The Folder LOVE Has No Messages

That's what YAHOO MAIL said when I finished deleting the contents of that folder. I went one by one, reading (skimming) old electronic love notes, and then deleting them. Cleaning house? What, am I going to war here? Am I joining a monastery?

It occurred to me tonight, as I tried to talk up a camping trip idea, that everything in the world is just a rearrangement of the particles that form everything else. It's all the same stuff, like building blocks, only shaped into something new. Like this trip: I begin to see what I've always known (and managed to forget) about everyone else I try to become involved with. I always seem to end up in the same place with people. It feels as if nothing ever changes. Like two boxers who keep having rematches and keep fighting to a draw. But this goes against the supposed (the alleged) chaos of the universe.

Or maybe it's myself who never changes. Could it be?

Sometimes I sense there's an order to life, but I can't grasp it, for being too much in my body, and too involved in the material world. People's reactions to an invitation to go camping suddenly seem familair, like repeats of thikngs we've attempted before. Perhaps I have to do something different.

I have this desire to drop everyone in my life. I wish I could change what I represented to others, but i guess others will always see you for who you are, better than you see yourself.

The night before last, I awoke having a terrible lucid nightmare. A cobwebby, dusty hunk of fluff had fallen from the ceiling (or from somewhere up above the ceiling - like dreamland) and landed on my face (as I lay in bed) and it teemed with tiny, aggressive little flies. It was so nasty. I sprung from my bed and rolled right out the door of my room, naked, into the hallway - slamming the door behind me and wiping my face as if it was covered in flies. Breathing heavily, i reached for the knob, and opened the door a crack, as if to inspect what heinous, supernatural fly-infested attic-fluff had landed on me, but of course there was nothing there. Nice.

The same night my dad dreamed, as he recounted to me later, that i'd had an altercation with a black guy, in some crowded public place, and I went after him with a socket wrench. Pop said the dream had an underlying feeling of doom. Needless to say i played it real cool the next day, smiling at everyone, and joyfully waving pedestrians by me in the crosswalk. Funny symbolism a socket wrench. I wonder if that's in THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF DREAMS. Something that ratchets things down, and only goes in one direction. Sounds like my life.

I don't know who reads any of this, so i gotta keep it on the up and up. Maybe I need some other repository of my thoughts than BLOGGER.

Another day of flat nothingness. Unless I'm missing something. Perhaps these are dynamic, vivacious, ass-kickin' times. But I'm just not seeing it.

It's the damn fog. This dirty, griity, grey mass hanging 20' over the sidewalk. Well yeah, no wonder everyone walks around in a daze, talking about conspiracy theories.

I really don't know what my next move is going to be. I'd be thrilled to go camping for three days, and just sit, and draw, and write, and smoke cigartettes and drink coffee. But I'll probably end up going alone, because most of my friends are too out of it to get it together.

Sad but true.

I miss L.A. I miss something. Something's missing. I hate having roomates. I just avoid the house. I sat on the front porch for something like and hour this evening, not knowing where to go. Maybe I'll move into the basement, or one of the flea circus hotels on Mission street.

I keep checking my e-mail, waiting for J to hit back; not knowing what I want for an outcome. What a muddle. There's nothing worse than muddled love, when you're trying to assess whether this other person cares about you. When someone else relates such thoughts to me, my response is usually to tell them that their doubts are well-founded. If you have to ask if said person cares about you, then it's not coming across in their behaviour. Seems obvious.

But it's different when it's me.

Problem. I can't write about girl issues here. People might read it.

I can't write about dog issues.

I'm not going to write about my job.

And that doesn't leave a hell of a lot.

This is a bad day for blogging. Unless there's some great thought in my own mind that even I can't see. Just there behind the thicket of painting and realestate drudgery...

B comes to mind actually. I gave my notice today, which was friendly. And then we conversed a lot about firefighting (one of my areas of vicarious expertise). This is real guy-bonding stuff; expressing affection w/o confronting any akward issues.

B wanted to be a firefighter, but he couldn't get into the dept. apart from volunteering (affirmative action). He finally gave up and became a contractor full-time. If you talk to him about it, it's clear that was the defining non-event of his life. It's too bad, because he's a nice guy, and probably would have been good at it. I asked him why he didn't apply for Oakland or Frisco, and he said he wasn't mentally prepared to do the job in a big city - at least not at the time.

