old friends

This work week has been absolutely nuts. It's been kind of refreshing to actually be busy around here, Lord knows that I don't need to spend as much time on this computer as I do (although it is a plus that I get paid for it!) Plus, seeing as business has picked up around here, maybe, just maybe, I'll get hired on full time come the first of the year. yeah, that would be pretty great.

I've spent a bit of time this week reconnecting with old friends. I sent a letter to an ex-neighbor last week and we re-exchanged information so that we might better keep in touch. It's nice to know that the chance meetings that occur throughout your life can actually mean something and even develope into great and lasting friendships.

I also got an email from a friend that I saw about a month ago. Before that it had been four years since we had seen each other, and although we semi-regularly catch up through email and long distance phone conversations it was a bit of a shock (on both accounts, I think) to be back together, face to face. Chick (nottobeconfusedwith Chica) is a person that I dearly love and it was awesome to see her after all this time (even if it was a bit nerve wracking.) But after our get together we didn't talk for over a month. It wasn't entirely anybody's fault -- she's busy, I'm busy -- but a mistake that nearly cost us our friendship. I can't believe that she was worried that I was dissapointed after seeing her (to tell the truth, I had harbored similar fears.) ah, well we had a chance to chat and laugh off our insecurities, and now I feel like we're capable to grow from here. You know, it was kind of weird to see her after all that time. I mean, Chick and I used to be the best of friends, but upon her leaving the state to pursue higher learning we drifted and grew apart. We each had our own separate experiences, and although we had shared a few of them with one another it was different coming together again. Almost like meeting a person for the first time, but not because this person in front of me was a person that I knew a lot about, that I loved. I really hope that we can rebuild the kind of intimate relationship we had before (especially now that she's living back in C-bus for the time being.)

There are a couple of other old friends that I've been visiting with lately, but that's for a different place, a different time.

-dan.

*phew*

I almost didn't make it through today. My coworker called in sick (I can't really complain as I've probably given him a cold,) but I'm still *kinda* sick and generally feeling crappy today. . .

ah, enough whining.

The weekend was good, blah, blah, blah. Did the family reunion thing again. Met a cousin that I didn't know I had (it's ok, he didn't know either.) Ate lots and lots of good food. and slept. It was a great sleeping weekend, the kind where you hang up a blanket over the blinds to make it perpetually dark for three whole days. Yeah, it was great.

And with all the extraneous dreaming I think that I finally cleaned my psyche out. (that means no more extravagant and weird dreams!) I'm pretty happy about that. I don't need the stress of knowing what some of my deepest fears are. I say let them stay buried, maybe they'll fester and die.

So, is it Friday yet?

-d.

lucid dreams (pt. 3)

I've been dreaming like crazy lately. I'm not sure if it's the cold that I've had or the medication that I've been taking or exactly what can be said for these wacked out night visions. I dreamt that I was in a car accident last night. This is a dream that I have semi-regularly; one that doesn't even really incite fear anymore. I'm just riding along (I'm hardly ever the driver) when all of the sudden we're hit and the driver is dead, but I'm not. Usually I'm badly injured, often times finding the lower half of my body taken by paralysis. The dream goes on for a while, me struggling to undo the seat belt and pull my body from the wreckage.

The neat thing about having this dream consistantly is that it alarms my psyche that I am in fact dreaming. Once upon a time I was really good at lucid dreaming, it was something that I practiced for a few years, but now my lucidity is waivering at best. I'll go in and out of a conscious dream state -- often times even better than lucid dreaming -- allowing me to shape my dreams and at the same time interact with them naturally.

Last night I dreamt about my ex. We haven't been together for a year now, and I recently heard that she's engaged to the fellow that we pretty much broke up over:

I'm in the car now, driving down a long dark road. It's late, but not so late that the few houses that I pass have yet to bed down for the night. I have a vague idea of where I'm going, but I don't push the matter. This allows me to have time to float through this sequence. I play with the radio, finding sounds that are remiscient of music but not quite right. They are the sounds of laughter, high-pitched with an almost melodic quality. Soon enough I've pulled into a gravel drive. The house is lit and I can see shapes moving inside the open windows, behind the translucent curtains. I kill the engine and hesitantly open my car door. I know that I'm somewhere that I'm not supposed to be - somewhere that I won't be welcomed - but I've come nonetheless. I've come to do something.

