Bill Pullman

Woke up at 2 a.m. to the buzz of a chainsaw somewhere outside my window.  

"The fan?" I posited, and tried to drift off, but no, there it was again, the angry metallic whine. 

Got up in my sweats, put on shoes and a baseball cap (to cover my disheveled hair*) and went outside to circumnavigate the complex, hoping to outflank any potential madmen. 

By the pool, I saw a guy - also in sweats - walking toward me.

I gesture, palms up, "what the hell?"  

"They're trimming the trees," he said.

"At 2 am? Here?!"

"Across the street," he pointed. 

We walked over, and there they were, 3 big trucks w/cherry pickers, lights flashing, spaced out along the street against the opposite block. 

We stood there, complaining, and threatened to call... somebody; but they'd apparently finished with the saws, so we shook hands and parted company. 

Back at the apartment, couldn't sleep so I fire up Netflix & there's Bill Pullman doing his shifty eyed detective bit for 'The Sinner' which I really like, and now I'm fully awake, watching a show about a guy who can't sleep.

I notice his grizzled white beard, and hairstyle, identical to my own, and I think, "Jesus, is that what I look like?"

If you have to ask. 

*You don't want to reconnoiter for madmen with hair sticking straight up, as you might be mistaken for one. 

Void

I have nothing clever to say these days - no idealized, entertaining version of myself or thoughts to convey. Mostly I'm just sad and lonely and tired. 

There's a line from an old Pink Floyd song, something about waking up to realize your race is run. Or maybe I'm just superimposing my own thoughts on a snippet, but that's how it feels right now. All the choices I've made leading up to this moment.*

My father is gone, just over a year, and I miss him. I miss having someone to call and talk to on the phone who truly knows me, and loves me, and listens. 

Honestly, it's hard to explain why I'm here now, except to fulfill responsibilities to a few loved ones. If it weren't for my mom's dementia, and me poorly attending to her needs, I might've disappeared from my own life long ago - packed up shop and flown to Tennessee or Timbuktu or wherever, just to escape this existence. 

But of course there's no escaping self. 

I wake up most mornings and a thought arises, 'who am I' or lately, even 'what am I'? 

Apparently all the moments in my life have led up to this. this moment of self negation & self discovery - a bardo state between crisis and awakening - but regardless of what you call it, it's so, very, uncomfortable.

If I could wave my magic wand and disappear in a puff of smoke - presto, chango - like Bullwinkle the Moose pulling a rabbit out of his hat... but then of course, it's a lion's head roaring at you from the darkness vs. the imagined relief of non-existence. 

As Buddha dude, Joseph Goldstein, recently related via podcast, 'anything can happen at anytime'. 

Meanwhile, old Zen masters would sometimes roar like a lion before slipping into the void. Ok, 'roar' may be hyperbolic but cool concept, nonetheless.  

So yeah. 

Rahr.**

*Yes, this is another unoriginal thought - this time lifted from 'No Country For Old Men' - but hey if you're going to plagiarize, Cormac McCarthy is not a bad choice.  

**signifying nothing more than the end of my missive, btw

Contextual Snippet

While reading 'Children of Men' last night* discovered my own thoughts flowing, simultaneously, in and out of the books prose, like a subterranean spring, occasionally popping above ground, then back below, but ever present...  

It was an interesting sensation, to be aware of my own thoughts - somewhat autonomous, somewhat influenced - and still in the experience of reading a book I thoroughly enjoyed. 

And I realized this has probably  been happening a long time, this simultaneity, but now I've somehow peeled a layer to include awareness of both. 

Similar to seeing 'Murder Alley' Sunday, when w/KB and I were 1 of 4 people in the entire theater. 

I realized as I watched, that not only was I watching the movie, but that I was experiencing it contextually, within the setting of the strangely deserted movie theater, and also in the context of my friendship w/KB, but also in the context of my own current life - all  manifestations of something more integral... 

*great read btw, if you haven't already. And yes they made a movie w/Clive Owens. Also well done - and esp. well cast as nobody does world-weary and disaffected like Clive, but the book! So on the nose as cypher for current events... Hmmm. Maybe I'll just have to write a more extended, stand alone thought on that...