un-haunted

i always want to believe that in the forest i'll feel some ghostly presence, a haunting, a foreboding, or at least the curiosity of a spirit in proximity to the living.  on the olympic peninsula, i'd assume old ghosts must haunt every tree, the psychic remnants of america's pioneering forebears and of peoples and times completely remote to my memory.

trees grow tall in the olympic national forest.  fir tree minarets inspire vertigo like looking down off a cliff.  deciduous hyphae branch outward under and through the evergreen, leafless but not nude in the winter, the bark of these trees warmed by bryophyte furs.  the thick moss vivid green contrasted with the gray and brown of the forest, the blue-green of the evergreen.  we hiked through ectoplasmic silence, a density that could be determined between footfalls.  the forest was lovely, dark, and deep but there were no ghosts to be found.

i spent the weekend on the puget sound with adam and his friends - we stayed at his friend alisa's parents' beach house.  we woke to gray expanses, gray clouds stretching out over a deeper gray sea to the dark shores on the horizon.  seagulls screamed as they chased one another through the sky, fighting over fish or garbage.  in the beach house, over-warm, we lounged in t-shirts, melted worry with wine.  everyone seemed happy, relaxed.  i slept soundly, deeply, undisturbed by phenomena otherworldly or otherwise, awaking refreshed.  adam, already awake, smiled at me and i whispered, "where's my coffee?"

even if you spend the weekend doing exactly what you always do, it's sometimes good to get away, to escape the ghosts of daily living.  anxiety haunts me.  i anticipate and worry and stress; i relive and review and remember.  i worry that what has come before could just repeat itself now, that everything is cyclical.  and i worry that what i have done could dramatically impact my future.  this may be true, but this constant worry constraints my actions, paralyses, distracts me from the moment, from what's important.  anxiety sometimes prevents me from living fully with the living, with the friends and family with whom i'm surrounded.

to halt the rhythm of the quotidian can break the spell of anxiety.  as i hiked with adam's friends through the forest, we talked and walked and fell silent for intervals.  mid-winter, i did not hear even a bird, even an animal moving through the forest.  we found our way to a little river, magically turquoise beneath the rapids, and as we hiked away from it, up and a hill and over, the noise of the water fell away and i was left with just our quiet hike, the soft shift of fabric and the motion of our bodies.

the forest may look like it should be haunted, but as i hiked, i found a lack of psychic disturbance.  untroubled, in awe of the forest, we were happy with each other.

insomniac

tired, worn out, i found myself in bed with adam the other night, who had arrived back in portland that day.  i picked him up from the airport that afternoon.  at the number 8 baggage claim carousel, he ran over to me, bear hug grasped, and gave me a kiss.  a movie reunion.  i felt awkward, nervous now that he had arrived home, wondering what had changed.  simultaneously, i found myself lit up, excited, a dog wagging his tail.

pizza and beer at dove vivi.  i relaxed.  we relaxed in bed together after.  i smiled and he smiled.  we had sex together and fell asleep.

insomnia strikes again.  i find myself sleepless every couple of months, usually in tandem with some anxiety.  these days i have been taking 5-htp to keep my brain in top condition during the winter on my friend ryan’s recommendation.  it boosts neuro-transmitter function.  i take it just before bed and it helped me fall asleep at first.  then i started to take that in combination with melatonin to stay asleep.  a double whammy of natural sleep aids.  if i didn’t take the melatonin i’ll wake up an hour or two after i go to bed.

my body rebels.  melatonin cannot even guarantee a night of sleep anymore.

i took a 5-htp capsule and fell asleep.  sleeping for a few hours then waking, hot and uncomfortable under the heavy duvet.  i wanted a glass of water.  i wanted to get up and look for the cat.  i wanted to watch tv.  i wanted to fall back asleep by knew i wouldn't be able to do so, knew that sleep would be denied, that the program in my head would continue to run until morning.  i cannot find the switch to turn myself off.

adam snored next to me, sleeping deeply.  beautiful. "And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!"

it's not adam's light snoring that ever bothers me, just as he at least says my own doesn't bother him.

if i were camping the sound of nature around me would be so much louder than adam's snores here in my house.  the windows keep out the noise of cars and the city at night. out in the woods, out in a tent, i'd be surprised at the loudness and unfamiliarity of the hum of insects active at night, the rustle of leaves and branches, the sound of a river running over rock.  i have heard coyotes callings to each other.

i did find more sleep last night finally only to be awoken by the alarm, adam's eyes un-opening.  he'd been gone too long and i cuddled into his body and thought, yes, this is exactly right.

and i think, yes, this is exactly right whenever i do find sleep, whenever i sleep the entire night.  most of the time, even if i do manage to find a good stretch of sleep, the cat wakes me to be let out, or i go to sleep too late, or i feel groggy through half the day.  this could be an effect of the winter weather: the cold and dreary days thickening my blood, plasma crystallizing and sluggishly pushing through my arteries to my heart and brain and eyes.  eyelids drooping.

maybe i just have to push through to february.

