an ode to The Buyer

Did you know that I invented the ipod?

It is true, and if we pretend that words are proof, I can prove it to you.

Several years ago it was sunny but still cold and I was outside in the orchard picking up pruned branches from the ground. Grass was growing, weaving itself over severed limbs. With every stick picked up from the ground grass would break off and follow trails of kinetic energy I left in the air. I was soon warmer than the breeze.

More importantly, the CD player I was using had frustratingly limited battery life. And it was ugly. And I had been listening to the 12 songs on my mix on repeat for the last two hours. Cousin Casey made it for me, and though it was filled with 8th grade lovelies like Wilco, Modest Mouse, and AC Newman, the cutting edge dulls fast on young ears.

Then what I thought next would someday change our world:

What if they made something that acted like a hundred different CD players, but was the size of just one. What if they created something that kept many different musics safely inside, but had a battery life that would outlast the time it took me to pee.

"Maybe someday," I thought.

A month or so later I climbed onto the old country school bus and Emma Hilton was sitting there, like she had been every day the year before, only this time something was different. the buzzword? ipod. Our fascination? insurmountable. Everything I had described in my head that day in the orchard now tangibly existed in the palm of my hand. Chris Martin was singing to me his favorite color right out of the little square of black magic technology I had previously composed in my head.

So, I invented the ipod. Did I reap any of the benefits from my great contribution to society? Of course not. But I have a greater responsibility to worry about. My ability to will the distant, ambiguous They to do my bidding. I thought small, portable music device and they said "ipod."

you can just call me The Consumer. Super powers without the cape. The orchard trees have been pruned again, and I'm thinking new thoughts. How about contact lenses that act as cameras in your eyes? I think we could all really benefit from something like that.

and I'm just saying.. you heard it here first.

Television Sucks

I sat down to write about family and time and process but the blaring of Criminal Minds is creating a black whole wherein these ideas sat just seconds ago. I really wanted to write tonight, I promise. But Sgt. Davis is loudly grilling some crusty man about hookers and crime scenes and honestly my heart can't move past the cheap dialogue.

And does she care? no.

Will she ever read this? see question #1.

I never knew one could live so close and exist in a space so far away.

shit.

Instant Reminiscing - we were so young.

ah friends, the stuff of life.

watch it bigger here.

Thanks for being so honest.

We drove to Capitol Hill tonight. I didn't want to drive my car, my eyes were tired and my heart was nervous about the six pages I had yet to start - the deadline of tomorrow morning creeping closer all the time. Britt took the keys and asked me which button unlocked the door.

"Blue."

And then I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat and after a little trouble with shifting into reverse, we went forward. Upward to the Hill and she maneuvered the Ol' Subie so well. All the lights were winky last night, staring down from the tops of the now-familiar buildings. Maybe they were silhouetting the figures of people bent over desks in last minute attempts to gain one more foot on tomorrow. Maybe tonight they will do the same again. Everyone putting one foot forward for Morning. Sometimes I wonder how Evening feels, the girl with the potential to be beautiful but no one ever really looks twice.

Britt was right, I've been loving the women metaphors lately.

Well the lights and the people and the rooms were all far away, and Bon Iver sounded too good and too winter 2008 to really give the worried, hurried people much more thought.

People should know Dire Straits

Six blog posts in, and I've already achieved writers block. thoughts just aren't fitting together in a cohesive manner lately. So lets regress into lists again:

The shower is on next door. I love the methodical sound of running water paired with the typing clack of computer keys.

Someone is singing somewhere outside. A reminder of humanity.

My 8:oo class class is canceled for tomorrow. 9:00 wake up call, here I come.

I have great friends, within and without of the current context of my life.

This weekend I will hike the ridge.

I'm not going to bullet point these things, but I am going to share one of my favorite poems with you-

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Thank you, Madi Becker. this is a poem I always return to. You showed me it in the back stacks of the Blue Room, and it has always felt important.

saturdays and cupcakes

The Girl fluctuates from center field. She moves towards right wing, then left wing, and then back again. There and back again, but this time its not a hobbit's tale. The Girl smiles as she makes yet another poor LOTR reference.

But that was yesterday.

Today the game seems to play out strictly down the middle. And thats nice, for a change. The players respectively substitute in and out, the coach is very present. The Girl loves to make her own decisions, defensive or offensive, but today she can whole-heartedly admit its nice to have him beaming from the sidelines. from the seattle skyline.

Thank you

Distract Me

Sun, come out again. I felt you for a moment today and it was like being hugged by vitamin D.

yes?

Science proves the sun is needed in our skins, on our hearts. The happiness you feel must be real because Science says so.

maybe.

But I was still caught within pages and pages of 7th chords and lead sheets, and the intimidating feeling of pushed creativity.

Creativity thats rolled into a ball and thrown down the lane on a crash course so all noticing can take place. Can I handle it?

Friend, I want to be a poet too. A good poet. But I don't want to be depressed for ever.

However

I do want to live out all feelings.

I want to live inside a Band of Horses song. All tucked in and curled up.

Moats and Boats and Waterfalls

a number of reasons allowed this weekend to be really great.
I will disclose a few:

• spu has been spotted starting to plant flowers, and daffodil buds are coming up. yes.
• the Fellowship has almost reached its close, probably another two hours left. it has been great journeying with you, friends, but we must reach the end of all things at some point, like maybe this thursday night?
• re-started Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. the imagery blows my mind. I plan to finish it this time.
• spent time with new people
• compline was short but beautiful
• Brittany and I danced in my room and sorted clothes. so my closet is breathing a little easier now. and here is something she showed me- me quierelo:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Cy3hMbl1W8

someday I want to sing about love like this.