I was like: "Shit dude! I'd do it."

And probably get myself into a world of trouble, as I mange to do with everything else.

I told N today that i viewed my life, and most everyone's life as default of their ability versus their circumstance. Whatever we do, it's the most we could make, of what we had within ourselves, and we we were faced with from outside ourselves. Obviously what arises next is the question: Can we ever change; can we possibly do more - or do different? Or is the math too perfect? is the formula bulletproof?

You get these shows like FANTASY ISLAND, SURVIVOR or Canada'a THRILL OF A LIFETIME. The idea is that normal people are placed in extraordinary situations, and they can really know if they ever had something more in them than their banal workaday lives. I think I know what the answer is.

I need some lemonade for the fridgee. Something tells me I'm going to wake up and find myself very thirsty tomorrow morning.

God I want to get the fuck out of here. Ok, I said it. The only problem with this town - for me - is this feeling like I've constantly JUST quit smoking. And the real pisser is, I can't go anywhere. I have to stay and buck up. Maybe if my attitiude was just a little better. But then i don't even believe that.
Sunday night is tough. There's never enough time. I don't want to sleep, I would like to unflod it back into a weekend (Hell, I'd just like to have the weekend all over again.

I have this obsessive ritual of trying to find a good place for everything. I move stuff all around this house, tring to attain some perfection of plaement, so that it's there when I need it. I try hanging my motorcycle helmet in the garage for a change, and on a hook next to it i can hang my messenger bag, wirth all the crap I'll need at work tomorrow... But then I wanted the bag for something else, and it's down in the garage. I think: perhaps I need another bag. I need two of everything (I'm alreadyt doing that).

There's a lot of resistance in life these days. As hard as I try to make a plan and see it through; the shit gets away from me. All I managed to do this weekend is hang a picture on the wall - and it's crooked. I keep telling myself that I'm lucky, and thing could be a lot tougher, but it seems like I need Norton disc utilities, on my fucking brain. It's age isn't it?

I'm going to quit my job tomorrow, or a leats anounce to Brad that i need two moths to finish fixing up my own place. I'm sorry to have to do it. I really like Brad, and I'm going to miss the relationship.

Jeez, what a day. I was flush with insights and realizations as my birthday wound down. I found myself sitting outside the Geary Theater, waiting for A, B and C, and watching the people shuffle around the downtown streets. It's funny how my timeless, urbane identity kicked in, and I began to walk differently, and engage people with some greater flourish. The city guy.
Then, when A, B and C showed up, i was so pleased with the company that I just flowed with their energies and ideas. I did something a little crazy. We re-entered the theater just as the second act was beginning, so we all four sat down on the balcony stairs. The usherette approached us and whispered that we couldn't stay there for some fire-code reason, so each of us bailed into different rows of seats, with A returning to our original seats at the front row of the balcony. I felt like going back down there so we could watch the play together, and as a gag I decided to slide down the darkened (carpeted) stairs (about 20 or so) on my stomach. I'd even planned on hissing like a snake, as I slithered by the other patron's seats, but as I began my descent, the keys hanging off my beltloop made a horrible clinking in the dark theater... It was bAD, BUT NOT RTHAT BAD.

It was a really sweet night, not to mention memorable, but when i got on my bike to ride home, I began to feel shaky and unconfident. The streets seemed so random and chaotic to be rolling through on a motorcycle. I was really uneasy as I drove west on Turk st., and then it hit me that i was back in the Tenderloin, where I almost died. I just don't know. I couldn't conceive of why I suddenly, for no reason at all felt afraid of EVERYTHING that moved. Like a neurotic. It's not like such a feeling has never come over me before, but it's been awhile, and I wasn't ready for it.

