...now i find it in the street, a trampled rose

so, i'm sitting in this chair, which is squeaking way too much, and i'm thinking about my future (thoughts which, oddly enough, consist of many a squeak) and i don't know what to do, or even what to want to do. i've wanted to work in film, in audio engineering, in libarary science, hell, i've considered being a teacher/teacher's assistant. i mean, it's clear to me that what i'm doing is keeping my self from focusing, because focus is a sign of direction, and direction is a sign of responsibility, and that scares me---scares any focus right out of me. so i read, and listen, and eat, and sleep, and write (barely) and avoid serious issues. even when michele raises her voice higher and higher, trying to reach my averted gaze, i manage to either tune it out, or address it with compromises. i've never talked to anyone that shows the same fears of failure that i have. and, what a funny twist, that scares me that much more. anyone will admit that it's hard to try, but with me, the want to try requires trying all it's own. i feel like my mental situation is the stuff of 9-5 cubicles, and cut and paste lifestyles. the glamour, and success, and excitement, and satisfaction comes from those people that launch caution at the wind, cursing it. meanwhile, i sit behind them, thinking "but.....it's the wind; and what am i?"

but it ain't all bad. i work at the library. i constantly deal with books on europe, astro-physics, classical guitar, photography, post-modern art, 19th century literature, 20th century criminals, and 21st century careers. it's hard to go home and realize that not only haven't i made a dent in anything other than this chair here, but i can't even visualize a pattern to begin kneading into this planet.

and now i look back at what i just wrote (what i just wrote these last 10+ years) and realize that the letters will just scatter and dissipate, the words lost, in the wind (the same wind that had that caution thrown in its face!). i've had a bunch of journals that, i'm quite certain, were never read by anybody. i guess that can be considered romantic, in a way, but it isn't long until i start to see it as that dime-a-dozen, dimestore romance. i think i'll end it on that uplifting note..i guess (really that's all we can do)

richard

Before modern medical procedures, barbers, along with cutting hair, offered bloodletting services. The white and red striped pole acted as a beacon to those in need of a bloodletting. Red represented blood, and white the bandages that would be applied afterward.


Trepanning, which dates back 4,000 years and was common to many cultures, involved boring into the skull of the unfortunate patient. Reseachers believe the procedure was used to relieve skull pressure or to release evil spirits trapped in the body.

(find Offbeat Museums by Saul Rubin at a local library and check it out. It's great.)