Aug 2, 2004
Aug 1, 2004
To live a dream is a dream come true
'Twas the morning after the full moon's eve, and a few field mice were stirring. Ever aware of their meager hierarchical position on the food chain, they cleared a path for the wolvenspirit, who bounded lightly through the lush green grass in search of– not mice, but release. He had just climbed over the barbed wire fence running parallel to the tree-lined mountain road, pausing a few seconds afterwards only to listen to the familiar, euphonious sound of the heavy breeze sweeping through the ironwood leaves. It could greatly be likened to the sound of the sea, only so much lighter and more peaceful. Only this sound, and perhaps the ocean waves quietly setting down upon a desolate beach's sandy shores, could possibly be used to define his spirit in a state of complete contentedness. When he noticed with his refined sense of vision approaching headlights, he quickly bolted up the grassy slope, away from the road. The rise was steep, and the air much thinner than what his body was acclimated to, so he quickly found himself out of breath. The car passed, the driver undoubtedly oblivious to the presence of anyone out there besides the ancient whispering spirits that roamed these mountains. As he relaxed his pace and continued uphill in a much more quiescent manner, striding parallel to an electric fence, he could hear them. Soft, low voices, words indiscernable. Many residents found them scary, and would not consider wandering this mountain in the evening, but he considered them quite soothing. He could have been hearing things, such as the faint, eerie whooshing noise of the windmills not far away, but he preferred to imagine that ancient Hawaiian spirits were keeping him company as his bare feet swept through the lush, verdant grass. The wind rolled down the mountain slope quite forcefully, challenging him to continue upward against the sheer intensity of its gusts. He persevered, however, knowing that only the cold, driving rain that typically reigned upon this region might convince him to back down, and the sky this morning was clear as a diamond. And the moonlight, oh, it was resplendent enough to safely drive by without headlights, barring other inattentive drivers on the road.
He passed closely by Kahua Ranch, a tiny mountain locale featuring a hydroponics facility, windmill farm, and a few residences and stables nestled amongst a grove of ironwood trees. Farther up the mountain, his destination came into view– the old FAA station placed in a lofty location. Nothing would fulfill his morning's wander more than reaching that zenith. And nothing would stop him. He followed no roads, but when encountering formidable electric fences imposing upon his continuance, he usually came upon gated by-ways after only a few seconds of searching. As he passed the ranch, he settled into a rhythm, allowing the beauty to permeate through his skin and into his spirit. The cold, soft grass felt remarkable upon the undersides of his feet, and the winds rustling his mane felt truly invigorating. His heart was beating at a rapid pace, ready to spring out of his chest and soak the silvery green grass with its beautiful scarlet red, the majestic color of strength and vitality.
After shifting directions to follow the contour of the mountain, he encountered several fences, which he either climbed over or rolled beneath. As he proceeded forward along the pasture, little did he expect to encounter a large group of equinefolk, about thirty or forty long-faced creatures. Every last one of them ceased their resting and grazing to quietly observe his movements. He slowed, observing them in return, gazing into as many large, round eyes as he could to communicate that he meant no harm. They seemed hardly intimidated, for many begin to approach him in standard graceful equine fashion. Never had he been afraid of horses, and never had horses been afraid of him. He always found their beauty and grace greatly worth of admiration and emulation. Silently, he moved in amongst the crowd, now more or less surrounded by creatures several times his body weight, and not minding at all. One horse stood apart from the pack, looking in, and she did not move away as the odd wanderer approached her. She was exceptionally gorgeous, the way her sleek coat sheened in the moonlight with seemingly more luminance than anyone else, with the physical form and aura of pride and dignity of a show horse. As she investigated his outstretched paw with her nose, he wished he had an edible treat to offer her. A simple scritch on the mane had to suffice. As he enjoyed their calm, quiet company, he began to envy their lifestyle. Here, perfectly at home upon this quiet hillside, with an astonishing view down the mountain all the way to the sea, feasting on damp, green grass all day. No busy agenda, no schedule book to maintain, no alarm clock to wake up to. How on Earth could humanity think it's actually superior to all other species?
Slowly, he broke away from the crowd, wishing dawn would procrastinate her own arrival for a few hours so he could linger about. The crowd began to follow him, stopping when he stopped, proceeding when he proceeded. He led them all the way to another electric fence, which he slipped under, and left them behind. Of course, he promised to visit them once more on his way back. His destination suddenly appeared much closer as he continued along the contour, not pausing until he reached the paved one-lane road which wound up to the very top. Of course, hard asphalt was not nearly so friendly to his feet, so he remained on the grass, following parallel to the steep road. It curved up behind the hill and met up with the barb wire-garnished chain link fence which surrounded the facility. Before he could celebrate reaching the apex, he had to shield his sensitive eyes from the bright amber security light affixed to one of the buildings. He steered away from the unwelcome distraction and set down on the other side, his legs dangling over the hill which plummted down onto the steep road he had just climbed, trying to make sense of all the majesty before him.
Glancing back down the mountain, he could easily see the ranch from which the road originated, lively as a forgotten cemetery with crumbling tombstones. Everyone was surely asleep, dreaming, perhaps, of liberation from the monotony of daily routine, or the unadventurous life. This inspirited wanderer dreamt of a beautiful moonlit morning, where the clock had only struck 2 a.m., or at least he reckoned. A place where he could see across rolling grassy hills down to the ocean from 5000 feet. A place where he could see the moonlight's expansive, silvery-white reflection upon the ocean. The only way to tell apart the void of the ocean from the void of the sky was to gaze at the brilliant reflection upon the water's surface, which immediately halted at the horizon. A narrow band of swiftly moving clouds spread before him, and so much farther in the distance burned the lights of the various coastal resorts. It all seemed so spectacularly far away, as if he was sitting somewhere up in heaven partaking of such a scene. He was truly even with the clouds, and his spirit felt as if it was sitting upon one. The scene of a dream. Could this possibly be reality, the same reality that so many lament and comfort themselves by reminding they'll someday escape from, or was he just dreaming it? If only... if only he could take photographs of scenes from his dreams.
