Off the Radar.

The weekend with the folks off of the radar.

I am trying to get off of the radar. I am trying to free myself of whatever junk I have upstairs in my head. I do understand that this is impossible, as what I deem to be junk is actually something that I valued at a certain point. Therefore, my desire to clear away these old, once very important bits of information to create room for these new very important bits of information. See, it is this cycle.

What I have found is that it is never in the product of the action, but in the attempt. Getting a college degree was supposed to solidify my future. It was the lynchpin in whatever it is that I was to do. I was always the youngest and “wise for my age.”

Earning that degree, then earning an additional degree and my latest pursuit of yet another degree has done nothing to create any sense of stability, but has caused even more doubt concerning the importance of the construct.

This past weekend I spent every moment with people that has or are in the attempt to live away from this manufactured happiness. I am not going to paint each individual with a broad stroke, but these are my brothren in the trenches. And, with you taking time to enjoy these wonderful insights, you are with us and not alone.

A quick overview is in order.

Friday: Billiards and chess. I am pretty talented at one, pretty terrible at the other, both equally as fun.

Saturday: Workshop in the morning. Symposium in the afternoon. Literary benefit in the evening.

Sunday: Coffee and mind dump in the morning. Purposeless lunch in the afternoon. Reading and meditation in the evening. Also, more chess.

I have re-ignited the beast that is William taking over Austin with sheer energy and naïve dreams that the best is yet to come.

I am becoming heavily involved with an amazing literary organization in Austin entitled the Austin Bat Cave. My first order of business, was to spend the morning with author, Wells Tower, to workshop and exchange ideas about the writing process. Briefly, it was amazing. I wrote two stories in a short amount of time. The stories will be at the end of this short entry for you to enjoy.

The afternoon continued with a discussion with five national authors concerning the current state and future of the writing profession. After that an after party of sorts was hosted at Club De Ville in Austin with bands, beer and smart discussions with smart people.

Sunday was a chill morning of chess, travel, coffee and vegan nut bread. It mellowed into a trip to the Austin Zen Center for a purposeless picnic with a passively heated game of bocce. The evening blended more chess with meditation and assessment of all that is or will be.

Wrapping a nice and quick bow on the weekend, it was pleasant to enjoy time with the folks who do enjoy life in the moment. So many times we are caught up with what has happened, what will be happening, what I don’t have a certain time, what I had and lost and what I may never have again. All of these worries are self created and cause the anxieties in which cripple ourselves on a daily basis.

It was refreshing to simply enjoy nothingness that was filled with the energies of brilliant minds connecting in a human way. Also, it is a nice shot to the ego when a published author is so impressed with your work that it causes him to be self conscious about his.

The following will be two stories followed by a clip of a band in which I recently discovered with the help of my good friend, Benjamin, entitled “Bonobo.”

Enjoy.

The Lie I’m Glad I Told

Windows. Why so many windows? It is to save money? Is it for safety? Is it to oppress?

It flies by. Just goes and goes. Then it stops. Stops dead. Stops slowly. Veers left then right. Jitters. Feels like a boat but there is not any water.

People come and go. Like spirits sharing for a few moments. Bonds of a community forged and lost with each stop. These stops are the pathways to what is and what was.

Is this time travel? Is this a chance to go back and change? Can I get off, cross the street, hop on the other way and go back. Go back to the moment that just happened. The one that caused this trip. The one that made me; me?

Stops again. Two on; six off. Numbers are dwindling.

Do they know? They have to know. I’m wearing it on my face like a virgin wears a chastity ring. The shame of following the voice of doubt in your head during the most gray areas of the day, but happy to be strong when the dream has passed.

Should I tell them?

Why not? We are friends. Common to the virtues of travel. They would be proud. Proud that I was honest. I could be their story. For a moment they can leave their role as the lead in their life and try their hand at the supporting role. They would like that. I know they would. Later, they would sit at the dinner table and while enjoying their processed sugars and chemicals pronounce: “You won’t believe what I heard today …”

Stop. Three off; one on.

The overcast is losing. It is spread so far that it is thinning. The sun is looking for the weak spot. Just plotting its strike. Searching the board for the weakest piece. Its there, it always is. Just have to search for it. The sun always wins.

Two stops left. Three people on. Decision time. I can just keep it inside. She’ll never know. It’ll just go on top of the pile with the lies of “who ate the cake?” or “This shade of lipstick on your collar doesn’t look all that much like mine.” Those worked out just fine. Honesty would have been more destructive.

Not for you; but them. They didn’t really want to know the answer. Just like your traveling brothern don’t want this nugget.

Keep it inside. It’s dark and crowded enough. What damage could another one do?

Stop. Two off.

Solitude. You and the driver.

It’s quite.

It’s sunny.

So predictable.

THE END.

“I’m going to make breakfast. He’ll like that.”

“What time is she going to work?”

“Eggs and biscuits. Seven grain toast with almond butter. Grapefruit juice.”

“It should have ended earlier.”

“New York Times or USA Today? He has glasses, has to be a Times guy.”

“Is she up? I can still make it home before it gets there.”

“NPR. Definitely NPR. Professors only listen to it, have to stay informed.”

“Why did I take that last Jamison?”

“A professor. Wow! I wonder if it’ll be a spring wedding.”

“Did I drive back? My keys, ok, in my pants. Where are my pants?”

“Three kids. Two girls; one boy. Tanner. We’ll have Tanner first. Oldest son.”

“Ok, go time. She hasn’t moved. Mission to the pants, little noise. Leave the shoes. Come on yoga, time to pay off.”

“Greenwich. It’ll be a Cape Cod home. Mom and dad will be so proud. Chad won’t.”

“She moved. Did she move? Goddamnit. Abort! Abort, body stay still.

“Good morning.”

“Too late.”

THE END.

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