I stand and shut the car door with an unheard clatter. The moment that I look back towards the house I am greeted by a fist. I find myself face down, lying on the gravel. I take a moment remind myself that I'm dreaming, You're not hurt, in fact you didn't feel that at all. This isn't real. I gaze upon my attacker's face and find no recognition in his deep chesnut eyes. He's a tall man, but then again, I'm on the ground. There's a commotion racing towards us from the house, "What are you doing? Who the hell is this?" comes a familiar voice. "Oh, Dan."

She ushers her husband and children inside, giving them reassuring words that "everything is going to be alright" and "Mommy just has to talk to her friend now." She slips back through the screen door with a beer.

"Uh, thanks." I mumble.

"What are you doing here, Dan?" She asks, without waiting for a response. "I'm married now. I have children. What do you want?"

"I- I don't know." I answer honestly. I am consumed by her face, forgetting for the moment that this is just a dream, a figment of my imagination. She has aged well, her natural beauty seeping through every pore. "Motherhood has done well by you. You look. . .well, you look beautiful Roxy." A smile spreads on her face, reaching far into the depths of her eyes.

"No one has called me that in a long time. . ." she takes my hand and we sit in silence.

And that's all I can remember from the dream.

It's funny really - I hardly think about Diana these days. Even when I heard that she had gotten engaged to Jack or Jake or whatever that fucker's name was - I wasn't angry or hurt at all. We had some really good times together, and I'm glad that it ended when it did. I certainly would have chosen a different ending at the time, but in hindsight I'm not sure I would have ever left her without a push. Heh - she pushed alright. And I'm probably a better, stronger person because of what she and our relationship taught me. Life long lessons. . . (I guess.)

-d.

*chirrup*

I'm not sure if the crickets moved in last night, or if this was just the first time I noticed them. I think that they must have always been there, but in my drug induced coma I must have missed their chirping.

I was pretty restless last night, hence the cricket watching. The small string players have long been a nighttime companion of mine. I know people who actually find the sound annoying (aka my mother) but I've always found a sort of meditative comfort in their rhythmic pulsing. It works a lot easier than counting imaginary sheep. I laid awake for a long time, restless with my thoughts. Anxiety likes to sneak up on you in the middle of the night; it likes to steal the sleep right from under your eyes. Then, even if it's kind enough to leave you alone - well, you're alone. Amongst solitude there are plenty of moments to live in, lots of conversations to be had.

It's these times of immersion in my own imagination that I talk to you. We sit here or there and hold long conversations about the past and the future, about all that's come and gone. We laugh about imaginary trips to the supermarket in search of the right words in the right moment. We dream about a thousand tomorrows laid back to back like scraps of unused paper, each awaiting us to draw our course ahead. And yet, that is where I cannot escape - this dream is a prison constructed by and for us.

How long must time be gone?

But those are just thoughts found in solitude - well, solitude among the crickets.

-d.

delusional daze

I spent the majority of the day yesterday huddled into a sweaty ball on my couch. Nyquil really is God's gift to the sick. There were hours of listless dozing, in and out of sleep, until I couldn't tell the real world from the dream world. Now, this wasn't some mighty sickness come over me, really. It was just a cold - a regular head cold turned chest cold turned fever. Not something to get your panties in a bunch over. But the infection coupled with the plethora of drugs I was on did make for a fantastic day of the surreal.

I remember dreaming that my mother was dying. She was lying there, old and paper thin. I was holding her hand while she turned from side to side, quietly moaning. She started to pull herself up by the strength of my arm and she beckoned to me with her free hand. She was trying to tell me something, trying to give me her final words. And then it was all wrong. It was me in the bed with my son hanging over me. It was by his strength that I motivated my self upwards. It was by his strength that I told him that I loved him.

I also dreamt about Chica yesterday -- but that's a different story altogether. I'm not sure how to feel about her right now. My faith in the absurd is wavering. Plus she's acting quite contradictory to herself, her beliefs. Hypocrisy is one trait that I cannot live with - it's dishonesty at it's worst. I guess that I should just let her go -- go little bird and fly away. It's hard growing away from your bestfriend. It's even harder when it's by choice and not by circumstance. I don't know -- maybe I'm just being a hoser because I know that she's leaving in less than a year and I'm afraid that she's going to move to Texas and never look back. I'm afraid that she's going to up and forget about me and then I'll be left here all alone, without any idea on which way to turn. So much of my life is entangled with hers; it's just scary being that close to a person.

