Focus on the Water

A sweeping organ sound creeps in from all sides, filling the room with something undefinable yet comforting in its way. It's a warm, inviting sound that hints at spaces far beyond what we know. Comprehension is impossible because there is nothing to comprehend.

Strings fade in and swell as a bass line drones beneath it all. It's as though a fog is being lifted to reveal many hidden colors. Movement is unhurried, like walking in slow motion, absorbing every surrounding sensation as it passes.

There is purpose in this even as the purpose is unclear. There is a destination, although it is not easy to find or reach.

The experience of moving through fog feels familiar. It's disorienting but not troublesome. There is knowledge that something lies at the end. Gravity pulls everything forward.

A chorus of children sings a simple, haunting melody. The voices sound like more strings, blending with the others before fading back into nothing.

Minimal drops of piano notes create an ethereal texture as the strings begin to pulsate. Counterpoint emerges. It's a slow tide, moving first one way and then the other.

We walk along the beach, watching the water recede, revealing tiny animals that dwell in the sand. There is no need to hurry. Everything was here before us, and so it shall be after we are gone.

The children sing again and then disappear, leaving only echoes, which echo the footprints of those who walk along the beach. Water surrounds us, providing comfort.

The world fades away, moving further into space, separating from other bodies around it. Such is the nature of an expanding universe. Everything is running away from everything else.

Where will it end? When will it end? Who will know such things?

Focus on the water. Keep breathing, then eventually stop.

More Interesting Than These Words

For health reasons I've had to give up caffeine. I'm hoping this is a temporary situation because I can tell you that life without caffeine is not worth living. It's my drug of choice, and I miss it very much.

Without my morning coffee I stumble through life as though in a dense fog. I have trouble seeing more than a very short distance ahead of me, and after a while I stop caring about what might even be there.

On the bright side, the A's won last night. We were thinking of trekking up to Anaheim for the Sunday afternoon game, but laziness once again prevails and we will watch it on TV from the comfort of our own home.

I am actively reading two novels. One is thoughtful and meditative, the other is clever and sometimes silly to the point of cloying. I like them both so far, though they are very different from one another.

Meanwhile, brew day went well in the sense that the process was completed with minimal difficulty. Started a little after 9 a.m., finished a little before 1 p.m., though much of that is just waiting for water to boil.

I'm hopeful that some of the lessons we learned from brewing our first batch a couple months ago will make this batch more palatable. We'll find out in about five weeks, fingers crossed.

One important factor that I think we screwed up last time is temperature control. We pitched the yeast when it was still a little too warm (though not outrageously warm) and didn't even bother to monitor the fermentation temperature.

So, you know, process. Refinement thereof and what not.

More baseball today. And reading and writing. Or as I call it, the usual. It promises to be more interesting than these words.

They're the Same Thing

Wrote a new scene from scratch yesterday. It's easier now that the first draft is done and I know the characters and story better. It still required thought, but the skeleton came quickly and then it was just a matter of filling in details. I didn't use actual character “interviews” I've conducted, though they did inform thoughts and actions.

Living with these characters in my head for more than nine months makes a difference. So does writing 100,000 words about them. The types of questions I find myself asking now are more focused and less nebulous. They no longer steer me along paths that lead to dead ends. It's a good feeling, although there's still a long way to go.

* * *

Today is brew day. Second batch of beer, this time an American amber ale. Did some prep last night. Big challenge is keeping temperatures down so the yeast doesn't go crazy. The porter we made last time is drinkable but drinks more like a dunkelweizen with all its fruitiness. It's not bad, it's just not representative of the style we'd intended to brew.

We'll get the process started a little earlier and take steps to cool the fermenter (setting the bucket in ice water seems to be the method of choice, although there are other strategies). We carefully documented where we went wrong last time and hopefully will learn from our mistakes. And we'll probably make more mistakes this time, document those, and hopefully learn from them next time.

* * *

The more I write and the more I brew, the more convinced I become that they're the same thing, with one using words and the other hops, malt, yeast, and water. Both take time and attention, and both yield rewards commensurate with the effort given.

case/lang/veirs

Saw Neko Case, k.d. lang, and Laura Veirs last night. Very likely my only concert of the year and well worth it. They played most of their new collaborative album as well as tunes from their impressive individual catalogs.

Case sang “Margaret vs. Pauline,” “Hold On,” and a super punked out version of “Man.” Of course, lang sang “Constant Craving.” I don't know Veirs' material, but everything she did sounded great also. She and lang largely drove the writing on their album. Veirs is also a fine guitarist.

