rambling

I spent yesterday at the Renfest with my daughter. It freaks me a little that some of you already know that. It freaks me more that any of you actually care.

8:40 am and I am doing this instead of things that need doing more. i could blame that on you all. You are interesting and you do share love often. Perhaps it's your fault that I am fascinated with you and with this interaction. That it draws me. That sometimes you draw me.

I'm standing at the fair sniffing things at a booth of smelly oils. I'm totally with Julia standing there. But Melissa is also standing next to me in a way, in whispering echos. Suddenly i am actually trying to split scents with my nose and identify their memory, or their origin. I actually get a few.

I see a tattoo go by and the goddess she has on her arms is a lot like CC's avatar. So there she is for a moment.

I can't begin to count the Martin guitars hanging around necks. But Kate comes to mind with each one of them, and I have no idea that she is a Martin person, while being sure she is. And then there are the bare feet....

I see the half naked and reckless pickle guys being entirely themselves, and Sex Mahoney is standing there (go read his current blog by the way. The best of his I have ever read.) going on in graphic detail about the uses and placement of pickles.

Even the rubenesque Lilliputians in their baubles have entirely new hotness. I find myself searching their faces for one exact face. It's not there, that face, and yet somehow you are.

Crazy clingy new lovers wandering connected like hot glass, stretching and glimmering, attached to anything like long bare legs and I am tempted to walk up and say "Allison?"

I'm not even gonna mention long dark black hair. Shit. just did. But when you only know a thing, or two about how a friend looks, dresses, walks, they kind of bleed over with wondering into lots of silly little connections attached to other women's flowing tresses.

I also won't wonder why the patron saint of sarcasm is posing as a variety of wench's in Minnesota. My guess is that she simply can't help it.

This then, is my life on myspace. I carry you around, in the background. I'm good with that. I like it. I feel you as friends, as people. I trust that.

My words here, they carrie a little too much weight sometimes. Like gold, you give them, and me, a little too much value sometimes. Like gold, I'm just a metal. Rellly no more valuable than other metals. It just causes a facination sometimes. Some people are caught by it.

Try starting your car with a piece of me. Not gonna happen.

So here's the wrap up. I'm gonna dissapear for a few days. Self dicipline is what will be my motivation. I need to clean up some things that I have let go.

In the old days when you spent gold, you simply chunked off a bit big enough to pay, or bit a piece off a coin that was too much. I have been doing that alot.

I don't regret a single thing I've spent myself on. That includes myspace, and all of you. I could lay my facination and my time spent just like this on you, or on my supposed need for approval. But it would be total crap.

I stood at the booth and sniffed with Julia at a fragrance called "constant change".

It was attractive and we both liked it. i almost bought it. We could pick three, for 20.00. She had chosen a lovely lilac scent. I sniffed lots of things, we left and came back, and finally i asked the question.

Do you have something that smells like smoke? Birch is what it's called. Heavy wood smoke from a forest fire kind of smell. A little bit of autumn leaves. I thought life when I picked it again. See, I own that I picked it the first time. I picked the fire.

There was this other smell that I kept coming back to. Dark and complex. In moments sweet, and yet with a different scent on each sniff. Something different comes out. It was my third. I did not register the word at all despite looking at the bottle a dozen times. I actually asked what it was.

On the way home, Julia was taking scents and mentioned it by name. I said "i didn't buy that, did I?" She just looks at me. "Dad, the stuff you bought is called Bard." (get off the floor, David. It's not that funny)

I'm going from here for a few days. It's not a fault in myspace, or you, or me. It's simply the understanding that my choices this week need to make cents, and sense and scents. It's not you, and it's not myspace. It's me.

So the wordfast begins with me tearing myself from this keyboard and moving towards the analog world full of people who want the foreground.

I'll be back. I have some cleaning up to do.

completely dale.


P.S. If i didn't mention you, it was probibly not because i didn't think of you. For instance,the knife thrower with the bad german accent brought Steve to mind, but I was not sure if I should mention it.... He did hit a guy with a blade....

And also I wanted to mention a guy who has been a one of my hero's for years. Joe Kudla passed away this summer. He was half of my all time favorite comedy act, Puke and Snot. I can remember standing in the rain with these guys at the Colorado fair two wives ago. I quote them here often. So this blog's a little for Joe. On the bright side, one of my bucket list jobs just opened up...

God rest his damned funny soul.. he said a lot of things worth going to hell over....



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