. . . .

and on a lighter note. . .

I fell all better today. Well, not all better, but mostly better with some cough still lingering. There's little that a day of rest can't repair. (and some Nyquil)

and the carpets are getting steam cleaned in the apartment today. Yesterday evening G and I spent some time straightening up and vacuuming so the cleaners could come in and have an easy job today. I hope everything turns out well.

Today is the first day of Autumn!!! This is absolutely my favorite time of the year. There are trees turning shades of fantastic colors, cool breezes, long walks with good friends, good hot coffee outside, apples, and of course school started today. I miss going to classes.

ah well, such is life.

-d.

bleary eyed

The weekend was so wonderful, I'm not sure that I can express it in words. It certainly did more for me than words can describe.

I left the city early Friday (pretty much right after work) and as my sister and I made our way back through the fields of corn and soy to my boyhood home I could feel the stress of this life floating away. My mind was loosened and my heart began to speak again, and maybe even sing a bit. I hate to sound cliche, however, Friday and Saturday took me to a simpler time in my life where enjoyment could be wrought from the smallest things. I got to play football with my brother. He started JV this year, on top of doing baseball, choir, orchestra, and private violin lessons. He said that he wants to run Cross Country too. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I'm a little jealous of my 13 year old brother - he's amazing at pretty much everything he does. I was also treated to my mother's cooking, my grandmother's cooking, and my other grandmother's cooking. How's that - food for thought? On top of all this, I got to see Howdy too. He and I went to Brel-Air Bowling alley in Piqua to shoot some pool, have a few beers and watch the OSU game. I can't believe that he's going to get married. Of all of the guys that I ran around with in highschool, I would never have pegged Adam to be the first of us to get hitched. eh, anyway, good times were had by all.

Sunday was the Cain/Casto family reunion at Madison County Fairgrounds in London, Ohio. This tradition has been going on in my family, every year since 1917. I spent most of the afternoon playing with my cousin's son, Jayce. I really wish that I had some pictures to share; the boy is just beautiful. Jayce turned a year old last month, and although I don't get to see him all that often, I do cherish the times we have together. His father and I used to run around, getting into all sorts of trouble when we were young. I don't know, being there - with a baby - makes me think that I'm more ready to settle down than I'll admit to myself. I do want a family and that smothering normalcy that is American life. I guess that deep down I'm still resisting (or maybe just having trouble moving on.)

I started a short story about my brother, that I'll probably end up posting over here at The Orchard. I'll try and get that up by the end of the day. Oh, and speaking of the Orchard: a big shout out to all the good peoples over there - I won't name names because I'll miss someone that I'll regret later. You know who you are, thanks for making my days livable. Truthfully, you apples have become just as important to me as the music for which we meet over, I consider both a godsend.
. . . . .

thought of the moment: "I went to London and all I got was this lousy headcold."

I've been so inarticulate lately, and it's not as if I've lost the conviction behind my ideas. It's simply an inability to express myself -- mostly on the page. I want so badly to write you a poem, but everytime I sit down this blinking cursor stares at me and my mind goes blank as the page before me.

Maybe I've forgotten the old words, the miles of verse in my head.

I don't feel lost or forgotten. I don't feel changed at all. Actually I'm quite comfortable here, in this place that has no definition and therefore no boundaries. The lack of passion is made up for in an abundance of mediocrity. The tirade of questions have nearly ceased, replaced by apathy.

The world waits. . .

pissy

I wanted to write.
But I can't.
Maybe, it's because I'm at work.
or maybe I'm just stupid.

fuck.

religiosity (a rant)