When I got home, it hit me that being out with A, B, and C, passing such rare time on the exciting downtown streets, seeing theater, being culturally awake... All of this managed to soften me like detergent on tough stains. I saw, with a calm clarity, that the hardness I've felt of late; the deadness of impulse was something that began the last time I was in Los Angeles. The low-level depression which has made it so hard to get out of bed in the morning, and which has affected my focus and decision making, stems from the shit I went through as I moved mine and J's stuff out of the house on Sanborn. Christ, what alienation! Myriad bad. gross, butt-knuckle feelings, of the last hard days at the house with J. Shit, no wonder I feel so low; I let this hard coral grow all over me so I could muddle through this seemingly endless confidence course of sour relationships and houses that never stop needing paint (like goddamn puragtory). Of course I never have anything to write in my blog; I'm covered with a hardened crust, so I can't see shit, i can't feel shit. Half the time I don't even want to know shit.

And that's what the hell is going on. No wonder I slithered down the steps of the theater like a snake... I'm half out of mind! I've lost sight of the essential Vincenzo... I gotta get that guy back! What a goddamn great birthday present. I got the best guy in the world driving this bus now. Hoo Ya!

I'm 33 years old today. As of midnight... What can I expect to be different about life with that taken into consideration? Probably not a great deal. I jujst reread a list of projects I emailed to myself on Jan 31... Like a letter to myself from one year before. Among other things I promised myself I'd go to Mexico. Now, the idea of having such a surplus of time and money seems like an impossibility. I hate to write such negative thoughts, especially on my birthday, but the truth remains unchanged.

I find myself with nothing much to write in my blog, because I'm doing all the exact same things I was doing last time I sat down to log something. I'm even wearing the same clothes (and my hands are still covered in paint. I'm sort of half-thinking about starting some resolutions today, such as working out a little. Maybe one or two push-ups... Oooof, what a thought. I reckon my muscles are too cold. Maybe I'll have another coffee instead. Og God, that is so 33. I'm going to be one of these obese Americans!

I think what makes dogs attractive to people is the animal's ability to fit in the human world. I was watching the dogs running and goofing around Dolres Park; sniffing asses and doing the usual gross dog stuff. The only dogs that really stood out were those that returned to their owners on command, and hung back a bit from the whole humping/ass smelling ritual. Untrained dogs are really not good for much; they may be pretty to look at, for a moment, but if they bark for no reason, or jump on you, or simply geek out, then they're pretty much useless. And that's when I see them as a conspicuous, first world relational dysfunction. Owners of ill-behaved dogs are probably unable, or unwilling to get the animals to do their will; the dogs end up running the show; calling the shots: That's no good. What's dogs bring to the world of manners is worth less than their shit. Everything good about them, they get from us.

As I'm raise my new dog, I hear from a lot of people the suggestion that I should just let the dog find his groove, and sort of let him find his own behaviour. What a mess that would be. If dogs were allowed to shit and piss on floors, houses would be unlivable. It would be like letting children set make decisions about food.

A dog that strives to fit in among people; that's sensitive to situations and vibes; and that can minimize its canine-ness when it doesn't help the situation... That's a cute dog. That's a star. That's what Baby's going to grow up to be.

Woke up this morning on the unmade futon bed, the lights and TV on, and a half-eaten bowl of Top Ramen on the side-board. Has it really come to this? I'm amazed at how quickly I can descend from the realm of humans. As hard as i try to make everything nice and neat, I never find the time to do those neccessary chores: Like grocery shopping, shaving, paying parking tickets...
There are firworks going off all over the neighborhood: God Bless America. There's nothing like a country celebrating its wacky, violent side.
I fianlly hit the shower, shaved, scrubbed out the insides of my ears... And with some clean clothes I felt sort of human again, and in that there's hope. I know I'm forgetting to do so many things, and there will be a price to be paid down the road. I only have what I have these days. My buddy Pete once said, upon my recounting a horrible story about breaking up with a girl: "You did what you did, because at the time that's what you were doing."

