, in time, over the past decade) I made a geographical change and that just plum did it. Is this the answer? Is geography my only horoscopal distinction between meaning and non-meaning? I mean, when I was Friendly Financial-Aider I definitely was stuck between geographies. Only then I had goals to strive for, challenges to achieve. er, or overcome. However you might say that. Then in the time following, it wasn't that I was bored but too busy, and definitely found myself "stuck" between the confines of Hwy 1 and Hwy 17, within the smug smutty 6-mile-radius of Santa Cruz. This was dead-center college, when some had gone and others had stayed and I had awoken from a long winters' nap realizing I had become nothing, was doing nothing and cared about nothing.
Now, for my third great exodus in the history of my life it is finally bloody time for a change. Because I've reached the same strange barricades that once held me in chains with my fat oozing between links and shackles. only now these binds are far less intimate and very strange indeed - because I cannot see them. Sometimes I diagnose the pains as health-related issues, finding myself suffering from this ailment or that. But isn't it interesting that as soon as I get heartily distracted enough all of my health problems seem to melt away like oil-based butter on hot bread, seeping into the wheaty sweetness creating more of a delicious meal than any hard, cold, solid problem that once butter and health issues proved to be.
So here I am, on the brink of change. But by f-ing Golly-G, I've yet to pick what that change shall be.
The easy thing before was college..I guess. Easy ways out. But even still I felt the chill of slashing sharp uncertainties quill back then etching fatal doom to my script, saying Fin Mikie Fin Mikie finish it quick.
Not today, no siree, no this Mikie has hatched
from a taciturn Nocturn
to a full-fledged rattatat Scatter-Bat,
cawing and scraping at my inner-egg
there's a future outside I can taste it
in segments and fractures the shell is a crackin'
but not too soon yet, for I fear of the dragon
that looms o'er me still, like a wild
red demon, I'll wait a bit longer
to dodge the behemoth.
So inside my shell, like a sour red pup
I wait patiently
with my cheeks pointed up.
Hello blank white page, it's Mikie here. I've been rounding around the prospect of leaving you, page, but of course find myself heartily on the return.
What time is it? It's May time. Some planet somewhere is in retrograde.
It's time for a change, at least for him. I'm sick of waiting, and hoping, and wishing and praying that sometime, someday I'll do something worthwhile with the extraneous amounts of time that I currently piddle away on a daily basis. There's moments of the day when I am nothing, have nothing, think about nothing, feel as if I know nothing and therefore represent Nothing. And if any of you already know me (which likely is a thing that you do do) then you know too that Mikie Beatty is not nothing. So when those moments arise and I think "Wow I am nothing" I am now initiating a change, for those moments. A counter, so you might say.
See, when this happened (twice now, in time, over the past decade) I made a geographical change and that just plum did it. Is this the answer? Is geography my only horoscopal distinction between meaning and non-meaning? I mean, when I was Friendly Financial-Aider I definitely was stuck between geographies. Only then I had goals to strive for, challenges to achieve. er, or overcome. However you might say that. Then in the time following, it wasn't that I was bored but too busy, and definitely found myself "stuck" between the confines of Hwy 1 and Hwy 17, within the smug smutty 6-mile-radius of Santa Cruz. This was dead-center college, when some had gone and others had stayed and I had awoken from a long winters' nap realizing I had become nothing, was doing nothing and cared about nothing.
Now, for my third great exodus in the history of my life it is finally bloody time for a change. Because I've reached the same strange barricades that once held me in chains with my fat oozing between links and shackles. only now these binds are far less intimate and very strange indeed - because I cannot see them. Sometimes I diagnose the pains as health-related issues, finding myself suffering from this ailment or that. But isn't it interesting that as soon as I get heartily distracted enough all of my health problems seem to melt away like oil-based butter on hot bread, seeping into the wheaty sweetness creating more of a delicious meal than any hard, cold, solid problem that once butter and health issues proved to be.
So here I am, on the brink of change. But by f-ing Golly-G, I've yet to pick what that change shall be.
The easy thing before was college..I guess. Easy ways out. But even still I felt the chill of slashing sharp uncertainties quill back then etching fatal doom to my script, saying Fin Mikie Fin Mikie finish it quick.
Not today, no siree, no this Mikie has hatched
from a taciturn Nocturn
to a full-fledged rattatat Scatter-Bat,
cawing and scraping at my inner-egg
there's a future outside I can taste it
in segments and fractures the shell is a crackin'
but not too soon yet, for I fear of the dragon
that looms o'er me still, like a wild
red demon, I'll wait a bit longer
to dodge the behemoth.
So inside my shell, like a sour red pup
I wait patiently
with my cheeks pointed up.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
a new myth
I need to create a myth again.
There was a time when I would look at tall mountains and smile because of the flood that drowned my heart
There was a time I would stare at a horizon with expectation
There was a time I would worship heros that I didn't even know were there.
If something is missing in my life, it is my myths. And I can find them again, because they never left
There was a time when I would look at tall mountains and smile because of the flood that drowned my heart
There was a time I would stare at a horizon with expectation
There was a time I would worship heros that I didn't even know were there.
If something is missing in my life, it is my myths. And I can find them again, because they never left
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Observatories
They serve a valuable purpose in our web-driven, photo-obsessed world, and make me giddy as a schoolboy. What is it about any massive man-made structures that just takes my breath away? Especially bright white solemn domes, hanging in the sky like a mountain's cap watching over long stretches of landscape while gazing at the stars.If I could be a piece of architecture, it might be an observatory.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Intuition Working Draft Blog
I actually want to reword this and make it perfect, so I'm gonna publish this and come back to it:
sometimes the answers are right in front of our faces, and we just keep putting off looking at them until its too late and somebody calls us on not knowing.
At least that seems to happen to me on occasion, sometimes with major things, sometimes with the littlest stuff. I mean, how many times did you pass by that envelope on the kitchen table wondering what was in it only to find out when it was too late that you had a bill due yesterday, and now you're $80 extra in the hole? Or heard a funny sound in your car and kept saying "I'll look into that" until one day your engine warps because it was bone-dry with no oil, and you simply forgot to look.