The tower rose up mightily into the regal night sky above every tree and the nagging amber light, its queer-looking white sphere set aglow by the moon. Hardly complete would the night be if I did not opt to follow the winding steel staircase that led to the very top. Climbing over the chain link fence proved to be hardly challenging enough for a seasoned intruder, and the chain link gate that impeded access at the foot of the staircase was easily scaled. The wind became much stronger the higher he climbed, until it finally became so strong he could only maintain his balance by hanging onto the round steel railing or leaning into it diagonally. On the second to final set of stairs, he was forced to hold on tightly to the railing, for concern of being blown backwards. So is the nature of trade winds at such elevations. They blow along thousands of miles of ocean, entirely unobstructed for the entire duration, and when they finally hit a land mass at such an elevation, they hit with some force. He could feel the tower shaking, even swaying slightly as he reached the giant sphere's padlocked bottom door, upon which was posted a warning sign Just beneath the door, the wind blew with considerably less force, so he settled down to rest and partake of the panoramic view. So far away down the peninsula seemed the lights of his town, across miles and miles of darkness and wild. The stream of clouds to the west moved along with mesmorizing rapidity, simply dissolving before him as they reached warmer temperatures. His mind recalled the first time he had ventured up here, so many years ago, at a time he felt he had to choose between a release into the wild or a hole in his body. What a magical experience it was, one that forever inspired his fascination and love for the night. One of the earliest experiences that made him realize who he truly was.
The wolvenspirit stayed up there for another half hour or so, quietly reflecting and recollecting, until he lost interest in enduring the wind's incessant barrage. Slowly, he made his way back down the steps, and crossed back over the gate and perimeter fence. No headlights were approaching from any direction. Nothing would have dared desecrate such a surreal dreamscape, at least, in his mind. As 4 a.m. approached, he decided to wander back down, the wind at his back, guiding him home. He congregated with the horses again for awhile, properly saying farewell to each of them. As he ambled back down the hill, he glanced back up several times, noticing a heavy blanket of clouds beginning to set in behind the mountain. It seemed to take no more than a few minutes to reach the highway, but he seemed not content to go back home just yet. On the opposite side stood an iron gate, beyond which another rolling, grassy hill rose up into the sky. Over the gate he climbed, then set out upon a narrow dirt road twisting about the pasture. It led through another electric fence and by chance, up the hillside. He did not expect to encounter a cinder quarry, at the bottom of which someone has set up a firing range with wooden frames and large rubber tires as targets. Amazing how one can live in a place for years, and not be aware of so much that lies just beyond their backyard. Proceeding beyond to the crest of the hill, he reacquired his view of the moonlight reflecting upon the ocean, which had become all the more intense with the passage of time. He happened upon a cement slab housing a geological survey marker, and sat down, thoroughly awe-stricken by the scene's mesmorizing beauty. Behind him, a bright planet hovered above the hills he had left behind, and the royal blue sky gradually lightened in color. Dawn was approaching ... approaching all too quickly. He continued to sit, simply staring at the moon until it became obscured by clouds, then shifting his gaze downward to its reflection upon the sea. The majesty of the landscape was almost too much for him to fathom. Finally, he picked himself up and headed back, gazing back up the hill at the tower he had climbed seemingly so long ago. Behind him, the clouds lifted slightly, revealing the moon once again in dawn's earliest light. The heavens told him that he would never forget this early August morning. Never for the life of him.
He passed closely by Kahua Ranch, a tiny mountain locale featuring a hydroponics facility, windmill farm, and a few residences and stables nestled amongst a grove of ironwood trees. Farther up the mountain, his destination came into view– the old FAA station placed in a lofty location. Nothing would fulfill his morning's wander more than reaching that zenith. And nothing would stop him. He followed no roads, but when encountering formidable electric fences imposing upon his continuance, he usually came upon gated by-ways after only a few seconds of searching. As he passed the ranch, he settled into a rhythm, allowing the beauty to permeate through his skin and into his spirit. The cold, soft grass felt remarkable upon the undersides of his feet, and the winds rustling his mane felt truly invigorating. His heart was beating at a rapid pace, ready to spring out of his chest and soak the silvery green grass with its beautiful scarlet red, the majestic color of strength and vitality.
After shifting directions to follow the contour of the mountain, he encountered several fences, which he either climbed over or rolled beneath. As he proceeded forward along the pasture, little did he expect to encounter a large group of equinefolk, about thirty or forty long-faced creatures. Every last one of them ceased their resting and grazing to quietly observe his movements. He slowed, observing them in return, gazing into as many large, round eyes as he could to communicate that he meant no harm. They seemed hardly intimidated, for many begin to approach him in standard graceful equine fashion. Never had he been afraid of horses, and never had horses been afraid of him. He always found their beauty and grace greatly worth of admiration and emulation. Silently, he moved in amongst the crowd, now more or less surrounded by creatures several times his body weight, and not minding at all. One horse stood apart from the pack, looking in, and she did not move away as the odd wanderer approached her. She was exceptionally gorgeous, the way her sleek coat sheened in the moonlight with seemingly more luminance than anyone else, with the physical form and aura of pride and dignity of a show horse. As she investigated his outstretched paw with her nose, he wished he had an edible treat to offer her. A simple scritch on the mane had to suffice. As he enjoyed their calm, quiet company, he began to envy their lifestyle. Here, perfectly at home upon this quiet hillside, with an astonishing view down the mountain all the way to the sea, feasting on damp, green grass all day. No busy agenda, no schedule book to maintain, no alarm clock to wake up to. How on Earth could humanity think it's actually superior to all other species?
Slowly, he broke away from the crowd, wishing dawn would procrastinate her own arrival for a few hours so he could linger about. The crowd began to follow him, stopping when he stopped, proceeding when he proceeded. He led them all the way to another electric fence, which he slipped under, and left them behind. Of course, he promised to visit them once more on his way back. His destination suddenly appeared much closer as he continued along the contour, not pausing until he reached the paved one-lane road which wound up to the very top. Of course, hard asphalt was not nearly so friendly to his feet, so he remained on the grass, following parallel to the steep road. It curved up behind the hill and met up with the barb wire-garnished chain link fence which surrounded the facility. Before he could celebrate reaching the apex, he had to shield his sensitive eyes from the bright amber security light affixed to one of the buildings. He steered away from the unwelcome distraction and set down on the other side, his legs dangling over the hill which plummted down onto the steep road he had just climbed, trying to make sense of all the majesty before him.