I don't usually do this, but people have got my panties in a bunch today. I have a million questions for the religious nutters, ones that will never be answered but only danced around. You see, I left 'the church' about four years ago. This was a conscious choice. My needs for spiritual growth were seriously being pushed aside in favor of politics and hen-pecking. It wasn't just my needs being pushed aside, but God. God is supposed to be the cornerstone of church, right? After all, isn't the entire reason we congregate is to share our faith in worshiping the Lord? Well, I want to know why is it that my faith is to be made light of because I don't go to some shitty building to hear other people's bickering once a week? Why is it that my salvation isn't valid because I don't hold a stern, literal translation of the holy texts? And people, I'm not saying that I don't have faults, because I do. I thought that was the point of Christ?!? We ALL have faults, many of them that we're going to have to learn to live with the rest of our lives. God made man; man made God. These are true statements. HA! Now lets delve into some less pretty matters, like what constitutes truth? Is there absolute truth an how does an imperfect individual arrive at such a discovery? Is it lawful (in a spiritual sense) to judge and condemn your fellow man because they aren't living as you see fit, in your standard of spirituality? I won't even go into what defines spiritual law, because that leads us back to Deuteronomy and a list longer than Santa's. Some one recently told me that Christ came to fulfill the law, not to do away with it. Then why the hell did he go around breaking the law so consistently right in front of the Pharisees? Christ fulfilled the law by encompassing it in love and compassion. He created a way to do away with the years of dogma built upon by the Jewish priests over centuries, thus trapping the ordinary person from any chance at eternal life. The same way he can still break away the dogma of 'the church.' And when I refer to this I don't want people to think that I'm dogging on the Holy Roman Church. I think Catholicism has it's faults right along with Pentecostalism. They're two different sects suffering from the same loss of heart. God has never been a bureaucracy to me. He never will be either. God made man, perfect and in his own image. But then we sinned. You see, we had the choice, and we chose a way that wasn't God's intended path. That's all sin is, a derivation from the path of God. You will never be able to avoid this. And now man has built up religion (and therefore God) in his own image. Using the sacred to wage political and social wars on people not of the same cookie-cutter mold. I'm sick of the thumpers and their new crusade.

. . . .

I'm not sure if that at all made sense, but I feel loads better now! Thanks!

-dan.

in the mood

I was going to come in today and tell about my weekend. A friend's blog calls this 'toothpaste posts.' As in, I went to the store because I was out of toothpaste. However, I'm just not in the mood to have this endless recounting of days. Is that all a journal is supposed to be? The record of my life can't be counted in rolls of toilet paper and tubes of toothpaste.

I've felt the autumn creeping in, and it does make my heart yearn. It's the good sort of pain that can only express itself in the meanderings of late night coffees and endless pages of solitary notes. I also like to draw. Over the weekend I spent some time detailing this charcoal of a spider spinning a web that I started over a year ago. I like to come at my art that way, slowly over time. Everytime I play a song that I've written, or revisit an old journal entry, I find new things that excite and speak to me. This, of course leads to new creativity. The work stands alone, and speaks to me, the creator. This kind of collaboration leads the work down new paths that seemingly both it and I have chosen. It all reminds me of my relationship with God.

There it is: the relationship between creation and creator. It's a delightful dance of life and experience, one that every human can know.

. . .

There is a crisp breeze today; the colors are ripe in the world, and I can't stop daydreaming. There is a universe of endless possibility at the tips of my fingers. All this makes me quietly smile and speak to myself, "Self, today is a grand day. It is filled with strength and hope. The world awaits your engagement." And then I lull off in the chorus of "This is the day that the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." I am brimming over with contentment.

upon my door there came a knocking

I fell asleep early last night. With the autumn quickly approaching, I find myself falling into old, die-hard habits like staying up until 3am writing abstract poetry and reading philosophy. Needless to say, my current schedule is not very conducive to these practices. So after four days of non-sleep, I found my body properly shutting down around 10. I was actually a little excited as I drifted off midst the umpteenth episode of CSI that day; then just as I was falling into the perfect dream world, someone knocked on my door. I quickly opened and shut my eyes, hoping that if I ignored the meek knock, the person behind it would simply leave me, that I might get a quality night's sleep. I laid still for a moment trying desperately to fight off the barrage of thoughts now virulently cursing through my head. At some point during this great flood, I remembered that earlier I told my neighbor that I would look over her appraisal letter before she sent it off to the bureau the next day. I also have this nasty habit of not being able to let people down. Reluctantly, I rose from my very much prone position and made my way to the door, and even though the place reeked of my bachelorhood I threw it open.

Much to my surprise, it wasn't my neighbor at all but Chica. She was standing there in work scrubs and wearing a groggy smile. "I came to see my Dan! I just couldn't help it," she exclaimed. The gift of such a pleasurable unanticipated visit swept my annoyance away apace.