It's too bad, when the smallest missed moments dictate the biggest changes in our lives. One little word you didn't speak, one tiny second of checking your bills, one ounce of energy spent turning off your tunnel-driven path to investigate something that your intuition is affected by.
So much happens when we miss moments. The ripples start small, then expound into waves, then tsunamis crashing on-shore in a tidal of terror, tearing apart the trees and beaches we meant to preserve to soundly, all because of one little rock we let drop into the lake, that we thought about catching but didn't.
Maybe the process is natural. Maybe there's some kind of evolutionary purpose or advantage to these things. I mean, there is usually a force of some kind making balance out of chaos, and we're part of that force. So maybe our actions are the governors of change, bringing balance in the long-term.
I don't know. It reminds me of that phrase, "kicking against the pricks". There is the occasion that when I do something, I feel so wrong and out-of-balance about it that no matter how much I justify it logically in my mind, it still doesn't seem right. Sometimes though, when you do enough stuff and eventually nothing feels right, you don't know whether its your total misperception of pretty much everything, or that you're just plainly not doing anything right.
This is that weird thing about intuition: when your body tells you to do something and you don't do it, you're not listening to your intuition. Right?
I'm not sure. Because I get in big trouble sometimes when I do what my body it telling me is best to do. We live in this world that tells us to "sometimes listen to our bodies". Sometimes? Hmm. This gets really really complicated then, because what that means is that the "other times" when we choose to not listen to our bodies, we're fully using our imaginations to conceptualize an experience that will ultimately provide an outcome more valuable and greater for our personal well-being than what our body originally wanted us to do. It's like an override. A veto. Let's say your body was the body of the people, a democratic body comprised of your whole living organism, and your Logic (your brain, I suppose) was the President of that body, overseeing the greater version of you and making sure everything is going OK. Well imagine your body starts to experience something. It hurts, or something. Your foot hurts. And your President recognizes a conflict, looks down at the foot, and sees nothing. There's no cut, no bruise..nothing. So your President is faced with a decision: He can either acknowledge the body's strange invisible pain and do something about it, or he can Veto the call of pain, telling the rest of the body "There is nothing wrong with you, I won't listen to you anymore about this". (works a lot like our actual presidential system, really)
So the democratic body is in pain, but the Presidential logic has overridden the call with a "suck it up" veto.
Intuition. Who's more correct? The President's all-seeing eye, or the Democratic body's sense of touch? Reason versus Feeling. Here's what I think I'm trying to say: I don't want to differentiate between what I'm feeling and what I should feel in a given situation. I think in nature there is no differentiation, and we've only created it because our intelligence has become so far-removed from reality. We've invented these social, political and popular worlds that we have completely subscribed to, so that when we have an intuition to do something we are convinced by those worlds' forces to immediately reject the intuition as, "crazy" "insane" "dorky" "rude" "mean" "disrespectul" "ugly" "annoying" "politically incorrect" "too ________" fill in the blank, because you know you've said it or heard it about yourself.
I believe that we all have a built-in safety monitor that makes valid, unquestionable decisions for us before we even think. It's the same mechanism that helps us catch ourselves when we stumble, or duck from something flying at our faces. In our imagined society that we love to live in so much, there's sh*t flying at our heads in all directions, and for some reason we only duck some of the time. The rest of the time is spent getting beaten like stuffed duffel bag. Why is this? Why do we put up with it? Because we're all trying to get along? I'm not sure. I'll come back to this.
sometimes the answers are right in front of our faces, and we just keep putting off looking at them until its too late and somebody calls us on not knowing.
At least that seems to happen to me on occasion, sometimes with major things, sometimes with the littlest stuff. I mean, how many times did you pass by that envelope on the kitchen table wondering what was in it only to find out when it was too late that you had a bill due yesterday, and now you're $80 extra in the hole? Or heard a funny sound in your car and kept saying "I'll look into that" until one day your engine warps because it was bone-dry with no oil, and you simply forgot to look.
It's too bad, when the smallest missed moments dictate the biggest changes in our lives. One little word you didn't speak, one tiny second of checking your bills, one ounce of energy spent turning off your tunnel-driven path to investigate something that your intuition is affected by.
So much happens when we miss moments. The ripples start small, then expound into waves, then tsunamis crashing on-shore in a tidal of terror, tearing apart the trees and beaches we meant to preserve to soundly, all because of one little rock we let drop into the lake, that we thought about catching but didn't.
Maybe the process is natural. Maybe there's some kind of evolutionary purpose or advantage to these things. I mean, there is usually a force of some kind making balance out of chaos, and we're part of that force. So maybe our actions are the governors of change, bringing balance in the long-term.
I don't know. It reminds me of that phrase, "kicking against the pricks". There is the occasion that when I do something, I feel so wrong and out-of-balance about it that no matter how much I justify it logically in my mind, it still doesn't seem right. Sometimes though, when you do enough stuff and eventually nothing feels right, you don't know whether its your total misperception of pretty much everything, or that you're just plainly not doing anything right.
This is that weird thing about intuition: when your body tells you to do something and you don't do it, you're not listening to your intuition. Right?
I'm not sure. Because I get in big trouble sometimes when I do what my body it telling me is best to do. We live in this world that tells us to "sometimes listen to our bodies". Sometimes? Hmm. This gets really really complicated then, because what that means is that the "other times" when we choose to not listen to our bodies, we're fully using our imaginations to conceptualize an experience that will ultimately provide an outcome more valuable and greater for our personal well-being than what our body originally wanted us to do. It's like an override. A veto. Let's say your body was the body of the people, a democratic body comprised of your whole living organism, and your Logic (your brain, I suppose) was the President of that body, overseeing the greater version of you and making sure everything is going OK. Well imagine your body starts to experience something. It hurts, or something. Your foot hurts. And your President recognizes a conflict, looks down at the foot, and sees nothing. There's no cut, no bruise..nothing. So your President is faced with a decision: He can either acknowledge the body's strange invisible pain and do something about it, or he can Veto the call of pain, telling the rest of the body "There is nothing wrong with you, I won't listen to you anymore about this". (works a lot like our actual presidential system, really)
So the democratic body is in pain, but the Presidential logic has overridden the call with a "suck it up" veto.