Glancing back down the mountain, he could easily see the ranch from which the road originated, lively as a forgotten cemetery with crumbling tombstones. Everyone was surely asleep, dreaming, perhaps, of liberation from the monotony of daily routine, or the unadventurous life. This inspirited wanderer dreamt of a beautiful moonlit morning, where the clock had only struck 2 a.m., or at least he reckoned. A place where he could see across rolling grassy hills down to the ocean from 5000 feet. A place where he could see the moonlight's expansive, silvery-white reflection upon the ocean. The only way to tell apart the void of the ocean from the void of the sky was to gaze at the brilliant reflection upon the water's surface, which immediately halted at the horizon. A narrow band of swiftly moving clouds spread before him, and so much farther in the distance burned the lights of the various coastal resorts. It all seemed so spectacularly far away, as if he was sitting somewhere up in heaven partaking of such a scene. He was truly even with the clouds, and his spirit felt as if it was sitting upon one. The scene of a dream. Could this possibly be reality, the same reality that so many lament and comfort themselves by reminding they'll someday escape from, or was he just dreaming it? If only... if only he could take photographs of scenes from his dreams.
The tower rose up mightily into the regal night sky above every tree and the nagging amber light, its queer-looking white sphere set aglow by the moon. Hardly complete would the night be if I did not opt to follow the winding steel staircase that led to the very top. Climbing over the chain link fence proved to be hardly challenging enough for a seasoned intruder, and the chain link gate that impeded access at the foot of the staircase was easily scaled. The wind became much stronger the higher he climbed, until it finally became so strong he could only maintain his balance by hanging onto the round steel railing or leaning into it diagonally. On the second to final set of stairs, he was forced to hold on tightly to the railing, for concern of being blown backwards. So is the nature of trade winds at such elevations. They blow along thousands of miles of ocean, entirely unobstructed for the entire duration, and when they finally hit a land mass at such an elevation, they hit with some force. He could feel the tower shaking, even swaying slightly as he reached the giant sphere's padlocked bottom door, upon which was posted a warning sign Just beneath the door, the wind blew with considerably less force, so he settled down to rest and partake of the panoramic view. So far away down the peninsula seemed the lights of his town, across miles and miles of darkness and wild. The stream of clouds to the west moved along with mesmorizing rapidity, simply dissolving before him as they reached warmer temperatures. His mind recalled the first time he had ventured up here, so many years ago, at a time he felt he had to choose between a release into the wild or a hole in his body. What a magical experience it was, one that forever inspired his fascination and love for the night. One of the earliest experiences that made him realize who he truly was.
The wolvenspirit stayed up there for another half hour or so, quietly reflecting and recollecting, until he lost interest in enduring the wind's incessant barrage. Slowly, he made his way back down the steps, and crossed back over the gate and perimeter fence. No headlights were approaching from any direction. Nothing would have dared desecrate such a surreal dreamscape, at least, in his mind. As 4 a.m. approached, he decided to wander back down, the wind at his back, guiding him home. He congregated with the horses again for awhile, properly saying farewell to each of them. As he ambled back down the hill, he glanced back up several times, noticing a heavy blanket of clouds beginning to set in behind the mountain. It seemed to take no more than a few minutes to reach the highway, but he seemed not content to go back home just yet. On the opposite side stood an iron gate, beyond which another rolling, grassy hill rose up into the sky. Over the gate he climbed, then set out upon a narrow dirt road twisting about the pasture. It led through another electric fence and by chance, up the hillside. He did not expect to encounter a cinder quarry, at the bottom of which someone has set up a firing range with wooden frames and large rubber tires as targets. Amazing how one can live in a place for years, and not be aware of so much that lies just beyond their backyard. Proceeding beyond to the crest of the hill, he reacquired his view of the moonlight reflecting upon the ocean, which had become all the more intense with the passage of time. He happened upon a cement slab housing a geological survey marker, and sat down, thoroughly awe-stricken by the scene's mesmorizing beauty. Behind him, a bright planet hovered above the hills he had left behind, and the royal blue sky gradually lightened in color. Dawn was approaching ... approaching all too quickly. He continued to sit, simply staring at the moon until it became obscured by clouds, then shifting his gaze downward to its reflection upon the sea. The majesty of the landscape was almost too much for him to fathom. Finally, he picked himself up and headed back, gazing back up the hill at the tower he had climbed seemingly so long ago. Behind him, the clouds lifted slightly, revealing the moon once again in dawn's earliest light. The heavens told him that he would never forget this early August morning. Never for the life of him.
Jul 24, 2004
And so we watch the sun come up...
...From the edge of the deep green sea.
With this euphonious song from the latest band I'm becoming obsessed with playing on repeat, I headed down a seldom-traveled dirt road to a familiar place on the shoreline; a place I hadn't been to in months, but felt as if I was just there yesterday. Let's see if I can scrounge up an image of it. ... Ah yes, here we go:
The road usually looks like this:
But lately, it's rained so seldomly it's turned into a dust bowl populated by brown grass. We need some moisture.
Even though I'd visited this particular area a few dozen times before, I've never encountered another soul there. Just a few paces beyond the end of the road lay the edge of the deep blue sea at the base of a sea cliff. Last winter, I took a few shots of one of my favorite frolicking spots submerged beneath the powerful surf:
One typically descends the face of the small cliff using the rope, which should be visible in the picture, but every three minutes, a colossal wave would wash over everything, making such an activity highly unsafe. Today, however, it was amazingly calm down there. The tide was low, exposing a broad, dry area at the base of the cliffs. And of course, the tide pools, the finest for swimming in the area, looked incredibly appealing to me:
The water looked clean and pure, and was actually lukewarm. Not only that, they were several feet deeper than I am tall. Though the sun had already set and the breeze was cool, I still felt compelled to take a dip. So I stripped and waded in, leaving only my sandals on, for concern of who knows what could be lying on the bottom. It turned out "the bottom" was comprised of nothing more than large smooth boulders, covered by a thick mossy-like growth .. I would have been comfortable enough swimming barefoot, so I did. There's nothing like being completely free. Of course, the water was perfect. It took my body no time at all to become accustomed to the temperature. I must have spent a good forty-five minutes enjoying myself, lying on my back, staring up at the periwinkle twilight sky and the half moon gazing back at me from right beside the ironwood trees with their long, greygreen leaves whispering in the wind. Must I mention that it was beautiful?
