smoochy koochy hoo "If there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts."~quoted by Conchita from Anna Karenina in Anna in the Tropics


I don't really like to talk about love much, maybe because it is so personal, or maybe because I don't want people to think I am in love at the moment because I mention it, but I can't help but ponder it. I know the biblical implications of love are forever. But i struggle with whether this means once the words "I love you" exit your mouth you ought to be solely entitled to that one romantic love to that one being. Or can it be taken that love, once blossomed, will stay forever but perhaps in a changing form. For instance, today I love you as a friend, tomorrow, I will love you as a boyfriend, next week I will love you like a husband, and in 4 years, we will divorce and I will again love you as a friend, or possibly even an acquantance, but the love never dissappears. This entire idea of unending love does not so much as perplex me, but rather makes me weary. Should I dare say "I love you" to anyone in fear that I may, perhaps, find that in the future they may become evil in some way but still possessing my love? Scary, to me, is giving a gift that you can never get back  ¶ 10:15 PM 3 Comments

  All you Need is Love Sitting im my car with the windows down, I watched a small balck beatle fly its way onto my rear-view mirror and nestles itself into a craet between glass and plastic. First noting his metalic coloring, then his ugly but fascinating head, i proceeded to turn on the engine of my enviro-killing machine. As I pulled back I expected the bug to loose its grip from the sudden movement, fall onto the pavement, and make its way back to where-ever it came from. But the little bug had so perfectly placed itself that it was completely sheltered from the wind and movement. Trying not to be phased, I drove through the parking-lot, eyes (not so safely) fixed on the little bug until I entered onto TV highway.

Now this bug (who I named Mr. McCartney for his weird face and obvious connection to THE Beatles) must have had some pretty strong legs because he held on all the way until I reached the stop to turn onto Brookwood. While this tenacious bug found shelter in the hot plasic of my car, I began to worry (please don't judge me). I had just taken Poor Mr. McCartney miles away from any home he knew and placed him in an atmosphere where he may not be able to survive.So caught in my concern, that I didn't even remember that he.....is a bug. Mr. McCartney has no home. He can live where he wants, eat where he wants, poop where he wants, and do whatever the hell he pleases. Life as a bug means that he is not connected to a home like I am. He does not need his pillow to sleep at night, he is not emotionally unhinged upon being removed from his friends, and is probably not even concerned with any of those matters.

What a foriegn concept; not having or even needing a home.

At this point I felt no need to waste sorrow on this bug, he was just a lazy beatle who found the warm black surface to be comforting and hopped along for a breezy ride. It was then that I flicked the mirror to test the real strength of his grip and with the slightest touch of my finger, Mr. McCartney fell to the hot asphalt next to my tire. Being the weirdo I am, I instantly regretted my actions as I realized the mere slimness of the chance that the bug would somehow be able to dodge the tires of the F-450 following close behind me and survive the next 10 seconds of life. Unable to reach the bug and with the car behind me honking impatiently as Mr. McCartney had enable me to notice the long green light in front of me, I left the black beatle alone on the road.

Somewhere, deep within in me, I almost wish that the world had not become so dang civilized and that somehow, we all lived like Mr. McCartney. Although it would be lonely, and although it would be different, I think it would eliminate in all totality the likelyhood of ulcers.  ¶ 1:45 PM 1 Comments

  Moonlight Serenade There is a not so random connection that exists between music and sensuality. And let you mind, I mean sensuality, not sexuality. The very feeling that is incorporated with each song we hear is not only mental and emotional, but physical as well. I think this is why I enjoy dance so much. Becuase the physical sensation that I connect with and peice of music can be expressed as a pulsation in the body, a movement of the hand, or the tilt of a head.
More than often I can be found breathing in a certain way when a song comes over the speakers. Just the same my fingers move, my stomach churns and I feel the presence of something. This physical sensuality I believe is so primal, so inate that no one can escape it. No matter what type of music gets your motor running, whether it be the hard-core thrashing of rock or the ungulating rythm of salsa, music causes in you a reaction. Maybe it is this reaction that brings about the other more tracable things we connect to music. For instance, jazz makes me feel calm and reminds me of the color red. This calmness could come from not the music, but my bodily reaction to the music. I tend to sway and tap my finger when I turn to 89.1 which ironically is the exact motion I use to calm myself or whenever I feel at complete rest with something. Humm
Another conclusion that brings me to the strand that runs between music and the physical is the raw desire that people often get the cuddle, hug, or kiss when a certain song comes over the radio. Though me and my friends often call these songs "One I'd do it to" I think it goes much deeper than that. Music itself can express the natural beats in our body that we desire to achieve in a complete and intimate moment, whatever that may be. Perhaps thats why song is so highly connected with love...who really knows  ¶ 3:39 PM 2 Comments

  Jonny Eat Paste humm.....hello blog. I am home again, didn't go for long this time. But dont worry, as usual it was enough time to stur up my mind and crank out some new ponderings. This weekend was spend in San Francisco, a beautiful city with enough culture to fill the entire state of Montana. While getting my hair cut in a salon that was charging five times the reasonable fee for the fung-shi feeling and the aromatic plug-in's hidden behind the fake plants, I struck up a conversation with my stereotypical stylist who wasn't without his pink stripped shirt, steaked hair and tight jeans about the city itself. It began with me explaining my love for Oregon and him adding that he feels it would be hard to "get up" in the gray of the Northwest. But I told him it was all worth it when the skies cleared for that month in summer and there blooms more lush green than there was in the Garden of Eden. He sighed, and expressed the desire he had for more green in the city. I asked him why there weren't more trees in such an arbor-friendly climate. "People would rather make money off of build ugly buildings that plant trees".


