i tried watching kung faux vol.3 to no avail, and i was quite looking forward to watching it. classic fung foo overlapped with gangsta speak. i got it off a dude i know who is into ninjas too: a terrible burned copy that neither my vcr/dvd player nor my laptop computer would play. both spit it out. perhaps they have been spoiled by the real thing. they just can't go back.
so tonight i sit in pajamas, listening to a new cd and flipping through flipping through my new-to-me book: TRIBUTE TO RELIGION. [filled with pages of photos of the grand architectural works of man inspired by god(s).].
are you a curious person like me?
do you want to know what i'm listening to? because i'll tell you, it's fucking great. it's my first listen to a cd called since we last spoke by rjd2. my friend auddy left it at my place after we attempted to go to a love language show over the weekend. we missed the show because we got caught up in talking, catching up with her felt so real. we understand each other, it's so special when you just get someone. and happy ending alert i saw the band later that night, and they rocked it.
do you want to know more about the book? i got it downtown, at a used book store that changed hands and reinvented itself. it is no longer the musty old chaotic bookery, unvacuumed and slumming, owned by a very flirtacious old man who would give change from his wallet. it is now bright and organized and monitored by hanging mirrors to a thousand unseen big brothers or perhaps just passers by. while we stood in line a man in front of us spoke in the most beautiful accent. a new friend leaned over, put her hand to her mouth, and low-spoke-whispered, i don't care what he says i just want him to keep talking. i nodded slowly, not at all minding the conversation holding up the distracted book keeper.silently tapping.with his. beat. we just listened to the rhythm and the soft twang of his words- swooning inside the room of the [less] dusty shelves and shelves of books.
i left with evidence of what humans can do with inspiration. the book notes 8 world religious architectures, all reaching up towards the heavens, trying to connect with a powerful deity: creators and sustainers, some blood-thirsty and angry, some all too human. our ancestors tried to stretch as far up as they could like an outstretched arm, asking god to be near. cathedral of san marco, venice. notre dame, paris. old-new synagogue, prague. melk monastery, austria. cologne cathedral, west germany. hagia sophia, istanbul. cuzco cathedral, peru. angkor wat, cambodia. i was surprised to see that i had been to the first three on this list. looking at the pictures is so different from being there. to stand beside it and feel the full scale of it all is irreplaceable. i immediately decide i'm going to see as many places in this book as possible. my next is angkor wat, i've been wanting to see this place for some time, and it is in the region of the world i want to visit next: the far east.
these talks of dreams are awakening my senses, and now i feel more awake than before. the album has played a second time through.
i remember how forty eight hours ago i was on a boat, dancing with friends, gliding on smooth water, dreaming of summer, hip hop hopping through our hips. this was highlight two of the weekend, made better by the disorder of the surrounding night. the energy was strange, a goodbye party and a birthday party, colliding emotions coming out sideways. i was so glad for the simplicity of the moment, smiles, music, loud talking against the dark night, our boat the only thing cutting the stillness of the water, deep and dark, and still on the surface.
tonight it was back to business fine combing the obituary. tomorrow i am meeting with a friend of superfred's to plan "his celebration of life." this weekend: a wedding, next week: a funeral. a scale equal on both sides.
rubber soul has been playing in my background, and my eyes finally tire. they must break from the screen for
glorious sleep is near.
goodnight, bear
spinsley
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