Intuition. Who's more correct? The President's all-seeing eye, or the Democratic body's sense of touch? Reason versus Feeling. Here's what I think I'm trying to say: I don't want to differentiate between what I'm feeling and what I should feel in a given situation. I think in nature there is no differentiation, and we've only created it because our intelligence has become so far-removed from reality. We've invented these social, political and popular worlds that we have completely subscribed to, so that when we have an intuition to do something we are convinced by those worlds' forces to immediately reject the intuition as, "crazy" "insane" "dorky" "rude" "mean" "disrespectul" "ugly" "annoying" "politically incorrect" "too ________" fill in the blank, because you know you've said it or heard it about yourself.
I believe that we all have a built-in safety monitor that makes valid, unquestionable decisions for us before we even think. It's the same mechanism that helps us catch ourselves when we stumble, or duck from something flying at our faces. In our imagined society that we love to live in so much, there's sh*t flying at our heads in all directions, and for some reason we only duck some of the time. The rest of the time is spent getting beaten like stuffed duffel bag. Why is this? Why do we put up with it? Because we're all trying to get along? I'm not sure. I'll come back to this.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Yeah, I think it's been a week. Hasn't it? Has it been longer than I week?
I don't know. I can't really keep track of my own life any more. There's not really rhyme and reason that I'm creating that I can really see. It used to be that when I did stuff, I had structure, and purpose, and "ultimate goals". I remember being in the 8th grade and first coming up with this intention of ultimate goals. Now I'm something like 27 and literally no different than then: minus the goals. I feel like I might have even regressed, really. So now I'm sitting in front of this computer after maybe 11 hours of work, seriously void of any ultimate goals other than the pretentious plans to make money at my jobs. Sure, that's fun. And sure, I enjoy thinking about other things...but none of it feel like it's worth as much as it used to.
I remember a day when I'd walk out onto the sands of a nearby hill, scraping my toes in the silence as a breeze flew by, listening to the quailing of a bird chirp, the waves of fog down the slope weaving nothingness into somethingness, and my vision extending past all horizons to the not-so-interesting Monterey Peaks stabbing thoughtlessly into my deep horizonline. But then, there was Eternity in it. There was habitual foreverness living and breathing between my eyes. I could feel it on the wind. I could taste it with every fresh breath of coffee I swallowed before seven AM on those distant mornings past. I remember scraping my toes against a white and rocky hilltop at the base of College 8 in May. I looked out at the horizon, like I always had, and bent down to the earth's crest just beneath that scraping toe. With outstretched fingers I gripped the sand, pulling dust and rocks between my left hand in a gesture of welcome to the warm ground. The crumble of rocks and dry dirt between my fingers felt foreign, and I remember remembering...I remembered then that I was alive, and that nothing preceded or proceeded, it was all temporary and I had forgotten completely until that moment (when I remembered) that I was bloody alive.
I remembered tonight. As my bloody right wrist oozed speckled bits of red, and in the chill of a 2:30am keg-room twisting lengths of tape around a hissing missing co2 tube against the head of several looming kegs, I felt something. It was somewhat moving, somewhat breathy. It heaved inside of me, in that great incredible 'I lost myself' sort of way. I used to feel this after coming off from standing on a stage, realizing I had just performed in front of hundreds of strangers something I'd been practicing and believing for months. And tonight, for some reason, I felt that same reality strike me evenly between the forearms sometime around 2am in a kegroom.
I don't intend to work at a bar, or a restaurant, for my entire career of life. But I do so love the intensity and authenticity of desperate eyes darting between your hands and full plates, your eyes and their empty glasses, the strange "can you help me?" glances you get while running between duties..I don't know why but it's as mysterious and inviting as any stage or cathedral, but on this minute and miniature extreme.
There's three torns I face every morning when I wake up. Are you ready? Could you care? I don't even care if you care, since I've never cared what anybody else thought...and if I did it was for an artificial minute. Here's my three torns, every morning:
1- I want to live in a mountain, utterly and completely excluded and separate from Americanism, off the land without the hazards of health and diet, with the select few people who wish to do the same. In this life I want to explore and observe nature, enjoy the cool and fresh outdoors, swim in rivers, hike to high mountaintops and breath without bounds or binds forever contractless and exhaustingly pleased.
2 - I want to live in the thickest heart of the deepest city's mould. I want to churn with the butter of other men, working labor and listening to the woeful tunes of fellow miserables. I want to eat the bread of the poor and salivate over riches and rewards. I want to watch the dirt collect on city streets, listen to the stories of healthy men with their noses in Budweisers. I want to work and work and deliver my meaning to thousands, climbing the ladders that are set before me and ambitiously dissolving the mysteries of Americanism before all our very eyes. I want to enjoy the truth of difference, knowing that I have edgy validation and an eye for authenticity that few can acknowledge. I want to work my way heartily into the ranks of high-caliber social movers and shakers, infiltrating and reorganizing and revitalizing my parts of society in such efficient and variable ways that everybody will be excited for the new dawn that we will all present.
3 - I've forgotten the third. Maybe it'll come to me. For a long time I've remembered these first two, being between the mountains and the city. I know I have a knack for living outside the realm of humanity, and nothing is more tantalizing I assure you. But I also know I have a knack for respecting and dealing with humanity in a way that is referential and respectful. I don't want to be stuck in either for too long.