When I got home, I turned on the Dish and started flipping through the channels. For once, I'm glad I did. I reached the Disney channel just in time to reach the opening theme song for Bonkers. Awesome possum. I'd forgotten about the show, but I once watched it on a daily basis, and remember being quite enamored of the wacky feline cop. Watching him again was a thoroughly pleasant nostalgia trip. Even better, though, was seeing Talespin come on afterwards. As the old, familiar opening theme began playing, I nearly felt like shrieking for joy. I immediately felt like I was 12 years old all over again. I cannot really describe how warm it made me feel inside to view and listen to the opening sequence for the first time in all these years. Talespin was one of my all-time favorite cartoons, and to finally see it again, so unexpectedly and out of the Baloo, was a joyous experience. Unsurprisingly, I still find Don Karnage sexy as ever. Unfortunately, he didn't make an appearance in this episode, which left me somewhat disappointed. Still, I know now when the right time to watch cartoons is ... relatively late at night, when all the stupid modern primetime trash is over, and the reruns of fantastic classics come on. The cartoon I really desire to see now, though, is Heathcliff and the Catillac Cats.
I must cease this entry, now: Ducktales is on.
With this euphonious song from the latest band I'm becoming obsessed with playing on repeat, I headed down a seldom-traveled dirt road to a familiar place on the shoreline; a place I hadn't been to in months, but felt as if I was just there yesterday. Let's see if I can scrounge up an image of it. ... Ah yes, here we go:
The road usually looks like this:
But lately, it's rained so seldomly it's turned into a dust bowl populated by brown grass. We need some moisture.
Even though I'd visited this particular area a few dozen times before, I've never encountered another soul there. Just a few paces beyond the end of the road lay the edge of the deep blue sea at the base of a sea cliff. Last winter, I took a few shots of one of my favorite frolicking spots submerged beneath the powerful surf:
One typically descends the face of the small cliff using the rope, which should be visible in the picture, but every three minutes, a colossal wave would wash over everything, making such an activity highly unsafe. Today, however, it was amazingly calm down there. The tide was low, exposing a broad, dry area at the base of the cliffs. And of course, the tide pools, the finest for swimming in the area, looked incredibly appealing to me:
The water looked clean and pure, and was actually lukewarm. Not only that, they were several feet deeper than I am tall. Though the sun had already set and the breeze was cool, I still felt compelled to take a dip. So I stripped and waded in, leaving only my sandals on, for concern of who knows what could be lying on the bottom. It turned out "the bottom" was comprised of nothing more than large smooth boulders, covered by a thick mossy-like growth .. I would have been comfortable enough swimming barefoot, so I did. There's nothing like being completely free. Of course, the water was perfect. It took my body no time at all to become accustomed to the temperature. I must have spent a good forty-five minutes enjoying myself, lying on my back, staring up at the periwinkle twilight sky and the half moon gazing back at me from right beside the ironwood trees with their long, greygreen leaves whispering in the wind. Must I mention that it was beautiful?
When I got home, I turned on the Dish and started flipping through the channels. For once, I'm glad I did. I reached the Disney channel just in time to reach the opening theme song for Bonkers. Awesome possum. I'd forgotten about the show, but I once watched it on a daily basis, and remember being quite enamored of the wacky feline cop. Watching him again was a thoroughly pleasant nostalgia trip. Even better, though, was seeing Talespin come on afterwards. As the old, familiar opening theme began playing, I nearly felt like shrieking for joy. I immediately felt like I was 12 years old all over again. I cannot really describe how warm it made me feel inside to view and listen to the opening sequence for the first time in all these years. Talespin was one of my all-time favorite cartoons, and to finally see it again, so unexpectedly and out of the Baloo, was a joyous experience. Unsurprisingly, I still find Don Karnage sexy as ever. Unfortunately, he didn't make an appearance in this episode, which left me somewhat disappointed. Still, I know now when the right time to watch cartoons is ... relatively late at night, when all the stupid modern primetime trash is over, and the reruns of fantastic classics come on. The cartoon I really desire to see now, though, is Heathcliff and the Catillac Cats.
I must cease this entry, now: Ducktales is on.
Jul 23, 2004
Hungry? You may have a serious medical condition requiring immediate treatment.
ICQ conversation, 7/23
Timberwolf: Ooh, lovely, a commercial for a drug that helps reduce hunger pangs.
WyteLyon: Ooh, cool, I heard those can get terribly uncomfortable
Timberwolf: Yeah, and so can the sensation of pressure in your bowels that lets you know when you have to defecate.
WyteLyon: They should make a pill that prevents that feeling from ever happening.
Timberwolf: Mm, it would probably increase the sales of adult diapers tenfold... *Chuckle*
WyteLyon: exactly!
Timberwolf: Everyone in the commercial looks so happy, too. They all appear to be having so much fun.
Timberwolf: "Yay, look at me, I can finally go out and play tennis, sail on the lake, and travel to the Virgin Islands because I found a cure for my debilitating hunger pangs!"
WyteLyon: *gigglesnort*
WyteLyon: Possible side effects include: fullness, food in the fridge aging beyond their expiration dates, and starvation.
Timberwolf: And of course, diarrhea.
Timberwolf: I need this drug. My empty stomach depends on it.
No, I did not actually see a commercial for a drug that reduces hunger pangs. I broached the topic primarily to satirize the ridiculousness of there being advertised on television government-approved prescription drugs for seemingly every conceivable minor ailment, and posted it here because... well, this realm needed something on the lighter side.
Timberwolf: Ooh, lovely, a commercial for a drug that helps reduce hunger pangs.
WyteLyon: Ooh, cool, I heard those can get terribly uncomfortable
Timberwolf: Yeah, and so can the sensation of pressure in your bowels that lets you know when you have to defecate.
WyteLyon: They should make a pill that prevents that feeling from ever happening.
Timberwolf: Mm, it would probably increase the sales of adult diapers tenfold... *Chuckle*
WyteLyon: exactly!
Timberwolf: Everyone in the commercial looks so happy, too. They all appear to be having so much fun.
