39 years ago

Cheap Trick - Downed

Smoke from a Distant Fire, Sanford Townsend Band


New job

Been getting used to my new surroundings last week.  Interesting how ordinary and familiar it seems.  I like it.  I've also found myself re-examining past circumstances, choices, and people I've known.  Strange how it happens like a movie.  Some odd memory plays out in the mind and there is a new perspective.  I don't know what it is known as when this happens but I think it is part of the learning process. the aging process. Distance from some people makes you like them less, and some you like more.



The first guy reminds me of Michelangelo's David, but anyway I thought this would be a good visual for a modern day food gathering sack. Lunch bag, or reusable grocery sack.


Lake Elsinore California

Gazebo has gone to the birds.  White birds.   The kind that get released at a wedding and other ill conceived celebratory feature.  The Gazebo has caution tape around it. To warn visitors they will be crapped on by a gang of angry release doves that went rogue.  There is a giant pile of bird poop on the floor.  The birds hide inside the rafters you can hear them cooing.  Until....splat.

New job orientation took me to Lake Elsinore today.  An interesting little park but the pile of bird poo was the greatest part of the detour.


MURRIETA: Woman says man who shot at her was ‘excited and exhilarated'


I worked there 8 years.  What I liked about the job was buried too deep to recover.  Left behind for social engineers to pay consultants to study.  Piece together the findings of a lost civilization. Going back to a place where there is a vivid memory.  Once the landscape has changed there is no recreating the time the space the feeling.  The change in awareness makes it impossible to not know.  With new understanding comes new sensations.  You can't hold onto both at the same time.  The places the imagination can create.  The complexity each moment carries comes without enough time to allow the development of certainty.  Not stopping long enough to get used to.  Familiar. Thick. Crux.  The place in a wound that is the center of a scar.

My most memorable memory at that job.  I don't recall any details of that day other than:  I was cashiering.  A long line of customers.  Barely enough time to look up and see who I was helping.  A guy with a face tattoo on his left forearm.  I asked is that Jesus?  He didn't answer with words.  So I looked into his eyes.  He smiled with a surprised look on his face, surprised that I knew.  I said Catholics honor the Holy Face.  Now I've heard of people claiming to see auras and colors coming off people.  What I saw surrounding this guy didn't fit not one description I've ever heard.  Colorless like the ripples of heat on a hot surface.  There was a discernible warmth in his presence.  Perfectly balanced male energy.  A rare gem. A faith renewing experience.