That's my problem. I'm stuck in a temporary mindset for the time being. Everything I think about is temporary, to the point of worry about my own health in a temporary state of dissatisfaction. I catch myself occasionally unhappy with a specific part of my life, and I try to solve the situation. But then a night like tonight rolls on along, when you have those moments in the kegroom or you're standing at the bar and suddenly a jerk of utter reality removes you completely from your brain and in a second you are standing naked before the truths you once subscribed so vividly and actually completely for...it shakes you. I'm shaken tonight. And my temporary mindset makes me angry, that I can even conceieve of my life in this odd, off, unreal and temporary existence.
No. No. There is a right answer. And it lies between your toes within the gravel. Go barefoot to a hill nearby and smell that fresh salty ocean air, or that clean mountain breeze, or even that nasty dump stench or chlorinated aroma filling your nose-hairs...regardless, that's where the only truth lies. And there's a secret in that truth. It tells you about everything you ever once felt, and how you can feel it again. And again. And again. All over again for the rest of your life if you choose to let it.
That's all that matters then really. That feeling. Because you knew it then, when you were giddy and running around the hallways of the Beach Boardwalk like a 12-year-old, and you will know it again whether you ever wanted to or not. So embrace, love, and live it up.
adios.
I don't know. I can't really keep track of my own life any more. There's not really rhyme and reason that I'm creating that I can really see. It used to be that when I did stuff, I had structure, and purpose, and "ultimate goals". I remember being in the 8th grade and first coming up with this intention of ultimate goals. Now I'm something like 27 and literally no different than then: minus the goals. I feel like I might have even regressed, really. So now I'm sitting in front of this computer after maybe 11 hours of work, seriously void of any ultimate goals other than the pretentious plans to make money at my jobs. Sure, that's fun. And sure, I enjoy thinking about other things...but none of it feel like it's worth as much as it used to.
I remember a day when I'd walk out onto the sands of a nearby hill, scraping my toes in the silence as a breeze flew by, listening to the quailing of a bird chirp, the waves of fog down the slope weaving nothingness into somethingness, and my vision extending past all horizons to the not-so-interesting Monterey Peaks stabbing thoughtlessly into my deep horizonline. But then, there was Eternity in it. There was habitual foreverness living and breathing between my eyes. I could feel it on the wind. I could taste it with every fresh breath of coffee I swallowed before seven AM on those distant mornings past. I remember scraping my toes against a white and rocky hilltop at the base of College 8 in May. I looked out at the horizon, like I always had, and bent down to the earth's crest just beneath that scraping toe. With outstretched fingers I gripped the sand, pulling dust and rocks between my left hand in a gesture of welcome to the warm ground. The crumble of rocks and dry dirt between my fingers felt foreign, and I remember remembering...I remembered then that I was alive, and that nothing preceded or proceeded, it was all temporary and I had forgotten completely until that moment (when I remembered) that I was bloody alive.
I remembered tonight. As my bloody right wrist oozed speckled bits of red, and in the chill of a 2:30am keg-room twisting lengths of tape around a hissing missing co2 tube against the head of several looming kegs, I felt something. It was somewhat moving, somewhat breathy. It heaved inside of me, in that great incredible 'I lost myself' sort of way. I used to feel this after coming off from standing on a stage, realizing I had just performed in front of hundreds of strangers something I'd been practicing and believing for months. And tonight, for some reason, I felt that same reality strike me evenly between the forearms sometime around 2am in a kegroom.
I don't intend to work at a bar, or a restaurant, for my entire career of life. But I do so love the intensity and authenticity of desperate eyes darting between your hands and full plates, your eyes and their empty glasses, the strange "can you help me?" glances you get while running between duties..I don't know why but it's as mysterious and inviting as any stage or cathedral, but on this minute and miniature extreme.
There's three torns I face every morning when I wake up. Are you ready? Could you care? I don't even care if you care, since I've never cared what anybody else thought...and if I did it was for an artificial minute. Here's my three torns, every morning:
1- I want to live in a mountain, utterly and completely excluded and separate from Americanism, off the land without the hazards of health and diet, with the select few people who wish to do the same. In this life I want to explore and observe nature, enjoy the cool and fresh outdoors, swim in rivers, hike to high mountaintops and breath without bounds or binds forever contractless and exhaustingly pleased.
2 - I want to live in the thickest heart of the deepest city's mould. I want to churn with the butter of other men, working labor and listening to the woeful tunes of fellow miserables. I want to eat the bread of the poor and salivate over riches and rewards. I want to watch the dirt collect on city streets, listen to the stories of healthy men with their noses in Budweisers. I want to work and work and deliver my meaning to thousands, climbing the ladders that are set before me and ambitiously dissolving the mysteries of Americanism before all our very eyes. I want to enjoy the truth of difference, knowing that I have edgy validation and an eye for authenticity that few can acknowledge. I want to work my way heartily into the ranks of high-caliber social movers and shakers, infiltrating and reorganizing and revitalizing my parts of society in such efficient and variable ways that everybody will be excited for the new dawn that we will all present.
3 - I've forgotten the third. Maybe it'll come to me. For a long time I've remembered these first two, being between the mountains and the city. I know I have a knack for living outside the realm of humanity, and nothing is more tantalizing I assure you. But I also know I have a knack for respecting and dealing with humanity in a way that is referential and respectful. I don't want to be stuck in either for too long.
That's my problem. I'm stuck in a temporary mindset for the time being. Everything I think about is temporary, to the point of worry about my own health in a temporary state of dissatisfaction. I catch myself occasionally unhappy with a specific part of my life, and I try to solve the situation. But then a night like tonight rolls on along, when you have those moments in the kegroom or you're standing at the bar and suddenly a jerk of utter reality removes you completely from your brain and in a second you are standing naked before the truths you once subscribed so vividly and actually completely for...it shakes you. I'm shaken tonight. And my temporary mindset makes me angry, that I can even conceieve of my life in this odd, off, unreal and temporary existence.
No. No. There is a right answer. And it lies between your toes within the gravel. Go barefoot to a hill nearby and smell that fresh salty ocean air, or that clean mountain breeze, or even that nasty dump stench or chlorinated aroma filling your nose-hairs...regardless, that's where the only truth lies. And there's a secret in that truth. It tells you about everything you ever once felt, and how you can feel it again. And again. And again. All over again for the rest of your life if you choose to let it.