Timberwolf: "Yay, look at me, I can finally go out and play tennis, sail on the lake, and travel to the Virgin Islands because I found a cure for my debilitating hunger pangs!"
WyteLyon: *gigglesnort*
WyteLyon: Possible side effects include: fullness, food in the fridge aging beyond their expiration dates, and starvation.
Timberwolf: And of course, diarrhea.
Timberwolf: I need this drug. My empty stomach depends on it.
No, I did not actually see a commercial for a drug that reduces hunger pangs. I broached the topic primarily to satirize the ridiculousness of there being advertised on television government-approved prescription drugs for seemingly every conceivable minor ailment, and posted it here because... well, this realm needed something on the lighter side.
Truth is...
I accidentally dropped my digital camera, worth approximately $450, into a stream yesterday afternoon. It's now nothing more than a paperweight; perhaps a nice mantle piece. I've been mentally punishing myself all last night and this morning for allowing such a catastrophe to occur. If I had been more cautious with my footing or had maintained a tighter grip, or had not been so audacious as to take it with me upstream at all, it never would have happened. Or maybe it would have later on. Karma works in mysterious ways. I could have accidentally dropped it down a steep, inaccessible gorge and not even have gotten to keep it as a souvenir for aesthetic value. My spirits thoroughly deflated, however, I decided not to go that far, and simply turned back to go home. It's not even so much the monetary value of it that so upsets me, not how analogous the experience was to watching $400 float down the stream away from you while you could do nothing about it. I can always afford another one. It's how careless and ungraceful I was to allow such a thing to happen that depresses me the most. I don't feel my expectations of myself are overblown, but I disappointed myself more by doing this than I have in a long, long time. I expect myself to make plenty of mistakes, as everyone does, but... I simply was not prepared to make a mistake like this. On the surface, it's hardly a big deal. Cameras can always be replaced. Of course, it had very much become a part of me, as I take photography seriously, and am very passionate about my developing work. Underneath, I'm reminded that I'm not nearly as invincible as I often become convinced I am. I take risks all the time and usually come out unscathed and satisfied. Perhaps the purpose of this unfortunate event was to remind me that I am vulnerable to tremendous misfortune, that it's always lying just around the corner, waiting for a time that I'm sticking my neck out to pounce and clamp its jaws down upon my jugular. Perhaps in the long run, my loss has done more good than harm, in that it has inspired me to exercise more caution, which could save me from having to endure a tragedy in the future. At any rate, I need to call the service center and send my camera to the repair facility, to see if they can do anything to fix it. If it must be replaced, I at least hope I can get it for a lower price, considering I still have nine months of warranty left. Unfortunately, it explicitly states it does not cover water damage, or clumsy negligence.
"Cauterized" by Tweaker is a composition that very accurately represents my current mood.
"Cauterized" by Tweaker is a composition that very accurately represents my current mood.
Jul 22, 2004
So shut the door and shut off the light...
Apparently, my domain went under for a few days, as its expiration date arrived a little sooner than I could deal with. It's all resolved now, though. I just added two more years of life to it. Before long, I should upload quite a few new images. That's one of the foremost projects I'd like to accomplish before I move out.
Yes, I should be moving out of my parents' home by the middle of August. My father and I have been discussing renting me a place closer to my University campus for months, now. The hour and forty-five minute drive is a bit much to handle four days a week, plus whichever other days I may have to work. Yesterday, we decided to make the commute together in search of a reasonably decent place for an independent student to shack up for at least a semester or two. I did the driving around town; my father manned the cell phone and the classified section of the local newspaper. The first place we investigated was a studio apartment complex which looked rather ratty-looking, and was then viewable only from the outside. I wasn't entirely impressed with what I saw. The next door neighbor, beyond a narrow stand of trees, was a daycare center with noisy toddlers screeching. Minus. The two apartment complexes the owner (not on the premises) said were available were rooms 'N' and 'O.' I believe what those two letters put together spell is hardly a coincidence. So we decided to keep on looking.
The next stop was a little room behind an antique shop on one of the busiest streets in town. We were supposed to meet the renter later on to get a tour of the inside, but one glance at the location immediately turned me off to the possibility of living there. Next stop: the University. We checked a couple of the bulletin boards there, expecting to see a few ads for rooms/apartments for rent, and found a few. My father called up one character whose supposed genius son allegedly got admitted to a mainland university when he was eight years old. This individual sounded like quite a character, indeed, but his offer for a downstairs room for $275/month with cable internet sounded promising, so we went over and visited him. It turned out his home was also close to a busy street, and directly across from a large industrial building. The unkempt yard gave me a bad first impression, but if that hadn't, one look at the living space would have. The room itself wasn't terrible; it's a little larger than my current bedroom, and included a nice bed, as well as (did I mention this already?) cable Internet. Of course, that spooky poem written on the wall made me feel slightly uneasy. For some reason, the overall atmosphere left me truly uncomfortable. Never mind the fact that the guy who lives in the room right next to the one for rent is a classic example of pot-abusing space case. Never mind that the toilet and sink were located across the basement from the shower and bathtub, or how bizarre it was that the bathtub stood in the center of its own little room, with the shower pointed straight down upon it, with no shower curtains. Never mind that it all looked like a complete rat nest, with three or four different paint jobs peeling off the walls and brown stains all over the porcelain. Never mind that there lay a large puddle of standing water on the kitchen's dirty cement floor due to god knows what kind of plumbing problem. It looked like a classic ghetto living space to me. A place where junkies congregate to cook up methamphetamine and hide their product in the toilet tank for midnight pick-ups. But never mind at all that. Something about the place just made me feel altogether disturbed. I still feel rather uncomfortable about being there after so many hours of not being there. I may have sensed an extremely foul paranormal force, or something. We went upstairs, which wasn't nearly as spooky but still inexcusably messy, and conversed with the renter for awhile, since he was such an interesting character who claimed his friend invented the hydrogen car and that another friend of his invented a CD player that can make houseplants behave as speakers, but I insisted we keep on looking. He insisted he had the world's most wonderful wife, which I could not contest per se, but I saw absolutely no sign of his wife, nor a woman's touch in the living quarters. And considering he was supposedly a successful businessman and one of his sons was an astronomer pulling down a fortune like the stars, one would assume he'd live in a nicer home. Ooh, my. What a character. My intuition was telling me something was just too suspicious about those people... I don't think I would have ever felt comfortable there, never mind the barking dogs across the street, the crazy old man next door he spoke of, or the noisy traffic.
