I am split between the idea of saving a race or group of a species (including humans) who have been overtaken and passed by the remainder of the world and left far behind and letting them die out as most non-adaptive creatures have in the past.

Technology is the main culprit for this rushing onward. Being left behind means inevitable death.

Being a sort of conservation biologist (I should really put that word in quotes), I veer towards the former path. I clearly see that the latter road is the one that nature always takes with every race/group/species that is left behind.

I sit alone in the huge room of the ground floor of the guest house in Viidu. I drove Kairi to the bus station in Kuressaare where she departed at 8.20. I did not wait for her to depart. She took her backpack and bag, told me it was fun for me and walked away. I drove first to fill up the vacant truck with diesel then tagasi Viidusse.

We attempted to guess each others’ ages during the drive. She estimated 33 for me. I, 25 for her. Apparently, we are both older that the guesses, but we did not state our actual ages. I am happy about that. It put a buffer between us which will soften our next meeting.

I make it seem like something passed between us other than friendship, but that is not so. Friendship, however, and a communion in similar ideas, is delightful in itself.

We also spoke of people reaching a point in life when they were essentially dead. Or, as I later put it, sleeping. Resigned may be an even better description. Kairi hoped aloud she would never reach such a state. I told her that from what I had garnered from her personality throughout the past six days, that she would not. I must admit that I was saying that to simply be kind. Oh, and to earn some brownie points. Honestly, during much of the past six days, she exhibited a frightful lack of imagination and disinterest in artistic phenomena. Six days is not long, however. She began to open up beginning Saturday (the day following my evening depression) and proved my initial theory that she had little or no imagination somewhat wrong.

Nüüd temal on viie tunni ja neljakümne viie minuti pikk buss sõit. Ja sajab vihma kuigi ma ootan Tiit.

Kairi is at the table to my left. The wooden dinner table of this guest house in Viidu. She re-entered the room perhaps forty minutes ago and we have not spoken a single word to each other in that time.

Nothing is particularly wrong, however. I categorize us as friends at this point and if friends wish to be silent and self-absorbed, they should be allowed to be. One great problem I faced in the past with relationships is not being able to give the other person space to do their own things - to be self-absorbed. Or just to fucking read a book in peace.

This bit back when I felt crowded later in relationships by the same actions I performed during the initial parts.

Yesterday was most likely our best day. The morning started with laughs and pointed jokes concerning cannibalism (spawned by Christopher Bender, actually). Kairi liked how improvisation worked into the life with my friends - the ability to react and play off one another in the tumult of absurdities. She’s been practicing a bit, herself.

We sat on a porch of an ostensibly abandoned house in Kaali (I believe that is the name and I refuse to look it up at this moment) in dilapidated wicker chairs and ate our lunch. I told her about the things which sparked my depression the night before - detailed in the previous entry. She seemed intrigued. She claimed she’d never thought in that manner before. We considered relationships, but not too deeply. I let the conversation sink soon. I know my weaknesses. I do not want to fall foul of them any longer.

In the evening, we watched The Fellowship of the Ring on this very shittypie. I wondered idly during the day today whether she felt my eyes on her as she tautly focused on the film. Such superstitions are silly.

Now we have our silence. Tomorrow morning, I drive her to Kuressaare to the bus station. She’ll be off to Tartu and her life there. I’m not sure when we’ll next meet.

Yesterday, my thoughts did not have enough granularity. That is, the granularity was too low. Their incipient relations were clipped at their collective buds. They grew singularly and apart from one another.

Lack of concentration and stumbling thinking which accompanies it results in this lumpiness. Separate lumpiness. The thoughts take on egos of their own, becoming much like humans in regarding themselves as unique and free-standing individuals. Given time, one of these thoughts would reign over all other triumphantly. The other thoughts, banished to peasantry, would diminish, possibly die off. A type of fundamentalism is victorious.

The flowing interaction between phenomena had been lost yesterday. Selfishness awakens and manifests itself in the aforementioned fundamentalism. The only way to re-increase the granularity and fluidity of ideas in the mind is introspection, or a better would might be meditation.

I realize I am a part of all thoughts and objects, that is to say, phenomena, around when the granularity is sufficiently high. Then, nothing matters but the flow from moment to moment.

The perpetual goal.

I have found that when I consume too much and my tummy is overly satiated, I become depressed. Though I know this to be true, I continue to exhibit this tendency. I find it a habit overseeing other habits to let the subordinate habits run wild even though I intellectually know they will make me feel unhappy (or alternately replace with another negative emotion).

So, I informed Kairi, as she was coming back down to the expansive ground floor of the guest house in Viidu (our temporary home) that I was feeling badly. She inquired if I had a cold. I told her the truth - that I was a little depressed. Then I said I’d see her in the morning. Of course, I’d rather she knock on my door and awaken me from my lugubriousness. My eyelids hang with lethargy. My brain is numb. Mul on vaja uut aru.

A phrase which will mark this day are:

Varsti tule risttee me peame pöörama vasakule.

I think I am missing a word between risttee and me. I should shamble on down the outside staircase (which is the only way to reach the ground floor) just to ask her this very question. I shall hope to remember tomorrow.

One thing I assume about Kairi is that she is not the sort of girl whom one would have to take care of. She has a very strong individual streak within. Wow. That’d be a change, wouldn’t it?

We traveled many roads full of immense dips full of opaque water, hoping not to be stuck. Hoping not to have to live forever in the beautiful expanse all around us.