That's all that matters then really. That feeling. Because you knew it then, when you were giddy and running around the hallways of the Beach Boardwalk like a 12-year-old, and you will know it again whether you ever wanted to or not. So embrace, love, and live it up.
adios.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Migshausted
Dilemmatime.
So, I'm sitting here on a comfortable queensize bed in a lofty 5th floor hotel room fit for a King Mikie, sprawled out with socks off in all my purpletoes glory - after 6 hours of flying, 9 hours of driving 5 hours of walking and 2 hours of sleeping over the past 1 1/2 days, in New York (a 3 hour time differnce) relaxed for once when I get a call that a few of my friends are 40
blocks away in this town from back home and I need I hop on the subway and ride the half hour trip to come have a drink. I have to wake up early tomorrow. And I'm stuck not sure what to do. I'm tired
So, I'm sitting here on a comfortable queensize bed in a lofty 5th floor hotel room fit for a King Mikie, sprawled out with socks off in all my purpletoes glory - after 6 hours of flying, 9 hours of driving 5 hours of walking and 2 hours of sleeping over the past 1 1/2 days, in New York (a 3 hour time differnce) relaxed for once when I get a call that a few of my friends are 40
blocks away in this town from back home and I need I hop on the subway and ride the half hour trip to come have a drink. I have to wake up early tomorrow. And I'm stuck not sure what to do. I'm tired
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Storylike Fantasy Blog
For the last few days, I have found myself in scenarios where I will come up with some really profound idea that I want to write down - and I'll be driving so I can't. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to write something down while driving, but its virtually impossible. Your handwriting is sub-standard the quality of a three-year-old, and the thoughts have to be arranged between frenetic braking and swerving. So what pretty much happens is, I don't write the idea down.
Although sometimes I do, and gladly so.
How many times have you had an earth-shattering premonition, or hummed a virally catchy tune that you improvised, and wished you had some way of recording or writing down in the moment so you could remember forever? It happens to me quite frequently, actually. Say, for instance, I'm walking downtown any downtown I'm in and looking up at the trees or across the street at total strangers. I'll have a thought about the color of their shirts or the function of leaves on a tree, then that thought will take me to another thought, and another until finally I'm in another land filling me with wonder of the things I've never learned about before. Then with my fresh perspective and experience-laden youth I am free to dream up a solution to timeless problems that no man nor woman has summoned, so with brilliance lighting my eyes I think, "this is it! I could really expand on this! I have found the clue, the cure for all the pestilence riddling mankind- this is the savior of ideas!!" Excitedly I'll walk along, riding the wave of enthusiasm, smiling smugly at the strangers, knowing that I know, and someday they too will know of my genius, so close, yet so far away, and they'll cry with their arms outspread, "Thank you! Thank you for saving us! You've brought light where once was darkness! Now we are free and can live alongside mankind and nature alike in harmony!"
Then within minutes I'm distracted by a crosswalk and the rims on a fancy vehicle stopped behind the white lines. So our minds move on to all the rest of petty daily life, forgetting these lost moments of heightened revelation.
Don't you just wish that in these moments we could stop time and write a whole book of thoughts for others to think too? The book would include the entire thought process, from what triggered each question to the final and total conclusive realization that each of us have, for each conclusion we come upon each day in our minds. Then everybody could have a chance to understand where we're coming from, and maybe where we should go. I wish there was a device that could transcribe thoughts into words and words onto paper without language to catch us inbetween.
Alright, enough of this crap I should probably go to work. Or on a bike ride. And realize the meaning of Life all over again.
Peace.
Although sometimes I do, and gladly so.
How many times have you had an earth-shattering premonition, or hummed a virally catchy tune that you improvised, and wished you had some way of recording or writing down in the moment so you could remember forever? It happens to me quite frequently, actually. Say, for instance, I'm walking downtown any downtown I'm in and looking up at the trees or across the street at total strangers. I'll have a thought about the color of their shirts or the function of leaves on a tree, then that thought will take me to another thought, and another until finally I'm in another land filling me with wonder of the things I've never learned about before. Then with my fresh perspective and experience-laden youth I am free to dream up a solution to timeless problems that no man nor woman has summoned, so with brilliance lighting my eyes I think, "this is it! I could really expand on this! I have found the clue, the cure for all the pestilence riddling mankind- this is the savior of ideas!!" Excitedly I'll walk along, riding the wave of enthusiasm, smiling smugly at the strangers, knowing that I know, and someday they too will know of my genius, so close, yet so far away, and they'll cry with their arms outspread, "Thank you! Thank you for saving us! You've brought light where once was darkness! Now we are free and can live alongside mankind and nature alike in harmony!"
Then within minutes I'm distracted by a crosswalk and the rims on a fancy vehicle stopped behind the white lines. So our minds move on to all the rest of petty daily life, forgetting these lost moments of heightened revelation.
Don't you just wish that in these moments we could stop time and write a whole book of thoughts for others to think too? The book would include the entire thought process, from what triggered each question to the final and total conclusive realization that each of us have, for each conclusion we come upon each day in our minds. Then everybody could have a chance to understand where we're coming from, and maybe where we should go. I wish there was a device that could transcribe thoughts into words and words onto paper without language to catch us inbetween.
Alright, enough of this crap I should probably go to work. Or on a bike ride. And realize the meaning of Life all over again.
Peace.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Five Facts
There may be them who's skeptical,
but rely on my words
I have several facts to tell
in no order of their worth:
Number One, I love my life
and Two, I'm very happy.
The Third discloses hidden truth
saying: I admire Santa Cruz.
(There's something reckless in the woods
here, something 'neath the tracks
behind the breathless sunset skies,
around downtown souvenir shops
that keeps me, angry, wanting more,
that never shuts me up.)
