I’m a little tea pot

He who knows where the nest is has the knowledge. He who robs it has the nest.

I’m looking at the street lights, through the sycamores. Sometimes days pass without thought. Without mention. I sit on the porch and look at the stars. I grind my heels. Something is going on. I see a figure pass behind the oleander. He’s going somewhere. I’m missing something.

Sometimes I do something. I eat cotton candy. I visit the circus. Then the circus is over and the stands clear out. Strong men fold the tarp and ship it off to the next town. Watch, watch, watch. Spectacle, spectacle, spectacle. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Sleep, sleep, sleep.

I can never remember my dreams. I’ve forgotten them all. People advise that they should be written down. If you don’t write them down, you will forget them. And then you’ll wonder if you ever had them.

One day you look up and you notice that there is a lot going on out there, and nothing is going on in here. If you had something to say it would be screaming out to penetrate the walls. You could leave some kind of remnant or artifact for your friends. Kilroy was here.

But you have your doubts. Something must be going on in here. But there is really nothing to recommend that. You have your doubts

Maybe the whole thing is an extended process. You share some of your feelings. You share some more. You establish a scaffolding to build upon. Or swing upon.

I am leaving for El Paso, Texas in less than two Hours. I am almost completely packed…

After I arrive in El Paso, I am going to visit Mexico, then I am going to rent a car and drive to Galveston.

They say, “Home is where the heart is,” but I don’t know where I left my heart.

Robert came and visited me this weekend and it was lovely.

We went to the Ferry Market and bought pink oyster mushrooms.

Upon seeing the tanks filled with crabs and lobsters, I felt very sad. Even these creatures who are not humanlike at all are creatures I would never want to eat.

As I watched the crabs piled on top of each other, I could see them trying to move around, and I watched their eyes blink. It really struck me.

Robert says we look like mallrats in this picture.

It’s easy to find oneself in the city.

Spot the street art.

The Academy of Art San Francisco has ads that I find slightly disturbing, though amusing.

“Unite against ugly.” I can think of better things we can unite against…

The sign made me laugh, and I thought the sight was truly amazing once I noticed the window full of alcohol next to it.

Metallic mushrooms on the sidewalk.

Pretty oxalis. This one looks like the regal cousin of the stuff that grows in people’s lawns and about.

Lines get to curving.

My favorite flower in this nursery we visited in the Castro.

I had a wonderful weekend. Photographs capture moments of beauty, or those that catch your eye for other reasons, but they cannot fully capture even a moment, let alone the eternity of moments that comprises our lives.

I get a call from my friend “Matt” at 1:00 p.m, before class at 1:30 p.m and he says, “Hey man, could you tell Mr. Zak I am going to be late?”
“Yeah, sure.” I say.
“I just got out of the hospital.” He says.
“What happened? Are you alright?” I ask.
“Yeah man, I am fine, I’ll tell you later.” he responds and we hang up and I go to class.
Two hours into our four-hour class, he shows up and he looks awful - absolutely awful. More than usual, at any rate, and after class we are walking down Wabash and I ask him, “Why were you in the Hospital?”
“I over-dosed on Heroin.” He says.
“Oh, are you alright?” I ask.
“No, I almost died.” He says, looking up and running his hands through his hair while sunshine hits his face. It looked as though it were the first time sunshine had ever touched his skin before.
“Yeah, that’s rough.”
“I could be in the fucking morgue.” He says, looking down now. “Lets go drink.”
“Okay.” I say and we walk to Blue’s Legends, and we drink a few pitchers, and he has some Amaretto and Coke and he still doesn’t look good, and his cheeks are now a rosy red.
“Do your parents know?” I ask.
“No.”
“Do your brothers know?”
“No.”
“Who took you to hospital?”
“I don’t know. All I remember was the needle, and waking up in the bed tied up. I was so cold, fucking shivering, and I was hungry and the nurse wouldn’t let me go to the cafeteria because all the clothes I had been wearing when I went into the hospital were cut off of me. The nurse told me to stop doing drugs.” He says downing his Amaretto and lighting a cigarette.
“That’s crazy.” I say lighting a cigarette.
“It’s fucked up. I can’t believe that fucking druggie who shot me up actually took me to the hospital. The nurse said if I had come in any later I would be dead.” He pauses, “I wonder if they stabbed that huge needle into my heart like in Pulp Fiction.”
“Maybe.” I say with a chuckle.
“I am fucking depressed. I feel like I have nothing to lose. I don’t even know who I fucking am anymore.”
“You have a lot to lose man.” I respond.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, let’s do a shot.” He says and we do a shot of Cuervo and his eyes almost completely close. A black guy is on stage with a guitar and he sings Blues; he sings, “Don’t know where I’m goin’,” and the lights low, and Matt looks good for a dead-man.

