So, if you’ve been following my last few postings (and I can’t really think of a sound reason you should) you’ll know that a strange mandate has crystallized for me. To wit: I’m going to keep writing and posting at least five hundred words a day until my second child arrives. Yes, it’s my own odd version of the filibuster. I’m completely committed to literally daylogging that baby out of my wife’s womb. Absurd, you say? Anymore or less absurd than continuing to write here, or anywhere?

I’m suddenly reminded, as I often am, of the story of the Hopi Indians that Elaine Pagels likes to tell as an example of religious ridiculousness, but really just winds up looking ridiculous herself for posing so superior. Apparently a particular sect goes through an elaborate ceremony to make the sun rise every morning. When asked what would happen if one morning they simply neglected to perform the rite, they reply: “Oh sure, let’s plunge the world into eternal darkness for the sake of your stupid experiment.”

And so it is with us writers. Nearly every one of us got into the game because we believed our writing could make the world a better place; and nearly every one of us who stayed in the game came to realize that writing can’t make the world better; it can only make it bigger. And there’s a lot to be said for that; but let’s not fool ourselves into believing we can make a baby be born or the sun rise. Unless of course, it makes us happy, or gives us an excuse to reach out, plug in, take time, get smart, fall on our knees, be human.

Last night I had the classic big wave dream. I’m at the beach. The surf is enormous, gloriously intimidating. Do I surf it? How do I surf it without drowing? Man, I wanna surf it!

Then I dreamt that some sort of Zen monk was telling a story to a young woman about a stone carver who was carving the perfect stone to use as a counter-weight in some simple machine being built for the temple. The stone was exquisite, beautiful, but it was much too big for the carver to carry over to the machine. Then the monk telling the story obliged with the solution: one must break the stone in two. Wave of enlightenment crashes over all characters in my dream: the monk and the woman lose themselves in each other’s laughter. You have to break the perfect stone in two.

Uh . . . yeah, I have no idea either really. Just inklings.

I wish I could write like the writer of my dreams.

Heather spent the morning pulling weeds in the front garden, hoping to “get something started.” More absurdity. It’s like eating spicy foods or having sex to trigger labor: all science on the issue emphatically cries, "bunk!" But then again, the garden did need weeding, spicy food can be yummy and . . . well. . . you get the picture.

As of this five hundred-and-fortieth word, Baby Mullin Two remains unborn. The perfect stone, unbroken.

This distinction made him angry. 'Have you the slightest idea how close we are to the end of humanity?' he asked. 'I'm a scientist and I'm afraid. Only from the morality inside us can we learn restraint and that morality must come from religion.' 1

Tempered by a Kerouac wanderlust girded by Frost's fork in the road, I weep tears of opium that morph as they slide down my cheeks. The brine on my lips is far from bitter and fills me with silent resolve.

I am an experimentalist, that is, when I try to avoid the blank stares I get when I tell people I am a spiritualist. I will try nearly anything just to see what I can learn from it. For most, this strays far from the path of a moral life, but I counter that my philosophy is a morality in and of itself. If God is omni/scient/present/potent than we and everything are all God. Everything we experience is God's experience. I dare not place a moral limitation upon God's experience, and I can honestly say this without ego. Of course, I am being rather vague in this daylog, attempting to get my thoughts out. I rely on the reader's knowledge of Teilhard and the idea of an Omega Point. This usually leads me off onto a tangent where I excitedly discuss evolution and my belief that it holds somewhere in it the very key to humanity's grandest spiritual questions. And now, I self-indulge.

My desire to emulate evolution, as I understand it, leads me to try every possible path, judging the benefits and detriments of each road. For the most part, I can safely say that I have developed a plethora of species and organisms in my self that cultivate, compete, and sometimes destroy.

I am an addict.

Lest my flow is awry, you could see how my philosophies may have led me there. The only problem I have with the previous admission is the present-tense inherent in it, taunting you with a permanent problem that cannot be overcome. The contradiction can be soul-shredding.

and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they're as dry as my lips for years
even when they're stranded on a small desert island
with no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer
and i wonder
is he different?
is he different?
has he changed what's he about?...
or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?

I have been in recovery now for five months. I live in my parent's house. I have no social life. I AM sober. I have learned at least one thing. Abstinence, when it includes even abstinence from life and the self, is a wraith's existence.

Sometimes there is such a thing as too much honesty, even here in the annals of E2. Whatever... my "give a fuck" has long since broken.

I have converted my family, and some of my friends, to exhorting preachers now. There are rules to follow, disciplines to adhere to, and a timeline consisting of years to plan on. Maybe I evolve faster, but I feel I have exausted this path. I move back to San Francisco, freedom, challenge and quite possibly chaos (which I often thrive on) this Monday.

I sat down with an actual preacher, a client of mine for some tech-support work, but also a friend of the family. He defined morality as taking the whole scope of all possible experiences in life and narrowing them down. Of course, I asked him, how do you know which experiences to limit yourself too?, expecting him to knee-jerk "The Bible" back to me, but I had already expressed my disgust with millenia-old dogma as a guide for life, so he thankfully spared me that. Still, there was a wisdom borne of compassion in his eyes that I find in any person of true faith, regardless of religion.

For me, morality is that which is best for your soul, body and mind. Add THE golden rule to this, being 'love your brother as you love yourself,' and you have an excellent roadmap from which to navigate your life. In my opinion, that's all religions are trying to do: give you a roadmap to get you through to the end in the best possible shape. I'll leave the subjective nature of "best possible shape" for another writeup.

you were always half crazy, now look at you baby
you make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme
love is a piano dropped out a four story window
and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time

i don't like your girlfriend, i blame her
never seen one of your lovers do you so much harm
i loved you first and you know i would prefer
if she didn't empty her syringes into your arm

here comes little naked me padding up to the bathroom door
to find little naked you slumped on the bathroom floor
so i guess i'll just stand here with my back against the wall
while you distill your whole life down to a 911 call

so now you bring me your bruises
so i can oh and ah at the display
maybe i'm supposed to make one of my famous jokes that makes everything ok
maybe i'm supposed to be the handsome prince who rides up and unties your hands
or maybe i'm supposed to be the furrow-browed friend who thinks she understands

I couldn't be happier and I couldn't be more afraid; "a liar with nothing to lie about."

1 A Point of View by Brian Walden -
2Ani Difranco - Little Plastic Castles - Fuel
3Ani Difranco - Little Plastic Castles - Two Little Girls
More weird comments from the customers of a gas station.

Today at the end of my shift, I looked in the comment box again and there were quite a few comments. Some pretty strange ones too. Here they are:

  • If I ever got the chance, I would definitely take a whiz in your beer cooler.
  • My girlfriend gave me a blow job in your rest room.
  • My father was drunk and vomited in your back room. ~ (That explains what that nasty shit my manager was bitching about the other day!)
  • I got a rash from jerking off with that shitty lotion that you guys sell.
Death on the highway...

Today at work I also witnessed something I care not to ever see again. I saw a woman die today. She was pulling out of the gas station parking lot in her car and got hit in the driver's side by a very large truck. It was a Ford F-250 that slammed into her at fifty-five miles per hour. I watched as she crawled out of her smashed little Ford Escort and collapsed on the street. She was in real bad shape, her entire left was mangled beyond all recognition. I knew she was losing a lot of blood and that her neck was broke. There was panic everywhere, people were freaking out. I called 911, but it was too late. By the time the paramedics arrived she was dead. It was really crazy. Police had to shut down the street for over an hour and half while tow trucks pulled the two demolished vehicles out of the street.

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