The backing band was great. Simple arrangement: keys, drums, bass, guitar from left to right (or right to left if you're on stage). This was their opening show and the nerves showed a bit, especially early. They acknowledged it and had fun with it, at one point commenting on a certain song being played as fast as they'd ever played it. I definitely noticed it with Case's solo material. To her credit she was able to sneak in all the words without suffocating from lack of oxygen. I don't know how she did it.

But this is a minor complaint, and in fact it's not even a complaint, because it was so charming to see such talented and accomplished musicians struggle with nerves. The result was a tremendously energetic performance that teetered on sloppiness without slipping over the edge. Give me energetic and wobbly over listless and precise every time.

I'm picky with my shows. I'll see Rush (though they're probably done), They Might Be Giants, Radiation City, a few artists from Hawai'i. That's about it. When I do drag my ass out of the house to experience live music, I want to be blown away by it. Mission accomplished. These guys delivered a show I'll not soon forget.

More Likely It's Lightning

Some mornings you just stare at the blank page and start writing or typing or whatever it is you do and hope that it comes out less horrible than this. You just keep going until you break on through to the other side like Jim Morrison said not that I worship Morrison because he doesn't sound like the greatest guy in the world although he is dead but some don't believe that. They called him the Lizard King which seems weird but then his band was called The Doors which is no less weird. Their music was weird I remember the first time I heard it was in the eighth grade. Never experienced anything like it I'm not sure I love it but it's extremely distinctive. It's weird enough to come from a band called The Doors fronted by a man called the Lizard King.

Some days you break on through other days not so much maybe you forget how to use punctuation except for periods. It's not the worst thing people can figure things out for themselves like where the breaks go and such. But still you'd rather be composing something meaningful rather than just slapping words together stapling them onto anything that doesn't move like political posters or whatever. Sometimes it's hard to find meaning in the words there's only letters that make up the words and they all come together as sentences and paragraphs and read like the manifesto of a crazy person called the Lizard King.

That's the problem with writing though. You're never done you just keep going until somehow it all makes sense or something resembling sense. The blank page is your enemy and you must obliterate it with words. Or go outside for a nice walk and hope inspiration strikes. More likely it's lightning.

Disappearing into the Horizon

Familiar places become a part of the background, scarcely noticed during the normal course of events. Whatever magic spark once drew us there dies, replaced by the mundane regularity of existence. This is perhaps a shame.

If we can remember the feeling of that spark, though, maybe there is a chance that it can reignite with the right stimuli. Trickery might be involved.

* * *

This was four years ago and I've forgotten everything. We probably ate a decadent brunch on the other side of the tracks. Actually, no. At that time of year we were meeting my parents at a different restaurant off to the right, just up the hill and through a small park where weddings are sometimes held.

It's possible that we stopped for a beer on the way back to the station, before getting on the train that would take us home. There were no clouds in the sky, and there is a sense of timelessness that pervades the scene.

* * *

People can be the same way. The familiar becomes comfortable, which is good, but which is also easy to take for granted. More trickery is needed to keep it all fresh and new.

This is just a theory. It might be complete hogwash. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

* * *

Tracks stretch into the distance, lined by palm trees. Trains will come and go, disappearing into the horizon on their way to other places that may or may not be familiar. A horn blows, there is the clanging of bells. People stop to watch. Some get off the train, others get on.

There are a finite number of destinations along the line, but it never feels that way. Every time, it seems like anything is possible. And maybe, just maybe, it is.

Things Get Better

Sometimes only a minor tweak is needed. A gap in logic must filled. Maybe it requires an entire scene. Or maybe just a few lines.

Full moon last night as I struggle to find words this morning without caffeine. It's a health thing. The moon was glorious, blotting out many stars, and even more so on waking. It hung low in the western sky, craters beckoning on a cloudless day.

Predicted high is 88 degrees, which is scorching in these parts. People in other places, confronted with temperatures 30 degrees higher, are less impressed. Wish I could help them.

Watched a basketball game last night, which is a thing I rarely do. Once upon a time, yes, but that was many full moons ago. It was entertaining, with many lead changes. The wrong team won, but I'm happy for them. They fought hard and persevered as the opposition self-destructed. Sometimes just hanging in there is the best strategy.

Feeling aimless, probably because I am. By definition I must be headed in a direction, but I have no idea which one or whether it's correct.

Keep writing and hope stuff works. Sometimes just hanging in there is the best strategy.

Today's goals are simple: read, write, and stay cool.

Maybe it's not even about the writing of words, maybe it's about the living of a life. Could be why I don't know what direction I'm headed. Where is my lighthouse or my compass? I only have pen and paper, but that's enough for now.

I can write myself clear of those looming rocks, trace a path around the curving coastline and on to safety beyond the point. I can remember the light of a full moon and hold it with me in times of darkness, as a reminder that things get better.