When did the intrinsic value of trees depress in value? Was there a great depression where shrubbery and blooming fields became a dime a dozen and easier to replace than grow? It makes me want to conclude that for once and for all, the desire for money and fortune has surpassed our actual need for beauty, health, and pleasure. What the heck San Francisco?/!! What the heck to the world!@!

But blog, do not fear. The weekend was comprised of so much more than angered fists and tree-hugging. I learned the not so useless, but completely forgotten art of etiquette. What a cultural mystery. I learned rules that have no beginning, no reason or rhyme, but for some reason read sophistication and poise. Did you know that there are only four acceptable positions of the hands while seated? When I voiced my desire for "self-expression" to Ms. Barbara, I was met with no answer, and only the choice to choose. Now i am totally confused about the other 65 parts of my body and how they read about my "societal position". Culture is a funny thing.  ¶ 8:08 PM 2 Comments

  My tank was low Interesting things happen when you are tired. Its like when you loose sleep, you loose a layer. You know, the layers who make up who you are. You have on a lot of layers at school, a few less at home, sometimes minimal layering in church or worship, and hopefully no layers in love. But no matter where you are, the more layers you are wearing the less responsive you become. Sad thing is, some people get abrassions while in a minimal layer state and then vow never to return there. Thats when you get desensitized to life, love, and emotion

But sleep...lack of sleep equals the destruction of a front; for me at least. I came to this conclusion today on my way to Salem to meet up with my interview coach. Realizing that I had not done my fair share of news watching or reading and that my coach would find me severly off-gaurd and stumbling, I fumbled through the am radio stations in attempt to find something that would enlighten me on the current state of affairs in our world. Zoning in on the Progressive Radio station 620 am, I caught the tail end of a conversation about the art of video game and appreciation to technology followed by an ear-full of commercials. For some reason I decided not to mess with thh dial (maybe it was because driving a stick at 85 mph on a packed free-way seemed challenging enough) and weigh out the commercials.

About 3 minutes of rambling car-salesmen voices later, a soft voice came over the fuzzy signal. Describing in detail the beauty of the Oregon forestry, I was put into a calm trans, totally and completely invisioning myself on top of a tall tree in a crowded forest, alone. Subject to the persuasive voice, I followed her every word and began to hear the soft chirping of the birds. I know it sounds corny, but I was with the woman all the way. Then, all of a sudden the loud and obnoxious sound of a chainsaw blaired into my ears as the woman announced "These majestic forests are being torn down everyday by those who wish to destroy Oregon's beautiful timber under the legislation of President George W. Bush....." followed by a number where I could personally call our governer Ted Kulongowski and beg for the mercy for these voiceless lives. Completely and utterly upset and disturbed beyond belief, every ounce of environmentalist julted in me and I began to sob. Cry? Me? Yep. One of the most destressing and valuable messages was just given to me via cheesy, cheap, am-radio advertising and because of the -3 hours of sleep I just obtained, I was moved beyond belief.

So what did I do? I called the number to get a voicemail with so many number-pressing options it could have been confused for filling some kind of income tax over the phone, hung up, turned on some Simon and Garfunkel, and then took a nap.  ¶ 7:31 PM 2 Comments

  Saswqatching my Life Not one to complain about the given situations in life, I would like to take a moment to...well, complain. As you all know, we live in a place where capitalism is the means of survival. You wana eat? pay. You wanna rest? pay. You wanna read? pay. And that is the one that gets me. Of all the things in this life that are beautiful and absolutely necessary, knowledge is the one with a price. I firmly believe that all books should be free of monotary cost. How would this work? I have no clue. But it is ridiculous when I lay in bed at night and stare at the 19 books and magazines I have pilled high under my alarm clock and next to the trash and wish that I didn't have to read book number 3 again because I own nothing else. What punctuates my point even more are places like Barnes and Nobel, where each book is straight off the press with it's crisp stiff pages, and just to absorb any of that information outside the limits of the store, you must pay a hefty price. But they shouldn't be bought. Some books have eternal value; you can read them everyday and learn something new. But most books worth reading leave an imprint on your mind or heart or soul that you don't need to reread them to remember. They become a part of you and unless you give it to someone else, will remain a part of you and eventual the layer of dust that coats your closet shelves. Maybe we should all just distribute books like we do flyers. Samples of this world, free of cost, use it as much as you need and then pass it on. The world would be a better place if we became a eutopia of literature without bounds....



Speaking of literature, I am reading a spiritual book about living life for real, not illusioned. This book offers little that I haven't thought but words it in a way that I can finally express what floats in the puddles of my brain. It addresses how every human being desires happiness above all else. Sometimes the religious will deny this factor but ultimately, reaching God is a means of reaching happiness for most. Then why, if all are trying for the same goal, do some fail? The problem lies in what I will call identity fraud; people mistake other sensations for happiness. The book states often the path diverges at happiness verses pleasure. In other words, we settle for pleasure when happiness is more fulfilling, and sometimes in the opposite direction. Pleasure isn't bad, just temporary. Pleasure is external, sensory, fleeting, solitary and of limited capacity whereas happiness is internal, wholistic, enduring, shared and boundless in capacity. Now all I can wonder is how often do I, personally, adopt pleasure into the crevacese in my life because I have mistaken the familiar face for happiness?

It gets worse. There are more sections such as the happiness verses pleasure titled sex verses love, relief verses peace, achievement verses success, excitement verses adventure, positive thinking verses hope...the list goes on.....ugh, life is difficult  ¶ 10:14 PM 3 Comments