And thus, we called up someone else. This place turned out to be right next to the place we originally looked at when we first came into town. This apartment complex was much nicer and newer-looking, and was considerably farther away from the screech factory. Location-wise, I found it extremely satisfactory. It's on quiet, narrow Lehua Street, not even half a mile from downtown, but still well away from any serious commotion. The neighborhood seems reasonably quiet and clean, with yards dominated by the typical lush natural foliage characteristic of Hilo. Apartments were what I originally had in mind, as well– considering what a private creature I am, I much prefer to live in my own room with my own bathroom, kitchen, and entrance/exit. That's exactly what this place offered. The realty lady showed us two available rooms on the upper level, and I immediately felt at home. For $400 a month including utilities, it's a single studio room more than large enough to fit in an entertainment and computer center, bed, and a couple other items of furniture and still have a comfortable amount of space left over. I decided to go for it. Not out of impatience or desperation, but because I truly had a feeling we would find nothing better.
So that settles it. I officially have a place of my own. I just have to figure out a few things... what kind of bed I'm going to introduce into such a space and where I'm going to get it, where one goes to do their laundry, how much broadband Internet costs, whether I should get a cell phone or land line, where exactly the mail comes in... I have weeks to figure it all out, though, and more than a month left of summer vacation, so I am, for the most part, going to spend the rest of it relaxing and enjoying myself. I recently received a scholarship in the mail, granted to me just for graduating from a Hawaiian high school. Talk about a cake walk.. it gives me $1000 more in financial aid right from the start, and instead of having to earn $1750 in workstudy through a job, I now only have to earn $750 for the semester. Every once in awhile, remarkable things like that happen... and one hardly expects them to. I'm grateful, though, trust me. I'm grateful for many things, as I should be... everyone deserves a liberal education ... not everyone is able to afford it.
I picked up the new Tweaker album at Altitunes in Chicago. I was actually shocked to find an album by such an undiscovered artist in such a small music shop. I'd have to say it's about as accessible as the Earth's inner core, at least as far as the general pop-favoring masses are concerned, and that's saying nothing of its depth. Like his debut, I imagine it's much too difficult and altogether "weird" for most to ever get into. It smacks of typical Vrenna genius; that which most could probably never be bothered to dabble in. It is rather intimidating, in a way. Former Nine Inch Nails programmer Chris Vrenna is a strange man who makes disturbing music, and that's exactly what makes him such a fabulous artist. This album is best listened to during periods of insomnia. He recruited eight different vocalists to sing lyrics in his enchanting compositions, including David Sylvian and the notorious Robert Smith from The Cure. This kind of music simply refuses to fit into any genre. Vrenna is his own genre. It all sounds so unique... so purely refreshing. Such a marvelous departure from all the stale crumbs I regularly hear toasted on the radio. As I sit here listening to "It's Still Happening," I could just imagine enjoying the same song as I drive home late at night from a liberating spiritual wander. It makes me want to howl and then some.
I know I owe a few e-mails. I have not forgotten about anyone. I am not avoiding anyone. I've just been Internet-challenged as of late. Lately, I've actually suspected the phone might be an easier tool to use for keeping in touch, which is rather frightening, considering my traditional perspective on phones. I may have meandered away from the e-mail routine for a disgruntlingly long time, but I'll never get completely lost. I'm going to attempt to get back into it very soon. ...Anyone want a post card?
Yes, I should be moving out of my parents' home by the middle of August. My father and I have been discussing renting me a place closer to my University campus for months, now. The hour and forty-five minute drive is a bit much to handle four days a week, plus whichever other days I may have to work. Yesterday, we decided to make the commute together in search of a reasonably decent place for an independent student to shack up for at least a semester or two. I did the driving around town; my father manned the cell phone and the classified section of the local newspaper. The first place we investigated was a studio apartment complex which looked rather ratty-looking, and was then viewable only from the outside. I wasn't entirely impressed with what I saw. The next door neighbor, beyond a narrow stand of trees, was a daycare center with noisy toddlers screeching. Minus. The two apartment complexes the owner (not on the premises) said were available were rooms 'N' and 'O.' I believe what those two letters put together spell is hardly a coincidence. So we decided to keep on looking.
The next stop was a little room behind an antique shop on one of the busiest streets in town. We were supposed to meet the renter later on to get a tour of the inside, but one glance at the location immediately turned me off to the possibility of living there. Next stop: the University. We checked a couple of the bulletin boards there, expecting to see a few ads for rooms/apartments for rent, and found a few. My father called up one character whose supposed genius son allegedly got admitted to a mainland university when he was eight years old. This individual sounded like quite a character, indeed, but his offer for a downstairs room for $275/month with cable internet sounded promising, so we went over and visited him. It turned out his home was also close to a busy street, and directly across from a large industrial building. The unkempt yard gave me a bad first impression, but if that hadn't, one look at the living space would have. The room itself wasn't terrible; it's a little larger than my current bedroom, and included a nice bed, as well as (did I mention this already?) cable Internet. Of course, that spooky poem written on the wall made me feel slightly uneasy. For some reason, the overall atmosphere left me truly uncomfortable. Never mind the fact that the guy who lives in the room right next to the one for rent is a classic example of pot-abusing space case. Never mind that the toilet and sink were located across the basement from the shower and bathtub, or how bizarre it was that the bathtub stood in the center of its own little room, with the shower pointed straight down upon it, with no shower curtains. Never mind that it all looked like a complete rat nest, with three or four different paint jobs peeling off the walls and brown stains all over the porcelain. Never mind that there lay a large puddle of standing water on the kitchen's dirty cement floor due to god knows what kind of plumbing problem. It looked like a classic ghetto living space to me. A place where junkies congregate to cook up methamphetamine and hide their product in the toilet tank for midnight pick-ups. But never mind at all that. Something about the place just made me feel altogether disturbed. I still feel rather uncomfortable about being there after so many hours of not being there. I may have sensed an extremely foul paranormal force, or something. We went upstairs, which wasn't nearly as spooky but still inexcusably messy, and conversed with the renter for awhile, since he was such an interesting character who claimed his friend invented the hydrogen car and that another friend of his invented a CD player that can make houseplants behave as speakers, but I insisted we keep on looking. He insisted he had the world's most wonderful wife, which I could not contest per se, but I saw absolutely no sign of his wife, nor a woman's touch in the living quarters. And considering he was supposedly a successful businessman and one of his sons was an astronomer pulling down a fortune like the stars, one would assume he'd live in a nicer home. Ooh, my. What a character. My intuition was telling me something was just too suspicious about those people... I don't think I would have ever felt comfortable there, never mind the barking dogs across the street, the crazy old man next door he spoke of, or the noisy traffic.
