dilletantism, romanticism, charlatanism
Tonight, if the world is falling down
Put your best dress on
'Cause after rain there's always sun
Let's go out for some fun
If it's the last thing that we do
And it all ends tomorrow
I wanna be with you tonight
Tonight, tonight
Tonight
I don’t know why I bristle at the word, “Buddy.”
I guess it’s a throwback from the past. Too many girls who used it to friendzone someone. Like, “friend.”
And “Awww, thanks.”
Yet it shouldn’t bother me if I’m not attracted to her, right? Unless, deep, deep down, I really want to sleep with her.
That’s not entirely outside of the realm of possibility. After all, it is easy to find SOMETHING attractive about every girl. And it may not be possible for men and women to be friends.
Anyway, I wish you’d stop calling me, “Buddy.” Let’s just get that out of the way right now.
Life ends. I will not allow myself to be indoctrinated to be so afraid to lose my life that I sacrifice my life by forgetting to live my life.
Live as if there is no tomorrow. There may not be.
Dark? Perhaps.
Yet, this is nature at her finest. It has always been this way. There is no cure for death, and the reaper shall find us all one day.
So, live.
It’s a beautiful, hazy morning in the north woods. The layer of fog gives the scenery more depth. Truly breathtaking!
It’s so true. Beauty needs a witness.
And I am truly blessed to be there.
Yet, there’s that impulse… to pull out the phone. To snap a picture. To keep the image of beauty. Forever.
Followed by that realization… is that really necessary? I get it though. It feels hypocritical to even mention it.
Why not capture it? Relive the beauty over and over again? As if there’ll never be any more beauty?
Or better yet, share it? Put it on the Facebook? The Instagram? Show it to the world! Five likes! More!
But, no.
I left my phone in my pocket. I basked in the view. In the end, we will only have our memories. Perhaps there is value in capturing a snapshot of that moment in time. Of some moments.
Not all.
Again, I fear I’m a hypocrite… for Instagram is a reminder of so much beauty in the world.
I must remind myself to take a step back.
Yes, that snapshot of the African landscape is amazing. Your hamburger looks delicious. Do I wish I was with you on a beach in Ibiza? Hell, yes!
And those abs you’ve obtained on your fitness journey? I am truly impressed, especially since you’re sharing workout and fitness details.
Then there’s those alluring ensellures. I grow weak.
I must remind myself to take a step back.
If the beauty on Instagram is so overwhelming, doesn’t that indicate that beauty, while it needs a witness, is also common?
Yes, that SoCal blonde with brown eyes is beautiful and funny and sensational. Yes, that New York Latina is luscious and sensual, yet oddly introverted. Yes, that Thai beauty who makes cupcakes ignites the wanderlust, and the Thai cravings.
What about that gorgeous brunette at the gym, who’s name (or social media handle) you do not even know. And the wonderful, tanned law school student who’s boat you magically ended up on at a lake concert. And the flirtacious coffee shop owner with the freckles and blue eyes who you find yourself fantasizing about at odd hours of the night.
Maybe there is value in that these observations, these memories, are mine. Maybe everything doesn’t need to be shared. Nor captured. Only remembered.
In case you didn’t know, I have a strong aversion to coffee. It smells and tastes vile and wretched.
Family members said my tastes would change as I got older.
They lied.
Yet, I also suffer from low-grade narcolepsy. And frequently sleep thirteen hours in a day.
Hmm… I wonder if there’s a connection there?
Impossible—after all, Mountain Dew doesn’t affect my sleep needs either.
On that note, I need a nap.
I’m not afraid of dying. Or life. Or illness. Or viruses.
As such, I don’t really have feelings one way or the other on getting vaccinated. I know many who are passionate on one side or the other, but I am not.
My guideline has been this: I’ll get the vaccine when the urge to wander returns. That belief that the vaccine will allow travel—especially internationally.
So, I am vaccinated. And Romania is summoning me.
And overnight, the flights have disappeared. My passport is, yet again, not worth the paper it is printed on.
“When COVID ends…” sounds a LOT like “When I win the lottery…”
So, I continue to wait. Maybe I’ll just buy a sailboat… at least I’m ready.
André: “I wouldn’t put an electric blanket on for anything. First, I’d be worried I might get electrocuted. No, I don’t trust technology. But, I mean, the main thing, Wally, is that, that kind of comfort just separates you from reality in a very direct way.
“I mean, if you DON’T have that electric blanket, and your apartment is cold, and you need to put on another blanket, or go into the closet and pile up coats onto the blanket you have, well then you KNOW it’s cold.
