Counting the Fish

Life of late is an endless stream of distractions. It’s not just the alerts, alarms, notifications, pop ups, warnings, pokes, winks, tweets, shouts…it’s that due to those, I’m now in a headspace where focus is impossible. I think that is to be my undoing. Our undoing. Thank god I don’t have a television, or nothing would get done.

I’ve had ideas, plans, dreams, desires, and I want to do them, to complete them, to win, but when I sit down, I can’t. My eyes stare into the distance. My feet itch. My hands fidget. I want more. Hungry for something.

In my place in the world, it’s a barren desert. Time to move.

Inertial Moment

Ever play something so wondrous, so magical, and wish you had pressed the Record button? Just had that moment. It was good; reminded me of why I still have my music equipment. But it also speaks of the ephemeral nature of the Moment, how it’s important to be present when it happens. Joyful, yet melancholy.

I agitatedly paced around my apartment afterward, swinging hands through the air, because as elated I felt, there was no recording. Nobody will hear it, and I won’t remember it. Concert for one. There’s that melancholy. There are technological solutions to this, but the moment the timeline rolls, nothing happens. This is the crux of the problem of creativity.

Or at least the crux of my own problem with creativity.

The more I think about it, the more I start to understand that my fixation with organizing my music equipment — with keeping it neat, with setting up the keyboard racks and positioning the speakers and making things accessible just in case I get the inspiration to record something — the more I think that maybe that’s all doing nothing more than standing in the way of my actual creativity. It’s not serving my actual creativity. My apartment is so quiet, the space is so close, the room has no air, and I am using this equipment that’s just so uncomfortable to use. Creativity needs noise; it needs a mess, something you can spill and smash and tear up. Everything I have is on wire bread racks and scissor keyboard stands, and it’s just…uncomfortable. There’s no place to rest, to space to expand and relax and let things flow. That’s a major problem. I feel like putting it all on the fucking floor and crouching over it and punching buttons and putting it all within arm’s reach and really getting my face into it, letting the noise spill out through the windows and through the walls and not giving a damn.

In the mess, creativity. In the creativity, inspiration. I complain about not having it; now I must find a way to allow it to happen. Must find a way where it is inevitable.

Anyway

driving around texarkana area tonight. wandering. thinking.
funny how the new happens, old memories still return.
north jefferson. in the highbeams, telephone poles look like crucifixes. fields of them. three sixteen. gethsemane. sheol. texarkana.
sugarhill road. old beech street haunts, youth groupers lived there. parents successful. edge of town, suburbs.
sanderson lane. saw stars. cassiopeia. mash of others. streak of cloud confused the glow of the milky way. blurry x in the sky.
distant stars. distant headlights startled, mustn’t get caught on the side of the road looking up.
mustn’t be caught wanting to be alone. inviting inquisitions. accusations. trouble.
started car, drove away.
waffle house. read dharma bums over coffee. found a chum behind the counter, told me to read palahniuk. told him to read miller.
cruised the downtown. bright lights, empty city.
turned right. hwy 82. widened to 4 lanes. still 45mph.
turned left at orphanage, where first girl laura lived. confusing times, those. longest month. first 2 weeks in love, remainder alone together.
drove to rondo, turned right. cruised past amy’s house; father ministered rondo methodist church. retired. house has changed hands.
phil and sandy’s old place. now just sandy’s place.
anyway.
turned left, 82 outbound. thinking. remembering. upward bound trips.
stars through the window. geolocation by the domes of light on the horizon. there’s hope.
there’s nashville. there’s ashdown. there’s magnolia.
anyway.
stars and moon came up. the old man. the half moon. the couple arising in glory. winter’s first glimpse of orion, my old, old friend. memories.
fields at ouachita, talking, communing with the old man. asking questions, questions.
stars in the window on my radio. wrapping it around, inspired returning to the inspiration. the born back to the place of birth.
heavy moment and smiles.
found myself in stamps. tiny sleepy burg. orange lights, dusty houses, gravel garages and propane tanks.
ez mart has no bathroom. sacred and profane. u turn and found a boat ramp. pissing in the river.
made something live. left my dark mark on the light caliche. train whistles and dark lights. key to pedal to getting out of there.
returning. remembering. arkansas life. distant memory, but soaked into the makeup of me.
had a tough time of it then. knew things but didn’t know things. smart but stupid. brilliant but ignorant.
built the half moon and old man i am.
dreams. had dreams. spoke poetic jibberish, it all came from here, but needed the distance to speak the verses.
no support structure, no friendly air.
but in finding my people outside, i found my voice. then i lost my people along the way.
and then austin.
those voices spoke poison. so ragged and bedraggled. so negative. so cruel.
enough time with them, my own voice stopped. creativity shriveled. mustn’t get caught looking up.
mustn’t be caught wanting to express. inviting derision. humiliation. trouble.
why did i care about their words? why close lips and hope to sneak on by?
texarkana. the source and fuel for my psyche. texarkana. where i lost my soul. fields of crucifixes. three sixteen.
our god is an awesome god and holy holy holy.
sublimation.
no way. no fucking way.
anyway.
43 and on mute. 25 years hence trying to find myself. ongoing battle, eternal war.
turning. wandering. searching.
searching for the voice.
seeing yesterday.
remembering the dreams.
i miss tomorrow. tomorrow is not what it used to be.
ever hoping, but driving into the uncertainty.
eventually. eventually.
anyway. anyway.