A Fourth fact lying more obscure
within my psychic state
declares that there is no man, woman, child
whom I hate. But also
more importantly, is larger
Number Five, I see in everyone
A power more than any God,
I see the great ability
to think, create and love.
There is no face that can avoid
the Human in us all
heroes cloaked in business suits,
heroines in their blush masks
crooked hats on shaved hair
hiding passion, pain, despair
I see mothers loving daughters
I see fathers loving mothers.
Every person is the God we worship
every one is great.
That's why I sometimes want to buck
society's occasion,
which places us all categorized
in an infallible invasion.
I am not privy to their games
no contract did I sign,
though I see value in arranging
people in a line.
(I always find myself stuck
between a rock and that Hard Place
that draws me closer telling me
there is no other choice.)
At least, despite the answer which
seems still has not been found,
There are Five Facts I can remember
when I'm feeling down:
I am in love with everything,
I am in love with you,
I love my life, I'm happy
and I do love Santa Cruz.
I love everybody out there,
Everyone is God.
Forgive me if I sometimes preach
things I know little of
We all stick to our guns anyway,
when all you need is Love.
but rely on my words
I have several facts to tell
in no order of their worth:
Number One, I love my life
and Two, I'm very happy.
The Third discloses hidden truth
saying: I admire Santa Cruz.
(There's something reckless in the woods
here, something 'neath the tracks
behind the breathless sunset skies,
around downtown souvenir shops
that keeps me, angry, wanting more,
that never shuts me up.)
A Fourth fact lying more obscure
within my psychic state
declares that there is no man, woman, child
whom I hate. But also
more importantly, is larger
Number Five, I see in everyone
A power more than any God,
I see the great ability
to think, create and love.
There is no face that can avoid
the Human in us all
heroes cloaked in business suits,
heroines in their blush masks
crooked hats on shaved hair
hiding passion, pain, despair
I see mothers loving daughters
I see fathers loving mothers.
Every person is the God we worship
every one is great.
That's why I sometimes want to buck
society's occasion,
which places us all categorized
in an infallible invasion.
I am not privy to their games
no contract did I sign,
though I see value in arranging
people in a line.
(I always find myself stuck
between a rock and that Hard Place
that draws me closer telling me
there is no other choice.)
At least, despite the answer which
seems still has not been found,
There are Five Facts I can remember
when I'm feeling down:
I am in love with everything,
I am in love with you,
I love my life, I'm happy
and I do love Santa Cruz.
I love everybody out there,
Everyone is God.
Forgive me if I sometimes preach
things I know little of
We all stick to our guns anyway,
when all you need is Love.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Maiden of Youth
The nice thing about being raised in the generation that I have been is that if I ever get sick of the music that's coming out, I can reach back to a whole load of oldies that I've haven't heard before. And for me, those oldies include Classic Rock.
Lately, I've discovered some local radio stations that play Classic Rock. My purpose here is to divulge to you why this particular style of music strikes such a nostalgic chord in me, why I can't seem to get enough of Van Halen, Bryan Adams, Guns N' Roses, Journey, the Scorpions, Iron Maiden, you name it. The reason why I love dual-guitars screaming shredded riffs against high-pitched melodic wailings and heavy drum beats comes from two parts of my childhood: Nintendo and Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.
If you look back through most Nintendo games that were good, the music is an integral part of the experience. You're clicking and bonking around on the screen, but with synthesized guitars and flat bass drums bonking around with you. No Battletoads level would be the same if you were bonking and kicking in silence, in those 4-bit frog tunnels. No, you needed synthetic guitars and weird baselines to serenade you.
I credit Nintendo, but I think the evolution of classic rock in video games really reached its crescendo with Doom. Now I know you know what Doom is. And if you don't, it's easy to describe: imagine futurisitc military bases filled with snarling hairy scaly monsters drooling and howling in the darkness, while you're fitted with an arsenal of guns bigger than your arm ready to blow the creatures to smithereens. All this to the tune of... well, have you ever listened to Iron Maiden? Yes? If so, take out the words, and you've got Doom. I didn't exactly make this connection until late into my early twenties. It happened one day when I was re-watching both Bill and Ted movies, after a several-year hiatus. Somewhere in the middle of Bogus Journey, I realized that I had heard the words "Iron Maiden" and "ACDC" hundreds of time in my youth, played air guitar with abandon, and I had no idea what these bands sounded like. So at 23 years old, in the early 2000's, I researched Iron Maiden on a music downloading service. The song that had the most hits was "The Trooper," so I downloaded and played it back through my computer speakers. Instantly I was blown back to Base 1: Level 1 with rocket launcher in hand, swaying back and forth as I ran through military bunkers. I loved it! I'd come across an entire genre of music that brings back those synthesized, repetitive guitar riffs from my video games and puts them to life! It was like someone was covering my favorite music, but better!
I was taken aback. How could I have missed this?
It took a little while to understand. It's not that I had never heard these guys before, but rather that I had never listened to them before. I had never put on one of their albums, and listened to their music. Like so much of the information we process inadvertently every day, I had been indirectly exposed to music from bands like Iron Maiden since a very young age. My parents certainly never popped in old Guns N' Roses albums or sang Journey lyrics during my upbringing, but rather it was from the windows of other cars, radio songs at school dances, soundtracks to movies, stereos of brothers and sisters, friends, even cartoons and video games that gave me all the classic rock experiences that I didn't know I had had. So now I'm in my mid-twenties, listening to music I never actually listened to as a kid, feeling more at home in my skin than if I put on some mellow Iron and Wine or bumped to Flo Rida. You know? It's almost like this indirect exposure has had more impact on my subconscious than the influences I directly focus on and listen to... I mean, why when I hear Journey songs do I feel like I've been listening to them all my life when I didn't even know who Journey was until my second-to-last year of college?
So now I'm on Pandora. Rocking to "Emotion" by Aerosmith. I might be the only person my age who rocks out so viciously to this stuff, but you know it's in you too - that desire to let it all go and revisit every nuance of your childhood dreams. If you can find it in a type of music, what better way to spend a Saturday morning than by listening with pleasure while you clean the kitchen and get ready for another day.
