…starting to write you, it’s keeps being day after day of extraordinary days, even for me!… but now i’m up to more than a week and a half, and all intent and no action.
today i’ve decided i’m going to combine two intentions into one—if it doesn’t offend you—writing for my personal blog again, and writing you. The concept of writing you, which reality dictates that pen pal’s is about as good as it gets this summer (amusing, you would be one of those I’ll see more often in another town than in the one we share!—love it!), is a bit strange for me. I like the concept of sharing brain occupation, but putting that into practice is as odd as the description of the idea itself. hehe… yes, i amuse myself. seriously. i’m the one in the sun in headphones laughing out loud amused by my own amusement, a muse to the muse?
see, i love writing. i love the games of words and the way it activates our brains to struggle with them. there is beauty in simplicity, but sometimes i like to spar, to jab to whatever those guys in fencing do, with words. a dance around your mind, firing off synapses as you struggle along in my merry madness not quite amused, not quite certain, and not quite able to look away.
i think the uncertainty came from how very intimate and personal my desire of expression is, of late. when i first comprised of it, I imagined whiskey or wine, and the 80% of communication that isn’t written or verbal, but behavioral. i imagined progressive, levels of disclosure. i imagined getting to know you—literally. a process.
but each time i would start to write it felt more like giving you access to things too immediate for the brevity of our reality.
but you are my muse—my pen pal. and you inspire me to write prolifically and with bigger and badder and better words. to tangle words for my amusement, for my storytelling, for my own edification, others be damned, but dear, will you come along for the ride?
i sat this morning at Harry’s diner counter and to my left was a comfortable guy, probably my age, or just a little younger. poor guy, he had no hope—i was compelled to talk to him. His name was Todd, like the shoes, and he’s an Irish dancer who would leave me to fly to Nashville for a competition, though he actually lives in Solana Beach (what was he doing eating breakfast in La Jolla, pre-flight, then?!). he likened me to Steve Jobs. No, that’s me being modest. he said i have what steve has.
only moments before had i sent a text saying that i think it’s time, I want to find my very own copy of the Jim Henson’s Kermit Apple Think Different poster. Advertising at times can be beautiful. It can bring me to tears knowing how the dear things of my personal culture have influenced me, from Judy Blume to Jim Henson (my female and male hero’s).
yesterday i looked around desperately, anywhere please!, looking for a place to sit in my favorite local coffee roasters… anywhere but next to that totally intent hot guy in the corner who happens to also be blocking my comfortable range to the source of power. the thing is, when someone compels me, i can’t ignore. not this year at least, this is the year for following myself. to sit near him would mean being fascinated painting the story… what is he doing, reading or writing or…, are his clothes and body type an indication of what he does (being incredibly fit and stylishly dressed in sort of work out clothes if Lulu Lemon were to make clothes for men (or maybe they already do?))? In the end all that mattered is that power trumped distractibility, and i took my seat a little closer than even my comfort allows. I asked him if it were okay, though I could see his unspoken acknowledgement that my violation was easily excusable. We were sitting nearly arm to arm, so close that I could have read each text as it came in, and that I could see that the WordPress post title was “Intention”.
[redacted until I know that he’s okay with me using his name] canole, an amusing name as he’s a personal fitness trainer kind of guy. it’s only about two sentences in, literally, where somehow he’s mentioned that he’s moving soon, he wants to live at the ocean (he’s currently downtown) and moves at the end of the month, though—I stopped him: I’m looking for a roommate, are you serious? To ask if he was serious was merely a formality, as was asking if I could sit nearly in his lap so as to be comfortable and powered.
the rest of the morning unfolded with people coming in to see him, until i was asked to join the cohort for lunch down the street. i’ll confess i’m given to stereotyping in as much as it’s a cluster of commonly associated characteristics… I just call them personas… this is all to say that i was so happy to see that the counter-intuitive instinct with this bunch of workout gym attired pals was founded, our lunch conversation was highly intelligent and aware, even better, there wasn’t consensus but debate!
drew earlier had asked to see the place as soon as I was ready to leave, so after lunch I offered my beach as their beach destination so Drew could check out the place. they were fighting over it (in jest, I think?) even as they walked up to the patio.
as we all walked the beach later I was pleased at how at ease I felt with these relative strangers, the ease of energy specifically between Drew and I, and even more so by the way that he, not I, was the one continuing to see the kismet serendipities or whatnots. thus it is that as two strangers chose seats at bird rock coffee, both vaguely aware of the mounting urgency of 30 days and counting, became roommates.
well, here my otherselfy muse, is where it was that i became distracted… it was my pal Hayes, and jesting about Facebook poking (that’s a story you can ask for in person, but not to be shared in writing). i realized there’s a feature you should build, if you don’t have it already. micro giving. tie it to facebook? let me hit a page, and click a button (Chrome Extension?) which allows me to give. but in a tiny little amount that means I can give freely. it takes some thought to give even $25 here and there… but I could give a $1 or $5 more freely… that’s just the cost of a Vudu movie. Bring it to the forefront where I interact with the experience (where ever that may be, beyond even the massively pervasive Facebook) and at the mention of Vudu, I think even to tie it to the purchasing experience of other online point-of-sale purchase moments… you’re buying a vudu flick? how about donating half that (just a buck fiddy more!) to your favorite charity too?
go save the world. i had more stories, but i have to pee and i have a date. it involves a famous person and a writer photographer, swanky hotels and a general feeling of noir. and that, doll, is for next time!
oh, don’t forget, the only response i sincerely desire is your thought on writing versus blogging. intent would be that it still be a form of communication, as my penpal, but to preserve it too though I don’t know why i feel such a strong inclination to do so (on my site)…? weird, huh? is it purely to diffuse the intensity of the intimacy while allowing access to the intimate? truth be told, my blog served as just that when it began… a letter to my best friend ryan. that one that reminds me of you, you darling bright eyed boston boys.