The subject question is a touch of the realism I experienced today after feeling a emotional push that I don’t get very often these years. Kairi and I were in Selver in Kuressaare, purchasing a few things for our lunch. This event itself (lunch) did not occur for several hours.

This push came when I saw her randomly in the shop after we split upon entrance to find our separate comestibles. She smiled when we bumped into each other and my stomach dipped. I did and did not like the feeling, but definitely acknowledged it for what it was. Were I a mid 20s to mid 30s freakish laddie, as I used to be, I’d be at this moment head over heels. As my mental balance teeters now, I’m not sure it is a good idea.

She’s made no comment on music that I play which plays constantly when we are in the guest house. She doesn’t acknowledge any art standing about the island, or anything particularly man-made at all. Her appreciation of nature is acute, of course, as she is a biologist. The imagination doesn’t seem to be included in the package.

Can you choose your friends? Can you choose your relationships?

I’m not sure if she is taken or not. That’s never really been a problem for me before, however, as we all know.

We have three more days alone. In no way am I assuming anything will happen outside of conversation, but I expect we’ll grow closer. I have always had a way of creating a type of shibboleth with practically anyone I am left alone with for some time.

The lunch consisted of sitting on bench in Kärla (in the laulja place… where choirs sing to hapless recipients of latent information), munching and chatting about hometowns and tiny aspirations. Yesterday’s lunch was more intellectually involved. The great Buddha himself took part.

Meil on selle nii aega will surely remind me of this day.

Whilst riding a bicycle today from Viidu to Kihelkonna and back, I glanced time and again at the simple, three gear shifting mechanism on the right handle bar, trying to shake a pricking notion from my head. It finally came to me exactly what the bothersome twinge was. It was Brynn. After fourteen years, the cunt’s shenanigans still throb in my subconscious.

Her refusal of technology was mind-numbing. It was unfathomable to anyone who didn’t personally encounter her. They sound like a ludicrous and frightful bedtime story for ogre pups. She wouldn’t even shift gears on her bicycle.

What?

She wouldn’t even shift gears on her 20 gear bicycle. She refused to do it. To her, doing so would be giving in to something unnatural, an alien force, a science or technology. And if you called her on it or something similar (there were all to many similar occurrences), you could have been sure that hades would unleash a fantastic array of demons on your unprepared psyche. I hope my reader is aware of the irony in this tale.

I am in Saaremaa, but that is not what I am going to write about today. Or perhaps I shall later today, but not now. The initial subject is my parents.

I have probably written about this previously. I am certain the stabs of insecurity and doubt which riddle me out of the blue time and time again each day are residual growing pains. The Christian life brings a boy up to feel guilty if he feels good. I’m struck by how American this actually is. And how the perception thereof is anything but American. Those pestilent people, for the most part, feel they are part of a country which grants them the greatest freedoms on earth. Yet, they are (again, for the most part) hobbled by the puritan upbringing which echoes in their minds throughout their lives. You are guilty until resolved of your sins. Touched by Jesus, to be sure. I’d probably not be who I am now had I not experienced it, but I regret more and more as this sagging body ages that I have wasted and still waste so many moments dealing with the guilt of being satisfied with life.

Christian and I chatted briefly yesterday about a phenomenon which haunts him. It is similar on an abstract level. He hoards things. He moves from place to place, wanting to be light and free, but simultaneously burdens himself with possessions. He claims it is a hangover from having a mother who pressed into his head from a very young age relentlessly that there are children starving (or who don’t have what we have, etc) in China. We both agree that we are disgusted at the brainwashing parents do to their children. I hope he recalls this and does better with his own, if he ever gets around to popping any out of his inflamed uterine cavity, that is. I’m pretty sure I’ll not pop any out, myself.

My plan is to give her oral sex. Until she comes, of course. I think I’ll listen to that song right now. What have I reduced myself to, anyway? Fulnek.

Again, at Fort Sockton High School. Javier Hernandez (why do I remember his name?) was talking to his friend (Probably Miguel) about this song. And it was within ear-reach of me. He just said that Monsters is a cool song. Or something similar. I had made him a tape of songs I enjoyed. I did curb things on the tape towards metal, so this was on it. But is this song metal?

What is metal?

I recall that 26000 Days by the Moody Blues was on the tape, as well.

This album came a bit late into my consciousness. I believe it was my Junior Year, though I cannot be sure. Perhaps before. Nice song. Bouchard again? I believe so. Albert & Joe always wrote the more intriguing songs.

Sam and I were sitting in Pizza Hut (in Fort Stockton, Texas, of course – our mecca). I had taken David’s jambox and set it on the window sill. Spectres was in the tape deck. This song was playing. He listened intently. Sam was definitely good at that. His comment was that it did not create the mood it was attempting to create well enough. I’ll listen to it again now and give my opinion.

Initally, the guitar does, for sure. Loneliness. Solitude.

Lee also loved this song very much. There was a compilation tape (a mix tape, as peasants call it) on which he included it. There were various other more popular songs from bands we listened to. For example: Tom Sawyer and Dust in the Wind. This was one which he dubbed fantastic. It wasn’t a popular one, however, meaning it got no airplay at the time, of course. Well, it probably did somewhere, but not in West Texas. He was, at the time, rather immune to popularity or obscurity. He just chose what made him wince with emotion. It was one of his positive traits. Yup.

I think the song does create the intended mood. For me. I’m a relative bastard, though.

The next one is the best on the album and I shall listen to it in journalistic silence.