breathe through it

adam has been away in indiana for a month.  at this point i miss him, i’m bored, i’m really horny.  it’ll be great to have him home.

but it was an old boyfriend i was chatting with the other night over gchat.  with a polite bleep, a window opened and i read, “I’m sorry if I ever hurt you little Christopher.”  i dated this guy for a couple months over a year ago, a crazy time in my life.  i was crazy.  when this dude and i decided to part ways, it hurt a little, as break ups do, but when that brief cloud passed, i realized that my relationship with that guy had been far from perfect and that our break up worked out for the best.  like most of the dudes i have dated, i did not harbor any ill will toward him.  i have seen this friend around town a couple times and everything has always been fine between us: casual, friendly.

i told him we were fine in my book.

my friend explained that he had recently been hurt.  he described himself as a man who finds it hard to open himself to others, and just finds someone with whom he wants to build a relationship, that other man balks.

i think so many of us say this about ourselves: it's hard for me to open up to another person.  a condition of contemporary life, dating someone always means taking a risk.  life does not guarantee coeval infatuation between two individuals.

another friend of mine recently related to me a story about seeing a young man for a couple dates.  in his early twenties, the young man seemed to have a huge crush on my friend, which isn't necessarily a problem, but can be a warning sign. from the other side, an immediate infatuation like that can look illogical, unwarranted, desperate, and disconnected.

from the inside, of course, infatuation feels quite different.  i think of those studies that attempt to describe the state of the brain in love, a neuro-chemical condition that resembles the junky on dope.  all those pleasure centers lit up, all those neurons firing, all that frenetic neural activity.  experientially, we know that we're fucked while infatuated.  heady and happy and hyper-aware.  nervous.  completely conscious of the other person.  i always find myself concerned that i'm too intense, that i'm moving too quickly, that this infatuation is unwarranted, that i'll scare the other guy off.  and i worry that after a week or two, the magic will be over and i'll stop caring.

infatuation and dating requires a constant mediation.  "respirez.  respirez.  respirez."  this is what i have to chant to myself.  i have to remember to breathe, to relax, to be aware and take it easy and just enjoy the high.  mostly pointless, i have to remind myself to enjoy the date, enjoy the moment, risk the attachment.  in the end, it won't matter as much as i think. that's what i have to tell myself.

on staring

my francophile friend used to tell me that everyone in france talks about everyone else.  at cafes and bars, it’s just gossip.  so it’s not that different from america - gossip is universal.  but americans are easily spotted in france.  while everyone sitting on sidewalks and in restaurants talk about those passing by, they never move, they never stare.  they sit absolutely still, listen to their friend’s confession, and wait for the perfect moment for the object of their interest to pass by, to spy he or she of whom they speak.  americans just jump out of their seats, craning their necks to stare at some passerby, to glare at bad taste or ogle some hot piece.

i generally find it not to be a bad omen when i arrive somewhere and all the faces turn to me to stare.  you’ve seen this scene in the movies if you haven’t experienced the sensation firsthand.  needless to say, it’s not comfortable.  it’s distinctly uncomfortable, liable to occur for several reasons, such as when wearing something scandalous or radical (a time at which staring is often not warranted,) or when having something awkward hanging from the body such as snot from the nose or toilet paper from the pants, or when having committed heinous acts such as war crimes or the spreading of gossip.

the other day, i will admit that a bit of staring may have been warranted.  i have found myself a bit lazy this weekend, unable to convince myself to clean up, to take care of myself, to give myself a good once over before i step out of the house.  the other morning, john and i went over to the overlook restaurant for breakfast.  not until i stepped out of the car and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the car window did i realize how distressed and possibly distressing i looked: disheveled in the day before’s clothing, bags under my half-lidded eyes still heavy with caffeine withdraw, my hair sticking up in varied and awkward directions as if i spiked my hair with gel in 1992 and never corrected it.  the looks then that i received from the other patrons in the restaurant were warranted, and if not warmly received, then at least accepted.

john and i ordered coffee.  “and a light beer.  miller light?”  i said two please.   the server looked us over, considered the hour, but complied without too much judgment in the end.

the other evening i stepped into monsoon, that thai restaurant on n. mississippi avenue, to pick up take-out john and i had ordered for dinner.  i saw a friend in a booth toward the back of the restaurant.  he sat with another man i did not recognize, so thinking they might be engaged on a date and not wanting to be disturbed, i waved to my friend and stepped to the counter to pay for my food.  i did not stop to chat.  waiting for the restaurant to finish preparing my food, i looked back around the restaurant.  my friend and his dining partner stared at me.  i turned back around, shifted, fidgeted under the weight of their eyes on the back of my neck.  another peek behind me and they still stare, talking hushedly.  they get up and leave, but their gaze targets me as they walk past the windows away from the restaurant.

certainly they must have noted my facial expression, a complex mix of incredulity and anger.  what on earth were they staring at?

they may sometimes call me little bear, but i am not the dancing bear in the circus.  i generally do not command a crowd’s attention.  and though i had not been in contact with this friend for a long while, i had no idea there existed any bad blood between us.

times like this i think i must be clueless, that i must not have any idea what people think of me at all, that i have covertly affected some gossip to which i am ignorant.  or that my initial ‘c’ stands not only as a metonym for me, but as a scarlet letter for crazy as well.  keep a wide breadth around him.  his crazy catches.