Peace
Mikie
Lately, I've discovered some local radio stations that play Classic Rock. My purpose here is to divulge to you why this particular style of music strikes such a nostalgic chord in me, why I can't seem to get enough of Van Halen, Bryan Adams, Guns N' Roses, Journey, the Scorpions, Iron Maiden, you name it. The reason why I love dual-guitars screaming shredded riffs against high-pitched melodic wailings and heavy drum beats comes from two parts of my childhood: Nintendo and Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.
If you look back through most Nintendo games that were good, the music is an integral part of the experience. You're clicking and bonking around on the screen, but with synthesized guitars and flat bass drums bonking around with you. No Battletoads level would be the same if you were bonking and kicking in silence, in those 4-bit frog tunnels. No, you needed synthetic guitars and weird baselines to serenade you.
I credit Nintendo, but I think the evolution of classic rock in video games really reached its crescendo with Doom. Now I know you know what Doom is. And if you don't, it's easy to describe: imagine futurisitc military bases filled with snarling hairy scaly monsters drooling and howling in the darkness, while you're fitted with an arsenal of guns bigger than your arm ready to blow the creatures to smithereens. All this to the tune of... well, have you ever listened to Iron Maiden? Yes? If so, take out the words, and you've got Doom. I didn't exactly make this connection until late into my early twenties. It happened one day when I was re-watching both Bill and Ted movies, after a several-year hiatus. Somewhere in the middle of Bogus Journey, I realized that I had heard the words "Iron Maiden" and "ACDC" hundreds of time in my youth, played air guitar with abandon, and I had no idea what these bands sounded like. So at 23 years old, in the early 2000's, I researched Iron Maiden on a music downloading service. The song that had the most hits was "The Trooper," so I downloaded and played it back through my computer speakers. Instantly I was blown back to Base 1: Level 1 with rocket launcher in hand, swaying back and forth as I ran through military bunkers. I loved it! I'd come across an entire genre of music that brings back those synthesized, repetitive guitar riffs from my video games and puts them to life! It was like someone was covering my favorite music, but better!
I was taken aback. How could I have missed this?
It took a little while to understand. It's not that I had never heard these guys before, but rather that I had never listened to them before. I had never put on one of their albums, and listened to their music. Like so much of the information we process inadvertently every day, I had been indirectly exposed to music from bands like Iron Maiden since a very young age. My parents certainly never popped in old Guns N' Roses albums or sang Journey lyrics during my upbringing, but rather it was from the windows of other cars, radio songs at school dances, soundtracks to movies, stereos of brothers and sisters, friends, even cartoons and video games that gave me all the classic rock experiences that I didn't know I had had. So now I'm in my mid-twenties, listening to music I never actually listened to as a kid, feeling more at home in my skin than if I put on some mellow Iron and Wine or bumped to Flo Rida. You know? It's almost like this indirect exposure has had more impact on my subconscious than the influences I directly focus on and listen to... I mean, why when I hear Journey songs do I feel like I've been listening to them all my life when I didn't even know who Journey was until my second-to-last year of college?
So now I'm on Pandora. Rocking to "Emotion" by Aerosmith. I might be the only person my age who rocks out so viciously to this stuff, but you know it's in you too - that desire to let it all go and revisit every nuance of your childhood dreams. If you can find it in a type of music, what better way to spend a Saturday morning than by listening with pleasure while you clean the kitchen and get ready for another day.
Peace
Mikie
Dudebras
What's the difference between now and 5 minutes ago?
5 minutes ago there weren't three chocolate chip cookies in my stomach.
All About Dudebras: A Bro-ography
by Mikie Beatty
Dudebras can range from shaggy blond-haired wannabes to heavy buzz-cut button-up hip-hoppers.
Dudebras live in the rural vicinity of mid to northern California. You will not find the Dudebra outside of this region. Not even LA. Dudebras reign supreme between the coastal regions of San Luis Obispo and Half Moon Bay. The epicenter of Dudebradom is a place called Santa Cruz.
Before going outside, Dudebras will study hat placement.
Meticulously, the hat will be lowered, tilted and leveled with the bill matching the horizon line perfectly, resting just above the eyes.
Dudebras are locals, but also may be from out of town only if they reign from the "East Coast".
Dudebras have girlfriends, but lie to them in order to sleep with other Dudebras' girlfriends.
Dudebras practice incest amongst friends. If one Dudebra has finished doing his chick, another Dudebra is expected to get his game on, on the finished female. If he does not succeed, an outside Dudebra will swoop if there is too much downtime (ie. if the female does not have sex for more than 24 hours).
Dudebras don't speak, they chortle. You can recognize the resonating chortles of a Dudebra from outside of any bar or alcoholic gathering place on a given Thursday night.
Dudebras seek doing nothing to make money. The average Dudebra is "loaded", meaning his income exceeds his expenditures on a yearly basis greatly. This is usually due to fortunate circumstances because of a deceased Father, a hard-working grandfather who's ethics disappeared with the Dudebra's father, or a lucky friend who pyramid-schemed the Dudebra into joining. Dudebra's will refuse to work, but be pissed! if they don't have money to spend.
Dudebras are fat. No Dudebra will ever be asked if he was "gay or straight?" because of his looks. In order to prove to all ladies that he is not gay, the Dudebra will be fatter than average. You might look at the Dudebra and think he is buff or beefy or built or ripped - but you will secretly know that what you' are saying is that he is fat and you just don't mind. Admit it.
Dudebras have facial hair.
I have pubic hair.
Dudebras have facial hair.
Dudebras say phrases like, "if you have a boyfriend, why isn't he here?" Dudebras don't know any other subjects besides girls, and so their sources for conversation topics are limited to "...well where is your boyfriend now" etc. Dudebras think global warming is for geeks. A Dudebra knows that the beach is for "surfing and walk my dog". And a forest is for Trees.