Oh, Canada

In lieu of any actual reflections of my vacation to Toronto, Ontario, Canada — my head is still too heavy with maudlin thoughts and emotions — here is a disjointed collection of facts about Toronto in no particular order:

  • Flying to Canada was exciting because it was my first flight on a commercial jet. Now I know what turbulence feels like, and the g-force during takeoff is the most I’ve ever felt (zoom!).
  • When we landed at Toronto-Pearson (YYZ), after the captain made his “thanks for flying and welcome to Canada” message while taxiing, the flight crew played a Bryan Adams song on the intercom. Bryan Adams. Yeah. Was kinda nice and friendly, really. I leaned over to my Canadian flightmate and asked, “Is, is that Bryan Adams?” He just grinned. Hey, at least they didn’t play Celine Dion.
  • The airline is required to verify your passport before boarding any flights to Canada, and the flight crew hands you an immigration form to fill out before you land. This form is scanned and OCR’d by an automated system at Canada Customs before your interview. Be sure to fill it out correctly or you will get delayed, like I did.
  • The US Customs area of the Toronto-Pearson airport is a nightmare, a disorganized maze of slow lines, angry people about to be late for their departure, and agents ineptly trying to keep it all flowing. Actual purgatory. I stood in a line to check into my airline, then another line to get into the Customs area so I could stand in another line to fill out the Customs questionnaire computer, then another line to wait to be interviewed by a live agent, and then stamped and allowed into another line to wait on the scanner. Finally, after scanning, I could put my shoes back on, reassemble my backpack, and run to the pisser to unload the bladder that started alerting me at the beginning of the first line.
  • Speaking of purgatory, dealing with Rogers Telecom is a pain in the ass. Now I understand the level of bureaucracy and expense and shitty service that my Canadian peers complain about. Holy crap. I went to a Rogers store to buy a prepaid SIM card for my unlocked phone, and was in the store for an hour, mostly talking over their phone to an operator to activate the SIM (because they don’t do that in that particular store — it’s for cable and new cell plans only), and then I had to call back because the operator didn’t actually turn on my data plan (which is why i effing bought the new SIM), and had to call back to reach technical support. Each time, the price just got higher and higher. That’s a special level of hell. I just wanted a 1GB data plan so I can use Google Maps for fuck’s sake. After enough time, I finally got what I wanted, at $70cad for a 1GB prepaid plan. Seems Canada’s carriers are still in the 90’s and are charging people for calls during the day but are unlimited during nights and weekends (god, I haven’t heard that term since 2000). Can you believe? Oh, Canada. You guys need a Googie monster to scare your telcos into the present.
  • I lost my hoodie somewhere between the airport and the hotel. Dammit. Rookie mistake. It was probably lost on the train, because I was running on impulse the whole way and once the doors opened at my stop, I jumped up to exit and didn’t even think to look back at my seat. Luckily my Toronto friend helped me located a new hoodie that afternoon.
  • The weather was so nice that I didn’t need to pack my jacket. Hell, I even packed the wrong clothes. I packed two pants and one shorts, but should’ve packed two shorts and one pants. Sweatin’ balls the whole time until Friday when I decided to wear shorts and not bother taking my hoodie along during my ambles. Ugh.
  • Tim Horton’s is a coffee and donut chain that also has some sandwiches. After years of having gourmet coffee, Tim’s coffee is rather pedestrian. No wonder they’ve opened a brother chain called Timothy’s Coffee. Tim’s is more ever-present than Starbucks. The one time I went for coffee and “Tim-bits” (which are flavored donut holes), they didn’t have any Timbits, so one of my trip goals was not fulfilled. Ah well.
  • Canada has started printing their bill currency on plastic to take advantage of many anti-counterfeiting measures. They print nothing smaller than $5. Their dollars are a coin colloquially called a Loonie because of the bird on the obverse side (and not the Queen on the face side). They also have a $2 coin called a Twonie. When I got change from a purchase, I had to keep my head straight about it and actually count everything, because as an American I’m not accustomed to getting $2 coins in my change (also, their quarter, dime, and nickel are similar to ours in size but with different images).
  • Canada, as a nation, has two official languages: English and French. Many people can speak both. Almost all signage is written in both languages.
  • Celsius is easy to figure out. 10C is 50F. Kinda cool if you’re not used to it. 20C is about 68F. Rather nice. 25C is warm. >30C is what we get in Austin.
  • Toronto has an official gayborhood, and this makes me happy. Actually, I was happy when I stepped out of my hotel and walked a block south to see a whole line of crosswalks with rainbow stripes going across Church Street.
  • Turns out, I can actually walk over 8 miles in a day. My pedometer logged roughly 20,000 steps for the first two days; the last two days were lower because, fuck it, I’m fatigued. I shudder to think how I would’ve handled it had I not bought insoles for my sneakers last week. Ugh.
  • Toronto’s buses and trains are actually pretty nice. The main lines don’t exactly need to run on time, because they run so often. The moment I step onto the subway platform, if the train is already closing its doors I only have to wait something like 7 minutes until the next one. Never really felt insecure or unsafe. Once you pay the $3 fare to get into the system, you don’t need a transfer pass to get to another train, but you might need one for transfer to a bus. Toronto even has electric streetcars that run along many of the major streets. Most of the multi-car streetcars and some of the newer subway trains have articulated mezzanines between the cars that are wide and allow you to see from one end of the train to the other. Pretty cool.
  • Many cultures are represented in Toronto; matter of fact, it’s the most culturally diverse place I’ve been to. I heard more languages in 4 days than I have in the whole 15 years I’ve lived in Austin. That’s a mind-opener. Some of these cultures have their own areas; there’s Chinatown, Japantown, Greektown, and so on. If you want to live like a world citizen, Toronto’s a good place.
  • Proper street pronunciations:
    • Spadina – spuh-DIE-nah
    • Yonge – young
    • Dundas – DUN-dass
    • Bloor – bluer
  • Toronto has an area that’s similar to NYC’s Times Square called the Yonge-Dundas Square. It is a valley walled in by tall buildings festooned with signs, billboards, LEDs, and video screens playing adverts constantly. It’s a loud crush of humanity, always busy with people walking around between the streetcars, subway entrances, street traffic, shops, bums, rock bars, restaurants, everything in one place. It’s a place full of orange and blue light. Watch your wallet and bag and enjoy the ride.
