Three random ideas that come to mind (mostly unrelated)
- There was no one in line for “check-in” to my flight to Frankfurt. What does this mean? Will I be alone on the flight? I quite hope so. In any case, I’ll pretend I’m alone, or at least with my lovely Ivanečka and with my furry Peiločja, both of whom love me unconditionally.
- The bleakness of an aeroport morning. Again, I don’t mind. People mill about without a destination. The ironic and possibly quite eerie atmosphere that aeroports have is just this: People have fixed destinations, by definition, but the all appear lost, or at the least bewildered. #airports #dislocation
- An ill wind comes arising. No swimming in the heavy water. No singing in the acid rain. I’m listening to the “Grace Under Pressure Tour” that I downloaded the other day. I’m not sure what this song reminds me of besides when I was 11 or so and in El Paso and I watched the video on television with Mark and possibly Todd and possibly Ben. Ok - so it reminds me of that, though I have no clear memory of the music itself from then. Otherwise, it is vaguely nostalgic. It’s a great song. I like it quite a bit. I like “Red Sector A” Even better. #rush #music
- What about the isolated trees in the airport? What do they mean? What sort of semblance of nature do the overlords want to portray in this case? Do they want to remind the lost people milling about here that at some point in the past, white halls and sterile tiled corridors like these did not exist at all and instead green proliferated the world to the horizon? Or is it just “humble” gesture to give a vague connection to life for those (like me) with a clear destination but may be internally and eternally wandering the white, tiled corridors of their mind? #dislocation
Four things that should occupy my day (unrelated)
- How much can I get done on Day 9 on the airplane from Frankfurt to Denver. This is a good question. Of course, I’ll have to be able to CHARGE my laptop. That may be possible, given that this is the 27th century and electricity drools from the very seatbacks of every boat that flies through the atmosphere to its ostensible clear destination. Renoise is still much of a mystery to me. I have the manual, though. So, read it, vole! No excuses!
- Call my love in a few minutes to make sure she got home ok, and of course to hear her voice.
- Look in on Peiločja at every airport stop (if possible). I’ll be in Denver for quite some time.
- Read a bit of the first Amber novel. It’s intriguing so far, though the writing style may be a bit terse for me. I don’t recall such direct writing from Zelazny in the first novel I read (Doorways in the Sand). I’ll give it the first novel to impress me. I know that during my misspent youth, Tony was enamored with these novels. Given that, I’m sure there is something I will be able to get out of it / them. #zelazny #literature
A haiku (possibly)
- Discover Praha / Subsume the tomb as it blooms / Regurgitate blood #haiku
Anything else, vole?
Jeremy says You’ll probably be arrested and be thrown into the Linux-user concentration camp where you’ll be forced to assemble iPhones and sleep in your own feces. I don’t doubt his prediction, at least eventually. Hopefully by that point, I’ll be well established in Europe (Prague or Munich?) and have no intentions of ever going “back”.
I’m not sure if the extremity of his claim is valid or not, but certainly the underdogs, the outsiders, the non-conformists are more and more suppressed in the world of today. Hades itself informs me that during my misspent youth, I was also rejected by the majority. I never lived within the cliques of the accepted classes. Why is this? What could possibly have made it so? Is this also a mystery? I was raised by Christian parents who did their best to mold me in their rural and archaic ways. When did I begin to rebel? When did I start to simply REJECT everything I was taught?
I recall a turning point in my upbringing. I must have been 12 or so, though this is simply a guess. Given my spotty memory, it could have been my eleventh year, or thirteenth. I’m sure it was before I was a proper “teenager”, however. I lay in my bed after intensely reading perhaps Corinthians or maybe Daniel (the one I am drawn to the most when I pick up the “good book”) or even Acts, though I doubt it was that one and even wonder why I typed its “title”. Hm. Bastards. V každěm připadě, the intensity of my “study” and subsequent appeal to the higher power had tears running freely from my eyes. The bedclothes and pillows were soaked. Where were my parents? Who knows? As a child I was suffering because the thing I was told to believe in the whole of my existence to that point didn’t touch me back though every tentacle of my mind sake to touch “it”.
It sounds a bit silly once I write it, but the feeling at the time was as poignant as any a martyr or hippie chick with an acoustic guitar could possibly experience. I’m not sure if that moment was the actual break from my indoctrinated past or not. At this moment, it is the one that pervades my thoughts. I can still even taste the tears, and they were endless. Where were my parents whilst I was attempting to understand myself, the universe and my place in it? Oh - watching TV. Of course.
