Shoulders

A third of the holiday weekend has passed by.

Too fast, too slow.

***

I blew up at my kids today. Long about the third time I had to get up from a very halfhearted attempt at taking a nap, I'd had enough.

I have to do better than this.

***

I'm not happy.

***

I've been working on the Tighty Whitey project, and it's coming together nicely. I can't decide whether it proves my original point (that there's no artistry in constructing songs out of loops, samples, and synth parts). This has taken me hours and hours, and what I've come up with is fairly catchy. A lot of the work seems to be done for me, sure. But there's still a ton to do, and I can get lost in it just like the days when I'd four-track at home for 12 hours at a pop.

***

Tito Ortiz lost to Machida tonight. Tito, this former UFC light heavyweight champ, was now fighting second on the broadcast. When you cheese off Dana White, that's what happens.

Machida frustrated Ortiz, staying out of range the whole fight, though not exactly running from him. Machida would burst in for some effective strikes (kicks mostly), then dart out of range again, leaving Ortiz desperately trying to connect. Some of the ground work in the third round was exciting, as Tito came mighty close to securing a triangle, then an arm bar. Machida squirmed away.

***

I'm so restless, so lost inside my own head tonight.

***

Yeah, I watched that fight from the bar at Humperdink's. I stood there waiting for a table the whole fight. I gave up and came home after that.

***

I've put on weight. I'm not thrilled.

***

I was supposed to be a writer.

***

Dragged out some Bukowski today (Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way). You never know what's autobiographical and what's fiction with him. I'll bet at times it was even hard for him to recall.

***

History works against us.

We're not standing on the shoulders of giants. We're standing on the shoulders of who we were.

We're propped up ever-higher, though we topple. We do. One set of shoulders down the human ladder buckles and down we go.

Sometimes we want to hide this, and sometimes we want to show everyone.

Look! Look at my damage.

or

No one can hold my pain, so I won't offer. Even though I can't hold it either sometimes.

But we take our eyes off of ourselves once in a while and see someone across from us who aches like we do, who speaks our language, shares our culture. Kindred spirits. And we can move from this point forward together. We can. We can.