  • One of the biggest castles in North America is a place called Casa Loma built by Sir Henry Mill Pellatt who made his millions by being the first to bring hydroelectric power from the generators at the Canadian side of Niagara Falls to the citizens of Ontario. He and his family, and all of their servants, lived in the castle for 10 years before the first world war caused some of Pellatt’s outstanding investments to go sour, forcing him to declare bankruptcy, move out, and auction off the property and contents. It’s a museum now and is a beautiful place complete with turret towers, secret passages, and a subterranean tunnel under Austin Blvd to the other end of the property where the stables, garage, greenhouses, and coal heating plant were located. Several movies have been shot at Casa Loma, most notably “X-Men” and “Scott Pilgrim VS The World”. I took way too many pictures, y’all.
  • Ontario’s Legislative Assembly is located in Toronto, and the legislature is currently in session. When I visited, they had just taken recess, so my guided tour was able to enter the Chamber. It’s very similar to the British parliamentary system, and there is a bit of pomp and ritual involved, in which the Sargent at Arms carries a ceremonial mace into the chamber and presents it to the speaker before placing it at the end of the secretaries’ table. Only then can session begin. When session ends, the Sargent removes the mace and stores it in its glass case. At one time, during the war of 1812, American troops raided Toronto and razed many of its buildings, and one of the spoils of that war was the original mace, which sat on display in the US until 1934 when President Roosevelt returned it to Canada as a gesture of friendship. I like that the tour guide looked at me when she made that dig on American history (the other tour guests were Canadian and British).
  • For the most part, the stereotype about Canadians being polite is true. Not in the form of “please” and “thank you” and “yes ma’am”, but in being generally mild in temperament and friendly. I watched the traffic patterns in downtown, and in the whole week, i really only saw one or two instances where someone got salty. Generally, if someone’s in the pedestrian crosswalk, traffic pauses until they get through. Like woah. Drivers even weave and swerve and merge with ease, and nobody gets cross about it. Generally, the only time anybody honks is if someone’s slowing down the traffic or is not paying attention to the light. (Out in the suburbs is a slightly different story.) I think the politeness is less about being taught what’s right, but more about people understanding that any altercation will only serve to slow down your commute and delay your arrival. Just let the person cross the street and you can be on your way. That’s an amazing lesson.
  • The CN Tower was originally intended to be a transmission tower, but city planners saw the potential of making it into a sky-needle sort of structure with observation decks and restaurants. It’s certainly one of the taller buildings in North America, and aside from the plane flight, it’s the highest I’ve stood above the ground. The tower can wobble as much as 1m during heavy winds, which really isn’t that much. And, of course, when you leave, you have to wait for the special elevator that allows you to exit through the gift shop.
  • Ontario has province-run liquor stores called the LCBO (Liquor Control Bureau of Ontario). You can buy ready-to-serve alcohol at bars and restaurants, but bottled distilled spirits and wines must be purchased at an LCBO. Luckily, there are many of them all over the place. You cannot find 50mL “airplane bottles” – the smallest they carry nowadays is 200mL, which is too big for US TSA regulations. I had an LCBO clerk tell me that I just needed to buy a few 100mL empty bottles and fill them with whatever, then write the contents on the outside, which is what her daughter does to get through TSA to the States. I had to laugh. She even said she takes the plastic bottles and sneaks them through the metal detectors at sporting events. Hah! See? Friendly.
  • The Royal Ontario Museum is a really great place. I paid an extra bit to go see the current exhibit on Pompeii, which was pretty outstanding. It had what you’d expect: artifacts dug up from the ash, pictures of the frescoes, models of the town and of typical dwellings, factoids about Roman life in Pompeii, details about volcanoes and the timeline of the disaster when Vesuvius erupted, as well as plaster casts of the empty spaces in the ash where people were trapped and killed by the pyroclastic flow of ash, pumice, rocks, and toxic gases. Those bits were kinda gruesome, but there it is. The rest of the museum was neat, but I only had until 5:30pm to view things, so I toured the First Nations exhibit detailing native culture and then the Chinese/Japanese/Korean exhibit, each of which had a ton of really interesting things. Again, I took too many pictures. ROM is really a multi-day thing if you really want to get the most out of it.
  • By the way, the women in downtown Toronto know how to do it. I have never in my life seen so many beautiful women. What makes them special? They have class; a sense of self-worth. A particular walk like they mean business. Very few people dress sloppy. How many students did I see in the University of Toronto area with sweatshirts and yoga pants? Not many at all. It’s just not expected. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m in a foreign town that makes me take notice and declare they’re classy. If I were to see the same women in my own town of Austin, I’m pretty sure that I’d curl my nose and write them off as posh downtowners and leave them at that. I really need to widen my standards.
  • As many people as I saw, as much as I walked, as many photos I took, I still felt just as alone in Toronto as I do in Austin, but the newness of the scene dulled the gnawing sensation and distracted me from it for a while. I have a friend in Toronto who was able to hang out with me for one afternoon, but the rest of the time I was up to my own devices, so I generally just walked around, got a sense of the landscape, became a floating eye, much like my typical dreams. Just observing, learning, finding my way and living off the land, as it were. Can’t really expect much more.
  • The trip cost me quite a bit, mostly on airfare and boarding, but the tours and meals ate up the remainder of my budget. Nothing in Toronto is cheap, especially when you consider the exchange rate ($6usd is around $8cad) and the higher sales taxes. I made a Google spreadsheet and entry form so I could log my purchases as they happened or from receipts, and it gave me a good indicator of how I was doing budget-wise. Sadly, I came in slightly over budget, but if not for that spreadsheet, i would’ve blown that budget by a much larger margin. Ask me later if you want to know how I did it.