And thus, we called up someone else. This place turned out to be right next to the place we originally looked at when we first came into town. This apartment complex was much nicer and newer-looking, and was considerably farther away from the screech factory. Location-wise, I found it extremely satisfactory. It's on quiet, narrow Lehua Street, not even half a mile from downtown, but still well away from any serious commotion. The neighborhood seems reasonably quiet and clean, with yards dominated by the typical lush natural foliage characteristic of Hilo. Apartments were what I originally had in mind, as well– considering what a private creature I am, I much prefer to live in my own room with my own bathroom, kitchen, and entrance/exit. That's exactly what this place offered. The realty lady showed us two available rooms on the upper level, and I immediately felt at home. For $400 a month including utilities, it's a single studio room more than large enough to fit in an entertainment and computer center, bed, and a couple other items of furniture and still have a comfortable amount of space left over. I decided to go for it. Not out of impatience or desperation, but because I truly had a feeling we would find nothing better.
So that settles it. I officially have a place of my own. I just have to figure out a few things... what kind of bed I'm going to introduce into such a space and where I'm going to get it, where one goes to do their laundry, how much broadband Internet costs, whether I should get a cell phone or land line, where exactly the mail comes in... I have weeks to figure it all out, though, and more than a month left of summer vacation, so I am, for the most part, going to spend the rest of it relaxing and enjoying myself. I recently received a scholarship in the mail, granted to me just for graduating from a Hawaiian high school. Talk about a cake walk.. it gives me $1000 more in financial aid right from the start, and instead of having to earn $1750 in workstudy through a job, I now only have to earn $750 for the semester. Every once in awhile, remarkable things like that happen... and one hardly expects them to. I'm grateful, though, trust me. I'm grateful for many things, as I should be... everyone deserves a liberal education ... not everyone is able to afford it.
I picked up the new Tweaker album at Altitunes in Chicago. I was actually shocked to find an album by such an undiscovered artist in such a small music shop. I'd have to say it's about as accessible as the Earth's inner core, at least as far as the general pop-favoring masses are concerned, and that's saying nothing of its depth. Like his debut, I imagine it's much too difficult and altogether "weird" for most to ever get into. It smacks of typical Vrenna genius; that which most could probably never be bothered to dabble in. It is rather intimidating, in a way. Former Nine Inch Nails programmer Chris Vrenna is a strange man who makes disturbing music, and that's exactly what makes him such a fabulous artist. This album is best listened to during periods of insomnia. He recruited eight different vocalists to sing lyrics in his enchanting compositions, including David Sylvian and the notorious Robert Smith from The Cure. This kind of music simply refuses to fit into any genre. Vrenna is his own genre. It all sounds so unique... so purely refreshing. Such a marvelous departure from all the stale crumbs I regularly hear toasted on the radio. As I sit here listening to "It's Still Happening," I could just imagine enjoying the same song as I drive home late at night from a liberating spiritual wander. It makes me want to howl and then some.
I know I owe a few e-mails. I have not forgotten about anyone. I am not avoiding anyone. I've just been Internet-challenged as of late. Lately, I've actually suspected the phone might be an easier tool to use for keeping in touch, which is rather frightening, considering my traditional perspective on phones. I may have meandered away from the e-mail routine for a disgruntlingly long time, but I'll never get completely lost. I'm going to attempt to get back into it very soon. ...Anyone want a post card?
Jun 8, 2004
The Australian Outback ... or something like it.
Calvin & Hobbes are back in the local newspaper again. That'll give me a splendid reason to even bother opening it up in the first place.
I obtained a new digital camera, recently. Considering my obsessive picture-taking habits, natural talent, and developing experience and skill, I determined that I needed to reach higher up the technological ladder for something that would better suit my needs. 2.0 and 3.0-megapixel digital cameras are already being left in the dust by the new 8.0-megapixel models, and I find that either of the former don't quite enough live up to my passionate photographic aspirations. Considering the 8.0 models are way out of my budget at the present time, I decided to compromise and browse the 5.0-megapixel models. While looking at Costco Wholesale's selection, not much time transpired before I fell in love with one. Konica Minolta's Dimage G500 wears a rugged-looking metal exterior painted a sleek titanium color with chrome trim, and is no larger than, and roughly the same shape as, a pack of cigarettes. Needless to say, it's one of those compact cameras you can slip in and out of your pocket. I truly admire the 1.3 second start-up time, and that there is no clip-on plastic lens cover to have to remove and have dangle uselessly while taking pictures, as with my mom's haphazardly designed and ultimately migraine-inducive Nikon Coolpix. The $350 price tag exceeded my budget by a considerable amount, but after looking over the rest of the selection, nothing else appealed to me nearly as much. As Costco makes it so easy to return products, and the model I quickly became so enamored would might be out of stock by the time I returned, I decided to go ahead and get it. Of course, I had to add the cost of a 256 mb SD memory card, as the included 16 mb card simply wouldn't hold many 2592x1944 resolution pictures. As I hold it in my paws, it just feels so exquisite... worthy of accompanying me on all the adventures I plan to take it on ... as rugged and durable as Benecio, my mountain bike, and Lou, our dog. I've determined that it's a male, and his name is Troy. That could be a problem for a little while--when I ask someone here if they've seen Troy, they'll tell me they haven't been to the movies in months--but I feel the name simply suits his appearance.