Walking the dog over to the Shell station on Valencia and 20th, I saw the cops arresting a couple of local kids. One detective was walking from car to car with a flashlight, peering in. I wonder if those are the guys who are breaking all the car windows around here.(?) Anyway, it's strange what you see out at night. Around here it's a whole other world. Mostly folks up to no good. Nevertheless, it's quiet at this time of night, and I enjoy that. No car alarms, honking, booming radios or screaming kids.
Geez, I really sound like a cranky old man.
I was up on the roof again this afternoon shooting the odd pigeon with my trusty Gamo "Cadet", Spanish made pellet gun. That has pretty much become my favorite place to be. No one bothers to look up and see who's walking around on the roof with a rifle and a garbage bag. I like to just hunker down, with my sunglasses pushed up on my forehead, and wait for one of those silly birds to settle in on the roof, and then it's safety off, line up the sights on his neck, and POP... feathers. I'm not 100% sure about the morality of it. People I mention it to seem split 50-50. I personally just want the damn things gone - and yeah, okay I like the hunting aspect of it.
The beautiful Japanese girl from next door walked by while I was up there. i actually yelled down to her, sort of like - EH! EH! She didn't look up, probably thinking I was some obnoxious creep roofer guy, which is actually better than the tructh of the situation - unless she's into squab. I'm thinking about leaving a bouquet of flowers on the door, with a note... I see no other way to break the ice here.
I started skim-coating my dad's apartment tonight. Painting his place will be kind of fun, if only to see it rise from its present state of 70s, ghetto dilapidation. I'm obsessed with the hacked in wall that divides the room from its origianl size and shape. I really wish i could pull it down and recycle all the woodwork and the two pocket doors. The room would be truly grand that way: Easily 20' across, with the fireplace centered. Imagine if I remodelled his livingroom while he was in canada. My dad would pretty much kill me, but I know he'd secretly dig the big room.
I think the dog still has fleas. Goddammit.


gun

Well, we're finally putting the finishing touches on the bathroom job in Oakland. What a pain in the ass that is; a tiny little worksite in the oven-like heat of the attic. I don't know when I got to be so patient with this kind of work. Everything is slow, painstaking "put your fist through a sheet of plywood and bend the level across your knee" shit. Plumbing, electrical, drywall and taping... All the guys in this business seem to be fucked up. Greg, the plumber, is like some hardcore biker, with the plumber's ass and all. For lunch we actually had pizza, an exotic change from the usual super-burritos we eat in Rich's driveway. And there's always more houses to remodel: It never ends.
Tomorrow, if I'm able to finish up in Potrero Hill, I'll be a hell of a lot closer to having all this stuff out of the way, and actually having my life back. My punch list includes - sanding down a single floorboard I had to replace, and then sealing and polyurethaning it. Then I have to wire up the dishwasher plug - then I have to install the range hood, and find a away to run the ducting up through the grisly Victorian attic and (by some miracle) out to the atmosphere. Then, if it's not midbnight yet, I'll put an 8' level across the wavy counter I installed, and take a beltsander to it, so that it conforms to the rigorous tolerances of the Corian Counter company (those fuckin' sons of bitches) All i wantis to get paid for this one and WALK away
But it's a living. I don't know, I need a change here . So it's onvious i have nothing to talk about but construction stuff. I'll leave it alone, for my sake as well as yours.

I overslept this morning. I hate that feeling. I say to myself: "I'm supposed to be at work - right now. Oh well." Still, there's time for coffee. The dog was worrying me yesterday. I left him alone for three hours, and he seemed to be having some kind of mini-breakdown when I got home. If he realized I'll be leaving him alone MUCH more in the future... Wow. Good thing dogs don't worry about the future too much. It's all about the moment for them. They really live in the "here and now".
If I could just get out from under all these obligations! I need to finish that kitchen in Potrero Hill, but there are problems with the surface of the counter-top. I don't even want to call the customer, I'm so tired of dealing. Surely there will soon be a time when i can wrap up all but one or two of these projects and then approach what's left with some focus..

Here is my second attempt at going worldwide with my blogs. The other entry must be floating around somewhere in a server. It was that great really. I walked the dog tonight (yawn). he retrieves very well, but seems to be distracted by the smells left by other dogs. He all but shuts me out if there's any sign of another dog.
The bike is fixed. That's worth mentioning. What a painful lesson. I'd once before driven off with the front disc lock on, but it wasn't nearly as bad as this time, in which the bike landed on my leg, and i cracked my elbow on Minna St. The damage to the bike was atrocious. Turn signal gone, shift lever bent, and front brake caliper dangling from it's hose, I can't sem to see below this other window. Maybe I'll just call it a a night. I'm typing blind here...g