2001-05-24 - 2:28

Ghost poems

I added a rare afternoon entry today, too, recounting my weekend travels; so, if you care, don't miss that one.

I thought of something else about my trip to Houston: namely, I got myself in a weird place mentally every night.

Friday night, I was coming in after a fairly long day of travel that had screwed up my sleeping and eating schedule. (I actually didn't sleep that much on Thursday night, because I was excited about the trip.) Between my odd schedule and the fact that I usually take a day to get used to sleeping on an unfamiliar couch, it's no surprise that I took a long time falling asleep that night.

I often take a while to fall asleep, chasing down thoughts in my head. In this case, it was a topic that came up in conversation with Jian last night: loneliness. I don't know why that has been on my mind recently, since it's not a new reality. It's not really a constant concern; but it is something that surfaces every so often and this happened to be such a time, for some reason.

My mood altering agent for Saturday and Sunday nights was Henry Rollins. I recently picked up a double DVD of old Rollins spoken word, which I saved for watching with Aaron, one each night. The performances on those discs came realatively soon after Rollins saw his best friend killed in a robbery attempt.

Each DVD includes some very funny moments, but the closing stories deal with Hank's reaction to the murder. Very intense. The parting thought was along the lines of, "Whatever else is going on, you're living, and that's something that you should take advantage of to the fullest."

That concept was certainly incentive to at least get in motion the next day and experience something of the city.

Of course, looking at that idea on a larger scale, I am still disappointed by my own passivity. It's not that I'm completely lazy or apathetic or cynical. I do have some drive for life, some passion. But I also know that I don't challenge myself enough and that I'm not pushing myself towards greatness.

I need to work on dedication. Then again, I need a goal to which I can be decicated.

Anyway, I've written that journal entry before and the refrain holds. I'll just say that thinking about the Rollins videos affected me as much on the weekend nights as my own unprompted thoughts had on Friday.

On Monday, the effect was deliberate, arising from my choice of reading material for the plane. I finally tore through Bill Shields' second book, The Southeast Asian Book of the Dead. I don't think I can do it justice in my description; but reading the unflinching poems about the Vietnam War and its aftermath is a battering.

Four nights of hard thoughts contrasting the mellowness of the days, with neither diminishing the other.

J.