Not Your Family’s Chevy

Chevys begat Lunch
And Lunch began the Ocean Language
Which stemmed from the Family and the family of Family Language
Wherefore all Mexicans are not low riders or high riders
And not all Blacks are Rastafarians (your JaMons) or your Chocolate
And not every white person annihilated the Native American with Dinner.

And the Ocean showed me signs and symbols, where the Chevy stood forth and claimed a foot hold on all cars, but not one Chevy knew the right person to “friend or foe”.

Before Thanksgiving I headed off East in my car to join family. I ended up getting lost, yet again. I am not a Chevy. I feel more like the Mexical Roy’al Telephone family, Taco Bell. With all these voices swimming around, Ma Bell has nothing on the stories I hear when tapping into the switch.

Line after Line, I am riding high octane without the fuel for translations between Bells. Fainting Bells, Bell Flowers, Bell Weather Trails, and Climbing Vines. Who am I and what am I becoming? Where have I been, where am I but lost amidst a sea of start points and end games with no one to clue me in on how to get out of this hell. Is anyone out there? Is there anybody listening? Does anybody care at all?

More coherent thoughts to follow in subsequent posts, but for now, this is a map for Family Language.

Waking up

I think the flaw with my perspective is that to date I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of my experience as purely cognitive and physical; I want to focus on how this can be an actual realignment of my energetic condition. I think it will help dissipate some of the discord associated with all of it.

Never Again

…will the real have to be produced.

Twice a week during the summer I try to get up really early to pedal to the lake to watch the sunrise. This only works on clear days, because there is enough moisture in the air to smear the rays breaking over the horizon across the sky in pinks, oranges and reds so liquid  that you could just put traces against their grain in them with your fingernails, all seamlessly run together in breath-like suspension…

Starting a new job

After leaving my last  job with a split-second decision and a humiliating, emotionally devastating departure I’ve found full-time work again that I can expect to last at least a few months on contract. It’s not the same direct, salaried position I had before but it is with a company I have always wanted to work for and I am very excited about the position.

I had seriouslly struggled to get back to a place that I found equal to or even more advanced than I had been when disaster struck. It took many years and a great deal of losses to come to a place where I finally realized I needed to extend my circle and seek support and help outside of my buffered community.

UPDATE: The job with CISCO fell through, probably as a result of the horrible samples of work I submitted. They were in-progress samples, more notes to myself than anything finished. I had deleted all of my prior work as a technical writer and I did a good job of it. It’s taken me several months to go through old CDs trying to find new samples of work.

Blue room, red room


In the room stands an empty bed frame
and empty book shelves
built into the walls painted blue

In the room stands a bare matress and box spring
the same bed frame and shelves, though the arrangement is
reflected and the bookshelves are full
before the walls painted red

Outside I sit in the passenger side of a beaten
and tired brown sedan
Talking to someone about a serial killer

My true north lies in the blue room
comforting, south pole
but it seems I keep finding myself walking on
red carpet