Bathtime

I admit it. I'm happy most of the time. Blessed. But tired, very tired. Meditation & exercise, meditation & excercise, why does every doctor tell me to adjust my life? Whatever happened to good old surgery & drugs?  

Eyes Just Starting to Turn

Bryn turned me on to this great art creation site inspired by Jackson Pollock and I've created a many already. Try it.

White praying mantis found on screen door today. Good omen. Smart insect. Got some keen eye contact with Mrs. Me. Seemed very much to communicate. Assisted with removing itself from the home. Did a dance. I had a book on them as a child, which helps brighten and extend their auras of magic & power in my mind's eyes.

The little darling my one and only daughter rocks the party like none other. A more attentive, aware, communicative and sensitive playmate never have I found. Her variety of gurgles, grunts, whines, and sharp inhalations astounds. We played a game tonight where she kicks my right hand while we giggle and grin into each others eyes, baby talking and reading each other. Such unabashed expression in those eyes just starting to turn from gray to brown, inspires me.

Lightening Over Generations

Me & Daddy-o, chillin' for the first time in 34 years. We both did our best to stay relaxed. Cool that we both ride them cycles. See the resemblance? I barely see it myself, but the personality trait similarities were striking.
 

James Hendrix Plays Guitar With My Son

The boy played for a long time at the far end of our large yard, some three year old child's game it seemed, happy and focussed. He came in and told his mama that he had been playing guitar.

"Playing guitar?" she asked.

"Yes." said he, "I was playing guitar with James Hendrix."

"James Hendrix?!" said she.

"Yes!" the boy again reported, "James Hendrix and I were playing guitar together!", pleased as punch with himself. "Right out there." He pointed to the fence near the edge of the woods, by our potted palms.

I've believed at times that Jimi Hendrix's soul mingles with my own, partly since he died ~6 months after I was born, but mostly to do with his "Cry of Love" LP, which used to help get me to deep nuther levels in my teenage years. Goosebumps galore gala when I heard the James Hendrix imaginary friend story. Maybe someone told him about James Hendrix, but I can't recall even ever hearing Jimi called James, but that was indeed the birth name a little web search reported to me.

Two of my brothers worked in the yard for me today. The boy picked mostly green strawberries while watching uncles work. Elder Bro asked him what his favorite song was, to which he promptly responded "Strawberry", and with little prompting busted out a freestyle about strawberries, the main refrain to which was "Strawberry, Oh", complete with an accompanying dance routine. A halcyon July afternoon. A number of songs mention or feature the last day of July, and fuck pain hot love juicy sweet blackberries I know why swimming at night.

Brothers left the side gate open. Ghost Dog and the wife's dog took themselves for a 7 hour walk. Came back wreaking of skunk, full of burrs, tongues a meter long. Daydreaming about what they did and saw on that perfect summer adventure a must, just try it. Those dogs teach me canine wisdom, remind me that I too can take myself for a walk, even a seven hour one maybe again someday, sniff a lot of nature, get thirsty and stiff in the legs. Didn't know those dogs had it in them. They're sleeping like dogs as I cultivate painful anxieties, practice self-soothing, sleep - the obvious. Hmmm, lie around waiting for inspiration or go back to work. Work sounds more promising.

The Feeling I Hunt

This picture sums up the feelings I hunt daily and am able to conjure occasionally. Howlin' after midnight, riding those cycles, attending memorial services.

Going to scatter JY's ashes in a few weeks, in Joshua Tree, with any luck. He named his cat Rocket; I felt honored.

Gratitude & humility still the keys. 

Blood Quantam Shift

So indeed I did meet me father for the first time since age 2 yesterday. Surreal and complex, another ordinary day. As a kid I'd wondered about him quite a bit. As an adult not so much. I thought about the details of my heritage more as an adult. Race became a hot topic for me in my undergraduate years, and my faith in my mother's version decreased. So sure enough, her story was somewhere past incomplete. Turns out I'm 1/16 "black" rather than 1/4; 1/4 Sudanese (Arab), not Saudi Arabian; am Cherokee, Chocktaw, and Creek, making me twice as Native American as I am black, that's 1/8 for those of you who lack the skills to add things up right, and 9/16 European, otherwise known as mostly white. My Chinese coworker has already started calling me whiteboy, which rings painful and hilarious. Yup, this means that I will have to revise my whole wardrobe and music collection, as I will my voice and view of the world. The whole story ain't short, and it's late, but I wanted to write something, search for resolutions and revelations between the written thoughts.

The Crucible's Fire Arts Festival rocked like nothing else in these parts last night. God hell love fire fascinates and warms me. One of my favorite parts was when one of the Megavolt guys sat on a wooden stool and put himself in the Tesla coil arc circuit, causing the stool he was sitting on to burst into flames. So badass. Hats off to the fire tornado folks and all the dancers too. Makes me want do some fire art of my own, pretty bad.

Thin Ice of Hot Life

JY collapsed at his house in Joshua Tree and died at the hospital down there shortly after. Coroner called me 7/2. Bummer news. I'd just spoken with him a few days earlier; he said that he'd got a promotion at work.

Meddlesome but kind sister-in-law contacted my biological father I've never spoken with and now I'm going to meet him this Saturday. Fine but surreal.

Work stress has reached a new pitch of crazy.

New daughter hasn't been sleeping well.

Seems like it's all getting to me. Send good vibrations.