“guilty! guilty! guilty! guilty! call me!”  my friend owen used to compare our friends to the quintessons, the face-faced judge from the transformers.  judgmental?  i really do not consider myself so, at least not anymore.  but if i am guilty, then i’d like to know the charge.  like josef k, their stares arrest me for an unknown crime, and i’m tried in their gaze.  what did i do wrong?  this time.  what did i do wrong now?  i’m at a loss.

sketchbook no. 11

1.
i would like to start photographing my houseplants.  photograph them for a year.  then display them in a gallery after that year with their portraits at different intervals throughout the year, show how they've grown, document their fertilizations, their blooms.  document how i sometimes have a difficult time tending to different plants.  cactus always get me.  i say, oh hey, you look thirsty little guy.  and the cactus never is.  then it dies.

2.
how about an exhibit that consists of two receptions.  at the first reception, visitors to the gallery could make their own crystal geode things.  you know, like those crystal growing kits.  could i put one of those together, build one myself?  so everyone would make their own crystal and we'd wait for the crystals to crystallize.  how long does that take?  i should figure that out.

then at the second reception, we'd have all the crystal caves out and displayed in their glory.  glorious.  and there would be so many colors.  and everything would sparkle.

question: can crystallization be affected by external influence, as in can certain chemical process change the color and/or the crystalline structure of the mineral?

shorter days

the season has become rainy.  it’s gray.  it’s cold.  it’s december.  today was one of those days on which i could not seem to wake up.  my eyes feel droopy, big black ellipses underneath.  the apartment cold when i woke up, the cat waiting outside by the window to be let in.

i like the mornings i find her in bed with me, curled up on my legs.  when i am away at work, she sleeps in a cubby filled with knitted scarves.

though out of town right now, i like the mornings i wake up with adam.  if cold, i can pull myself in close to him cuddle, warm up before i push out from under the covers and dress for work.  sometimes he won’t look up when i wake; i’ll dress and quietly shuffle around in the dark, and before i leave i’ll walk to the bed and kiss him.  he’ll sit up to kiss me, the covers falling off his shoulders and i think beautiful.

when the autumn turns cold like this i like being alone.  i like the quiet of my house.  and i like cooking for myself and drinking tea and reading before bed.  but i like the loneliness because i also have a desire to be around those i love.  hanging christmas ornaments in the apartment makes me miss my family, my mother and sister and father.  if i were in alabama, i would lay around the house and care for the cat then have chinese for dinner with my family on christmas day.  if the cold keeps in during this time of year, the time i spend with friends becomes more cherished.  i want drinks with friends, unlayered, out of the rain, ruddy cheeked and smiling.

needing more time

remember years ago when we would create, all the time, when we were just always making things and reading and reading and reading and reading?  remember when i made art about reading?  remember when i painted and read about painting and planned performance art pieces and read about performance?

when i was studying visual art over a decade ago, our professors encouraged us to read constantly about art, to make it our lives.  and we took that to heart.  my sister, my friend tony, and i always toted a copy of artforum or art in america everywhere we went on top of the other books we were reading.  on top of the sketchbooks we carried everywhere with us.

i have dozens of sketchbooks and journals filled with drawings and journal entries and magazine cuttings and stickers and pictures and photographs and scraps of all sorts, bits of design and art and color and inspiration for later.

for a long time i thought that my life would be just like that: i would read and browse and collect and consider then create these art projects, create these performances and paintings and attempt to explain visually certain ideas that percolated up in my brain.

i have just finished reading allison bechdel's most recent comic memoir are you my mother?  bechdel writes about her relationship with her mother, her relationship with her therapist, her relationships in general, and ties it all together with her research into psychotherapy, particularly childhood development, development of the 'i' and attachment theories as developed by donald winnicott.

i found striking her descriptions of this psychotherapeutic investigation, the references to influences like virginia woolf, her considerations of her mother's interest in sylvia plath.  it made me realize that i do not read as much as i used to, that i do not research as much, and that i wish i had the time for more of my own research, my own development of ideas.

bechdel's mom helped pay for her life after college when she lived in new york, trying to make it as an artist and writer.  now allison bechdel is an artist/writer, has time for herself and her own project.  indeed, her research, her projects are her livelihood.

you know i read a lot.  i'm a reader.  but i don't have the time or energy or patience right now for deep research.  i do not have direction.  and though it seems like i should be doing this, like i should be making something, as i have always been involved in projects for so long, i don't know what i would make.

in thinking about what sort of project i would put together now, i wonder what fascinates me, what sorts of ideas interest me now?  and i worry i do not have enough interest in anything particular anymore.  not like i did.

i need to figure this out.