Walking The Dog, and Other Adventures

So, I just went for a little walk with my dog. The second little walk (okay, see, something IS wrong with me...i should've put 'this hallowed night', or something), since we had gone for a little walk earlier before breakfast (further evidence that I'm not okay. I meant 'dinner.). Between these walks, I wrote that bad lil' poem/quasi-song immediately below...the idea could turn into a passable song lyric, someday, perhaps.

In any case, the reality of what I said in that bad poem is true: The brain is constantly working, but sometimes it's in a mood to capture thoughts and images in a visceral, sometimes emotional way. Other times these things just pass before it like still-photo commercials before a movie. Can't remember the phone number, the name of the business, the picture on the screen...maybe just a vague idea that it had something to do with dentistry or cosmetic surgery. Today was one of those vague beginning-of-AnnaKarenina-days. Lots of walking, lots of thinking, not much remembering (unfortunately)...

I think I just had a radio-riff in my head (I've recently become the anchor of my own politicalreligious poetry sports talk show) that was related to a conversation I had a long time ago in Fort Collins...I was with a bunch of artsy people (this was before the election) and they started talking about (they=a group of 4-7 people) some group of old ladies that had a 'we hate bush' party. In any case, I only heard the talk of 'we hate bush', without hearing the amusing tidbits about these being OLD LADIES, and I went on a God-like tirade denouncing we liberals for playing into us vs. them structuralist good/evil ideas, for stooping to limbaugh-like levels, yada yada...

we think it's so horrible of Bush to call terrorists evil, when we then go and call Bush evil. However bad he may be, he's not evil in the same way that building-blower-uppers are, and neither is conservatism evil. If anything, Bush is a horrible CEO, or coach, or whatever. At first I started to use a vague sports analogy..." a coach can run the west-coast offense, and run it poorly, but it doesn't necessarily mean that the West-coast offense itself is good or bad..." then I decided, since this IS more of a poetry/political talk show, that I would use a literary analogy: "It's like a 10th-grader writing a sonnet. Sure, you've never read worse poetry in your entire life. And the fact that the student tried to write in a restricted form probably sucked out any sort of ingenuity from his already-tiny mind. But a Sonnet, well-written, can be a beautiful, perfect thing." Etc.

I believe that this all came about because I had earlier been on a sort of mind-date with Colleen, a CSU-girl on whom I had quite a crush for quite a while (I suppose I still do...just haven't seen/heard from her in so long...) And she was one of the folk at the gathering of artsy people when I soap-boxed myself into a defensive corner. 'Twas inspired by something about my upcoming trip to Colorado, to Denver, to stay with Noah and Nicole (they don't know about this yet). I talked with her, revealed outright my crush on her, she was surprised, I'm like 'how could that be surprising? A) [then I smile and look at her the way I usually smile and look at her] B) you're Colleen...everyone has a crush on you, and you know it. And maybe there was a C. Can't remember the C. She asked me why I was attracted to her, and, besides her obviously being attractive, I noted her constant smile, her intelligence, and her memory/insightfulness, pointing out that one time at the movie theatre.

Rewind. She had a showing in the mini-gallery on CSU's campus. I remarked, probably in pseudo-pretentious, witty Brett-tones, that one of the photographs was 'sexual' (it was of Aspen trees growing out of a sort of grassy weedy snowy field, and was framed so that the tops of the trees couldn't be seen, and, therefore, the eye traveled top to bottom in a tree-penetrating-ground fashion). Fast Forward. We were in the movie theatre, about to watch some sort of artsy movie at CinemaCSU, and she sat down next to me, and we talked for a bit. Then she said something like 'did you say something about how one of my photographs was sexual?' and I, wide-eyed, said 'yes....how'd you know' and she, sheepish-smiled, said 'My mother said that one of the boys at the show had made that comment...and I figured it was you.' pumpumpumpheartpumpumpumpsigh.
Then she asked why I hadn't asked her out, and I went into a montage of 'I was dating the love of my life at the time.' That's not what I saidto her, but what I thought to meself and then images and all that jizzny came a spewin' up.

I sometimes get this vague notion that the front of my brain isn't receiving enough oxygen, and that I am therefore becoming markedly less sharp and intelligent, as if some brain-fog has covered over my synapses. I think it may be somewhat true, having to do with a general state of lethargy and out-of-shapeness, and perhaps it's merely a feeling of my forehead due to a tightness in my neck and/or back.

A girl named Annie wanted me to talk about poop, and I can only comment that I haven't been doing as much of it lately as I think I may need to. i've been starting to take some colon-cleansing products, because I do have this feeling of toxicity in my body, and maybe that will help.

I watched Don't Look Back today. Always makes ya feel kinda...guilty...or...worthless...when you see someone at your age changing the f'in world, puttin' himself out there, go-go-fearless-going, while you're unemployed, balding, and living with your parents. Thankfully, that period of time is coming to a close, as I will soon find myself in Colorado once again, working with troubled youths in the mountains of Colorado. Should be intense, maybe fun, maybe woman-finding. It'll be good to see snow, be in the mountains again. Good to be out of this house with its pleasant comfort. God bless the house, but time to be rid of 'er.

love me
Brett