We didn't say much. She let off some work steam talking lackadaisically for a short while, mostly about her first week at a new job. But for the most part we simply sat there and held each other, just two people finding the comfort they needed in one another. As the credits of Family Guy were rolling, she rose and started to gather her things. "Leaving so soon?" I asked, have joking, half hoping. She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead and without saying a word she left.

rain

I've been of the insomniac club for many a year now. I really count this as both a blessing and a curse. I mean, I love the night -- it's always been a time where I can collect thoughts and live inside my head. The hours between sunset and sunrise have been nothing less than inspirational to my creative outbursts. Plus, I don't require all that much sleep. As long as I have a solid REM cycle and a couple of cups of coffee in the morning I feel fine all day long. My limit is about 3 1/2 hours.

My roommate and I drove to our hometown last night to pay a visit to my favorite uncle. Rhino always enjoys seeing us boys; he always showers us with presents and sends us on our merry way. Last night we got into town about 9:20, and although the time isn't exceptionally late, and it was all too possible to have made the drive back to Columbus, we were tired and wanted to find a place to lie low and enjoy the rest of our evening. This lead us to GMoney's parent's house (where no one lives, since his Dad got transfered to South Carolina.) Their house is as posh as it always was, and with no one else coming home, we had free reign to shoot pool and play some Bond. Everytime I go home with G, I feel as if I am revisited by a former version of myself. We tend to take on the rolls that we filled during our final years in high school, laughing long into the night, spinning stories that we lived not half a decade ago.

Unfortunately, since we were in Sidney, we also had to get up an hour ahead of normal schedule. The drive to work this morning (about an hour and fifteen minute commute) was peaceful, albeit dreary. It just started to drizzle as we pulled out of the driveway, and it's yet to cease raining. And it's a cool, autumn-like rain. I love this kind of weather, especially on a day that you can spend on the porch, wrapped in a quilt with a good Dostoevsky novel. Again - Unfortunately, I've spent the day here, at work. I'm not going to start complaining about my job or anything, but there are a million things that I would rather be doing today. Not all of them pay that well. I suppose that I'm really thankful for this job. I mean, I spent the five months previous to this pretty much unemployed. That really sucked.

So today, I'm stuck inside, unable to enjoy mothernature's weeping. She's made me a little sad, and kind of tired too.

-d.

Nashville/Labor Day News

I love a good holiday weekend. Plus I took Friday off, making my three days four. Saturday morning I jumped in the back of my buddy's PT Cruiser and we set off on the seven hour road trip -- what could be better than four guys in a car going down the road? Actually Adam was having a bit of a stomach issue (motion sickness and whatnot) but after three stops so that he could revisit his breakfast everything went pretty smoothly.

The car ride was pretty awesome. We passed the time beeping the horn at Kerry/Edwards stickers, and occassionally mooning the W'04 people. Eh, boys will be boys. And after seven hours, and some Skyline Chili, we finally arrived in Nashville. It was my first time in the city, and I was really awed by it's beauty. I've really never been anywhere that I could compare to Columbus, but Tennessee was almost better. Maybe it was the freshness of a new place, but the Vanderbilt campus and surrounding areas really rocked. The place was so green, and artsy. We had some really good food, and had the opportunity to check out a few local bars. The people south of the mason-dixon line really do have some great manners. It was also kind of neat to be in a larger city, because no one really found our accents all that strange. (Although, I do love the twang of a southern drawl.) All in all, it was really good to see Eric and to get away. I haven't had a vacation in ages.

. . . .

When I got back Monday night Chica called me to say that Christopher is going to ship out today to Afghanistan. She's really terrified that he's going to go over there and get himself shot or something. I guess that I'm just a chronic optomist, but I really think that Chris is going to be ok. I mean, I know that Afghanistan isn't the safest place in the world right now - but lets face it, he's scheduled to go to Iraq in March, so how much worse could it be? Chris knew going into the Marines that the country was going to war -- that's why he signed up. Crazy motherfucker. But what're you going to do when your cousin wants to jump out of helicopters whilst shooting an assault rifle?

I really hate this pointless war. And I suppose this is just another reason why it's so important to get people like Bush out of office come November. So do your part. Register to vote, and when the time to make your decision comes, think about the consequences.

And, down with lieing warmongers.

peace and chicken grease,
-d.