I purchased Troy en route to the southern realm. My father and I drove down beyond South Point to the same spot we camped at for a few days in January. We ended up camping down there for the same number of days this time, simply enjoying the utter isolation and sweeping beauty the remote realm so offers. "Our" spot appeared to be the finest spot to call home for miles. The ground is soft, the shade is luxuriant, and the breeze is gentle--a rarity in a realm of windswept grassy plains set upon loess and seemingly endless fields of crumbly, jagged rock. I spent a good many hours laying upon our foam flotation device in the inlet besides our camp site. I especially enjoyed paddling out there in the late afternoon, when the tide is highest, the afternoons are pleasantly warm, and heavy dark clouds roll off the mountains to the northeast, obscuring the sun. Contrary to my mother, I'm not one who particular enjoys excessive direct exposure to the sunlight. Of course, after nightfall, I found myself gliding about beneath the full moon, mostly by bicycle, as the conditions were so conductive for it. On the first night, I cycled the 3.5 miles to Green Sand Beach. As surreal as it looks during the day, it looks simply majestic on a moonlit evening. No one was there, of course, as no one was around for miles and miles, so I made my way down the steep slope and onto the sandy beach, and meditated beneath the stelliferous night sky for awhile. The natural formations surrounding me were aesthetically delightful, making the place all the more pleasant to be. I even went so far as releasing myself from my burdensome fabrics and jumping into the ocean as my dog sat on the beach and watched, rather intimidated by the waves crashing so raucously. I cannot imagine how life would be if it weren't for such experiences as these, these moments of simple incredible passion, ecstasy, and liberation. Would it even be worth living at all? I'm not so sure. It was just too difficult not to succumb to the familiar lupine temptation on an evening such as that.
The next day, we all returned to the beach, and it seemed rather 'plain' to me after having just visited it when it was draped in splendiferous moonlight. Besides that, four or five humans were crowding the beach, and that was too much for me. I wandered around the cliff some until I reach my own secret little secluded pocket. It's just as sandy as the main beach, but much smaller and more difficult to access, leaving it isolated virtually all the time. I enjoyed myself down there as I spent quite a bit of time hunting for sizeable olivine crystals--that which makes the sand appear so green. I came up with a fair amount of them and brought them home with me to admire.
It's one of the last uncorrupted places on the island. I hope it stays that way for awhile longer.
I obtained a new digital camera, recently. Considering my obsessive picture-taking habits, natural talent, and developing experience and skill, I determined that I needed to reach higher up the technological ladder for something that would better suit my needs. 2.0 and 3.0-megapixel digital cameras are already being left in the dust by the new 8.0-megapixel models, and I find that either of the former don't quite enough live up to my passionate photographic aspirations. Considering the 8.0 models are way out of my budget at the present time, I decided to compromise and browse the 5.0-megapixel models. While looking at Costco Wholesale's selection, not much time transpired before I fell in love with one. Konica Minolta's Dimage G500 wears a rugged-looking metal exterior painted a sleek titanium color with chrome trim, and is no larger than, and roughly the same shape as, a pack of cigarettes. Needless to say, it's one of those compact cameras you can slip in and out of your pocket. I truly admire the 1.3 second start-up time, and that there is no clip-on plastic lens cover to have to remove and have dangle uselessly while taking pictures, as with my mom's haphazardly designed and ultimately migraine-inducive Nikon Coolpix. The $350 price tag exceeded my budget by a considerable amount, but after looking over the rest of the selection, nothing else appealed to me nearly as much. As Costco makes it so easy to return products, and the model I quickly became so enamored would might be out of stock by the time I returned, I decided to go ahead and get it. Of course, I had to add the cost of a 256 mb SD memory card, as the included 16 mb card simply wouldn't hold many 2592x1944 resolution pictures. As I hold it in my paws, it just feels so exquisite... worthy of accompanying me on all the adventures I plan to take it on ... as rugged and durable as Benecio, my mountain bike, and Lou, our dog. I've determined that it's a male, and his name is Troy. That could be a problem for a little while--when I ask someone here if they've seen Troy, they'll tell me they haven't been to the movies in months--but I feel the name simply suits his appearance.
I purchased Troy en route to the southern realm. My father and I drove down beyond South Point to the same spot we camped at for a few days in January. We ended up camping down there for the same number of days this time, simply enjoying the utter isolation and sweeping beauty the remote realm so offers. "Our" spot appeared to be the finest spot to call home for miles. The ground is soft, the shade is luxuriant, and the breeze is gentle--a rarity in a realm of windswept grassy plains set upon loess and seemingly endless fields of crumbly, jagged rock. I spent a good many hours laying upon our foam flotation device in the inlet besides our camp site. I especially enjoyed paddling out there in the late afternoon, when the tide is highest, the afternoons are pleasantly warm, and heavy dark clouds roll off the mountains to the northeast, obscuring the sun. Contrary to my mother, I'm not one who particular enjoys excessive direct exposure to the sunlight. Of course, after nightfall, I found myself gliding about beneath the full moon, mostly by bicycle, as the conditions were so conductive for it. On the first night, I cycled the 3.5 miles to Green Sand Beach. As surreal as it looks during the day, it looks simply majestic on a moonlit evening. No one was there, of course, as no one was around for miles and miles, so I made my way down the steep slope and onto the sandy beach, and meditated beneath the stelliferous night sky for awhile. The natural formations surrounding me were aesthetically delightful, making the place all the more pleasant to be. I even went so far as releasing myself from my burdensome fabrics and jumping into the ocean as my dog sat on the beach and watched, rather intimidated by the waves crashing so raucously. I cannot imagine how life would be if it weren't for such experiences as these, these moments of simple incredible passion, ecstasy, and liberation. Would it even be worth living at all? I'm not so sure. It was just too difficult not to succumb to the familiar lupine temptation on an evening such as that.
The next day, we all returned to the beach, and it seemed rather 'plain' to me after having just visited it when it was draped in splendiferous moonlight. Besides that, four or five humans were crowding the beach, and that was too much for me. I wandered around the cliff some until I reach my own secret little secluded pocket. It's just as sandy as the main beach, but much smaller and more difficult to access, leaving it isolated virtually all the time. I enjoyed myself down there as I spent quite a bit of time hunting for sizeable olivine crystals--that which makes the sand appear so green. I came up with a fair amount of them and brought them home with me to admire.
It's one of the last uncorrupted places on the island. I hope it stays that way for awhile longer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
