She Shares Her Concern

I am jogging down a darkened sidewalk. In the distance I see a silhouetted figure approaching. Trees, grass and buildings are to my left, the deserted street to my right. As I draw nearer the woman moves almost imperceptibly toward the center of the sidewalk. I can tell she wants to address me. Is this important? I take a few last lazy strides then come to a stop to the side of her. I have seen this woman before around Redondo Beach walking and riding the bus. Her body is frail, malnourished, her face slightly feminine. She has short hair, both because she is balding and because she has shaved her head to about 1/2". A few longer hairs seem to have escaped both processes; this is her most distinctive feature. She looks timid as she shifts her backback upward towards her shoulders, leaning forward under the weight. She bends her neck to look up at me. In a medium-high pitch voice and with a serious expression on her face, she finally looks directly at me, and says:

"Can you not sleep with the Redondo Beach guy?"

The sentence moves up in pitch slightly at the end, and lingers in the air. As I stand there confused she walks past me, shaking her head in disapproval. I finally consider her request; yes, yes I can. I turn to see her looking back at me. I reply: "Ok."

Somewhere out there, in real or imaginary space, a man or a woman (this much we cannot tell), is inconsiderately sleeping with the Redondo Beach guy, much to this woman's dismay. Why does it bother her? Is she interested in the Redondo Beach guy? He seems to be known for his virility. After all, he is THE Redondo Beach guy (I am just A Redondo Beach guy, otherwise how could I be sleeping with him?). Does the noise keep her awake at night? Does it betray her right to privacy?

I think to myself "Why do I always seem to meet these crazy people?" Then I remember that it's 11:30pm and I'm running down Hawthorne. Maybe I'm one of them.

Independent Discovery of Ideas

A recurring theme in my life as of the last 1/2 decade is that the ideas I come up with are (almost always) pre-discovered by someone else. Google is great at pointing this out to me. Case in point, the web address of this blog "Art is the Medium". I came up with this phrase to represent two somewhat unrelated thoughts about creativity. More on that later. But for now, check out this link:

http://www.chiotti.com/lyndasez/2008/09/art_is_the_medium.html

See what I mean? Google "Art is the Medium", with quotes. It's currently the 3rd result. And (from what I can determine) it captures the 1st of the two meanings that this phrase holds for me. At least the second is still mine! I'll make sure I elaborate soon, before it too becomes pre-discovered...

Anxiety

I am immersed in life: sun, warmth, fresh air, nature. A black hair-thin crack begins to form in mid-sky. It thickens as a two-dimensional piece of the sky, like an immense piece of a puzzle, leans forward timelessly, then spirals downward with the force of gravity. Another piece forms and falls, and another, and yet another, disappearing forever and leaving behind precise black voids. I concentrate on catching the first few pieces, but the progressive flow soon becomes unbearable. The moment before the world fades to black, and I with it, I feel a sense of endless, meaningless space, and regret.

Who are you?

Japanese women, for whatever reason, have one of the longest average lifespans of ~85 years. This is roughly 2.7 billion seconds. The human population on earth, at the time of this post, is approximately 6.8 billion people. This means that you'd have to meet ~2.5 people per second your entire life just to meet everyone on earth. Of course, this ignores certain obligations like eating and sleeping, and that people are born and die all the time. The point is, even if you were fortunate enough to be born a Japanese woman, you could not possibly meet every person on earth. And yet you are inextricably bound to them. The laws you are subject to, the economies, crime rates, social customs, etc are all because of them.

So who are these people?

A very small percentage of them you know personally, and very directly effect your life. Some come into contact with you throughout the course of your life as strangers. Some catch your attention, usually because they have caught the attention of someone who can publicize them to you. An overwhelming majority of people, however, are only represented to each other as a statistic. As depressing as that may be, it is necessarily so. There simply isn't enough time.

Procrastination of Life

Sitting at my desk
Living but not yet alive
Tomorrow I will

Work Days

I found this as a text message draft on my phone (I make notes-to-self sometimes). I don't remember writing it...

"Impewrf alarm, cold shower traffic sunny day for dark office intangible feelings & thoughts about life for facts and figures processed food reporting time ignoring strangers right next to you. Yawns and sighs litter the audible space of thw work day getting home late."

[sic sic sic!]

PSA

Swine flu with au jus
You don't want to get it too
Trust rhyming haikus