Dudebras have dogs. A Dudebra would never have a cat because chicks have cats. Dudebras have pit-mix dogs. These are called bra-dogs. If you see a pit-mix playing and looking cute, it is because a Dudebra is in the nearby vicinity.
Dudebras will hit on your girlfriend when you are not around. This is not a warning, it is a statement; be aware of if you are planning a visit to Northern California. Or your girlfriend is.
Dudebras don't have guns. They've never touched a gun. But they can talk about guns, and talk about rap music about guns. But Dudebras will not have guns. Dudebras might have knives, but only pocket ones.
Dudebras just got out of a long-term relationship and so are just looking to "f*ck around" with chicks. At a bar, 96% of dudebras just want to "f*ck around" with chicks, 2% want to "get with" chicks, 1% is looking for true love, .75% are too drunk to look for chicks, and .25% will end up gay by the end of the night.
That's all I have for now.
Goodnight
5 minutes ago there weren't three chocolate chip cookies in my stomach.
All About Dudebras: A Bro-ography
by Mikie Beatty
Dudebras can range from shaggy blond-haired wannabes to heavy buzz-cut button-up hip-hoppers.
Dudebras live in the rural vicinity of mid to northern California. You will not find the Dudebra outside of this region. Not even LA. Dudebras reign supreme between the coastal regions of San Luis Obispo and Half Moon Bay. The epicenter of Dudebradom is a place called Santa Cruz.
Before going outside, Dudebras will study hat placement.
Meticulously, the hat will be lowered, tilted and leveled with the bill matching the horizon line perfectly, resting just above the eyes.
Dudebras are locals, but also may be from out of town only if they reign from the "East Coast".
Dudebras have girlfriends, but lie to them in order to sleep with other Dudebras' girlfriends.
Dudebras practice incest amongst friends. If one Dudebra has finished doing his chick, another Dudebra is expected to get his game on, on the finished female. If he does not succeed, an outside Dudebra will swoop if there is too much downtime (ie. if the female does not have sex for more than 24 hours).
Dudebras don't speak, they chortle. You can recognize the resonating chortles of a Dudebra from outside of any bar or alcoholic gathering place on a given Thursday night.
Dudebras seek doing nothing to make money. The average Dudebra is "loaded", meaning his income exceeds his expenditures on a yearly basis greatly. This is usually due to fortunate circumstances because of a deceased Father, a hard-working grandfather who's ethics disappeared with the Dudebra's father, or a lucky friend who pyramid-schemed the Dudebra into joining. Dudebra's will refuse to work, but be pissed! if they don't have money to spend.
Dudebras are fat. No Dudebra will ever be asked if he was "gay or straight?" because of his looks. In order to prove to all ladies that he is not gay, the Dudebra will be fatter than average. You might look at the Dudebra and think he is buff or beefy or built or ripped - but you will secretly know that what you' are saying is that he is fat and you just don't mind. Admit it.
Dudebras have facial hair.
I have pubic hair.
Dudebras have facial hair.
Dudebras say phrases like, "if you have a boyfriend, why isn't he here?" Dudebras don't know any other subjects besides girls, and so their sources for conversation topics are limited to "...well where is your boyfriend now" etc. Dudebras think global warming is for geeks. A Dudebra knows that the beach is for "surfing and walk my dog". And a forest is for Trees.
Dudebras have dogs. A Dudebra would never have a cat because chicks have cats. Dudebras have pit-mix dogs. These are called bra-dogs. If you see a pit-mix playing and looking cute, it is because a Dudebra is in the nearby vicinity.
Dudebras will hit on your girlfriend when you are not around. This is not a warning, it is a statement; be aware of if you are planning a visit to Northern California. Or your girlfriend is.
Dudebras don't have guns. They've never touched a gun. But they can talk about guns, and talk about rap music about guns. But Dudebras will not have guns. Dudebras might have knives, but only pocket ones.
Dudebras just got out of a long-term relationship and so are just looking to "f*ck around" with chicks. At a bar, 96% of dudebras just want to "f*ck around" with chicks, 2% want to "get with" chicks, 1% is looking for true love, .75% are too drunk to look for chicks, and .25% will end up gay by the end of the night.
That's all I have for now.
Goodnight
Friday, April 3, 2009
the wanting comes in waves
Check out the new Decemberists' album. I've been obsessed with it (just ask Candice, she hasn't heard the end of my excitement). Basically, Colin Meloy created a sort of rock opera that celebrates and condemns love and its amazing. His songs blend together as one cohesive story about a few circumstances, mostly having to do with a pregnant maiden, a fawn-boy, a forest mother and a foxy knave, all intertwined through some seamless use of the english language. Colin Meloy keeps you immersed, and if you listen very carefully you won't be disappointed by the graceful abundance of alliterations and poetic devices - and blended with music throughout - it's like watching a movie in your mind to the tune of Meloy and his ladies' wonderful voice and instrumental fusions.
OK I just wanted to rant for second, because I loved it. I went to and came back from LA this week, and listened to the album (along with Taylor Swift) a good few times.
LA is fantastic, by the way. It's a wanting city of waves, full of people who dream someimes too big. I still have slight doubts when I visit, but they're subjective and fear-based. Because at the same time I have a strong desire in me to keep trying new things and meeting new people - and LA is a great place to do just that mostly safely.
I don't know. But I really want to sink my teeth into something right now, something juicy and delicious, that will feed me insatiable urges. Where's blabe. Blabe?
OK I just wanted to rant for second, because I loved it. I went to and came back from LA this week, and listened to the album (along with Taylor Swift) a good few times.
LA is fantastic, by the way. It's a wanting city of waves, full of people who dream someimes too big. I still have slight doubts when I visit, but they're subjective and fear-based. Because at the same time I have a strong desire in me to keep trying new things and meeting new people - and LA is a great place to do just that mostly safely.
I don't know. But I really want to sink my teeth into something right now, something juicy and delicious, that will feed me insatiable urges. Where's blabe. Blabe?
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