“And that sets up a link of things. You have compassion for the per… well… is the person NEXT to you cold? Are there other people in the WORLD who are cold? What a cold NIGHT! I LIKE the cold, my God, I never realized! I don’t WANT a blanket. It’s FUN being cold! I can snuggle up against you even more BECAUSE it’s cold! All sorts of things occur to you.
“Turn on that electric blanket and it’s… like taking a tranquilizer—it’s like being lobotomized by watching television. I think you enter the dream world again. What does it do to us, Wally, living in an environment, where something as massive as the seasons, or winter, or cold… don’t in any way affect us? I mean, we’re animals, after all. I mean, what does that mean? I think that means that instead of living under the sun and the moon and the sky and the stars, we’re living in a fantasy world, of our own making.”
Wally: “Yeah, but I mean I would never give up my electric blanket, André. I mean, because New York is COLD in the winter. I mean, our apartment is COLD!”
Autumn is in the air in the north woods. Leaves are beginning to change, and drop. And the acorns.
The air is no longer oppressive. The bugs are, well, less overwhelming.
And, I’m discovering, I wake up a li’l more… stiff. In good ways, and bad.
Yet, I love the above sentiment! What’s wrong with being cold? I ENJOY feeling a briskness in the air. And if I can use it to snuggle under a blanket next to the lovely girl lying next to me… well, that’s just bliss!
André is correct, however, in that comfort IS dangerous. People are using it to become numb to their surroundings.
One of my closest friends thinks I am insane for not keeping my home at 65° year round. After all, the miracle of modern science!
And maybe I am. Insane, that is.
Because, to me, what is wrong with the sultriness of an 82° home in the summer? Or the briskness of a 58° home in the winter?
I ENJOY feeling the change of the seasons. Plus, it makes the transition to the out much less traumatic.
I feel man will always try to reign in nature. Because science. And comfort.
And lack of awareness. And controlling his feelings. And control.
Perhaps, I am the crazy one. For enjoying the sensation of sitting ON a frozen car seat, instead of in it. And the sensation of breathing in sharp winter air. And the sensation of her warm body lying next to mine.
And the reaction when my cold foot touches her warm leg. Or ass.
What is so wrong about feeling… alive?
It’s always fun when there’s a chance that nature can hurt you.
Lorelai Gilmore smelled snow. Yet this isn’t quite like that.
I dream about it. Usually about a month before it hits.
Last night, I dreamt about snow. A wonderful, fluffy, deep snowfall. The kind that dogs run with their noses down and look like mini snow plows as they run through the yard.
A snow that makes the world appear fresh and bright and new. The kind I haven’t seen in a while… or at least hasn’t stuck around.
The last two winters were sad. No dreams, and barely any snow. Or cold, for that matter.
In addition to the snow (hopefully, I’m not jinxing it by writing about it), my dreams reminded me of the decisions I have managed to avoid making all summer. Now that summer is ending, what’s next? What do I still own? Am I homeless?
Frequently in dreams, I find myself in a new house. For a while, I fancied myself becoming a real estate investor… which might enable me to enjoy the rich life I desire. Yet, to date, I have failed to pull my head out of my ass, in most areas. One notable exception, is I have discovered how to live with less, so that I can manage a fun, carefree lifestyle while squeaking out a meager living.
So, I got that going for me. Which is nice.
This dream reminded me that I still have a subconscious desire to be rich. To have properties that earn me money while I sleep.
Yet, it also placed me back into the tech field. Which I abhor. In the dream, I found myself back in an office—albeit running the office this time. I had underlings who had a new product called “It Go,” which they were pitching to me. Not that I had a choice in running with the product.
In this failing company (in real life, it no longer exists at all), I had been brought back in to spearhead the project—only to oversee it, and maybe guide it. Management. I’d be responsible for its success and/or its failure. And I’d be the first to go in the event of its failure.
A beautiful woman from my past had found me. At work. And followed me home. This is a real possibility in real life as well, and one that makes me apprehensive.
Perhaps it is not realistic to live an obligation free life.
The home we lived in was nice, even if we were renting out rooms to others. The job was set to provide a nice living.
She would not have tolerated the neighbor’s dog, however. Never have I ever met anyone who hates dogs as much as this girl.
I do wonder, however, where it is that these dreams come from? Is it like playing Second Life? Is it our subconscious trying to reach out? To remind us of responsibilities?
Or is it merely entertainment during our nightly regeneration, not to be taken seriously…
Dream Police