Sometimes from a great height...

 

Sometimes from a great height I look down and see what I want. The epic rolling and striped surface beneath me. Roaring. Today, I called a landlord about a plot of land that is being cleared of people to be dumped on by some other people and it got me and everyone else a little sad. So did a lot of things.

 I was so sleepy last weekend, wrapped up in the ridiculous blanket of people I don’t know and felt, oh maybe, too relaxed around Portland - which I had never been to. I met someone last weekend who I really like as a human being. In a platonic, older than-my-ex but a similar flavor of blue-collar fronting skater that deeply resonates with me. I would like to build a garden with him, in a Bay summer sun I’ve never seen, laying bricks and bricks to make a fire pit, and then having a fire in it. Playing fast folk songs on a bluetooth speaker. Going out on Lake Merrit in my gentricanoe. I do not want to make this happen. It should just happen to me. I do not want to do anything, just take up the hill.  

You’ll be there too, always; we’ll both be in tow. 

I am reading Aaron Cometbus, who I feel like got canceled at some point, about this exact street I am writing this on in Berkeley, 30 years ago. The rent was very low and the author was very depressed but also seemingly relaxed. Sometimes you call me and complain that you think you are wasting your youth. Sometimes all I ever want to do is to waste my youth. There is a dimension in which balls swing low between my legs, and the last few years have been perhaps less fraught. You are, but I try not to, losing a sense of humor. If anything mine is expanding like gas.