There are more things to write about, certainly, but that’s for another time. For a vacation, Toronto was a good decision. I’m still mentally processing what I’ve learned. Still have emotions. Right now, the strongest emotion is the dread of jumping back into my normal life and my abnormal job in the morning. I’m not pleased at that prospect at all, but it’s how I can afford to take a trip to Toronto. I certainly do have a new perspective and a new baseline for what I can do and what I shouldn’t put up with. Maybe, in time, I can tell you more of the internal things I’m thinking, but until then, please enjoy these factoids as outlined above. I’ll post pictures in due time.

Shoreline

Coffee shop life. I like the drink, but I like the company. Rather, I like the hope of company.

What is delivered instead is an ocean of unknown faces and a beachhead of granite; the bulk and masses and swells — a tide of people who I could know but never will know — as they crash against the immovable cult of personality that is the core of the gang of regulars, those who gravitate, those who boast, those who play host to the cranes, to the starfish, to the mollusks. To them go the gravitas, the potential best, the evaporated opportunities. To the rest of us: the grains of sand, the tidal pools, the washout. I miss the hope of talk, the warmth of meeting, the sense of feeling and listening and finding someone to play with. But no, the rocks, the boulders, the stones — the big egos — stand along the shore and take the waves, absorb the energy, feed their own lichen moss.

New friends would be good to have, good to know, good to catch before they crash upon the rocks and are lost forever to the spell of solidity, pride, boast. How can one know a future friend if they are listening to someone else instead?