I dream of Brian Setencich.

I have many words regarding the joy I’ve found in eating. Rather, I will let the account of last night’s feast speak for itself.

Naomi and I stir-fried broccoli, bell peppers (red and orange), tofu, bean sprouts, and mushrooms in oil and sesame seed marinade. It was beautiful and delicious. I forgot to photograph it until after we had all finished eating our plates.

You must use your imagination.  I’m sorry.
Then we melted some dark chocolate and sliced up some apples, and dipped things in other things.

It was glorious.

The wrapper of the chocolate was funny:

“Quality in a square.” Tee hee.

Let me also now sing my praises of all natural and trans-fat free peanut butter.

Oh, it glows like the rising sun. It’s so beautiful. The only ingredients are peanuts and salt– no hydrogenated oil, and it tastes so much better, too! This variety is creamy, although I’ve also had crunchy. Mmmm. I have to say, I prefer crunchy– but that won’t stop me from eating spoonfuls of either variety.

I am so happy about eating.  I’m definitely eating more healthfully now than I ever have been.  I feel great– physically, yes, but in many other senses.  The produce section of the grocery store brings me joy– all the beautiful colors signal beautiful tastes and textures to experience.  I’ve found incredible simplicity, and incredible variety at the same time.  I look forward to ever further expanding my culinary world.

Nowadays, the only time I pick up a free publication is when its cover catches my eye (with the exception of the San Francisco Bay Guardian, which I read every week). This generally happens for one of two reasons: that I find a picture on its cover is beautiful, or that I find a picture on its cover so ridiculous that I can’t help but laugh. Today’s newspapers were funny. Take the cover of The Daily Californian, an independent but highly-read daily newspaper on campus:

The photo made me smile–something about the orderly line of nonchalant buff policemen behind the couples of policemen all up on each other. That said, I’m glad the transit system is (at least attempting to be) well-prepared. Apparently they got an Israeli counterterrorism expert, Aaron Cohen, to train them. This guy seems very qualified, and kind of scary–he is the founder and managing director of the Israeli Military Specialists. He is quoted in the article as saying, “You guys (on SWAT) don’t have experience dealing with terrorism the way we do.” Heh.

On a note that may or may not be lighter, although certainly more oddball…

Rats. This article (from The Berkeley Daily Planet) was a little disturbing. Apparently rats have been seen “coming out by the dozen from the bushes surrounding the Willard Park Tot Lot.” By the dozen?? Holy shit. A regular visitor to the park was quoted as saying “It was really bad last October. I was walking my 19-month-old son and these huge rats just raced across. I had to beat them with a stick, and only then did they leave us and disappear down the ramp. We stopped going there after that.” Holy shit! Good call, I’d say. He added, “I have seen people smoking pot, cooking, and sometimes even defecating and urinating in the park. The city needs to police these activities in order to control the rat infestation.” Now that is gross. Note to Lauren: do not visit Willard Park Tot Lot.

The weather has been nice, but unpredictable. It’s been raining off and on; the sky changes like scenes from a movie. On the way to class, I stopped in my tracks because I saw this little fellow shuffling across the ground in front of me.

Isn’t he cute?

‘Ey amigo
Heh. How are you?
Fine, andyou?
Heh.
Myname’s Oscar. Whatesyourname?
Robert.
Ahhrobert
Heh.
(Oscar forces an extended handshake)
Heh.
Tisesagoodplacetomeetpeopol,no?
Heh. I guess so.
Doyouwansomecoffee?
No thank you.
(A bird perches on a Magnolia sprig?)
EyyouteachmeEnglishIteachyouSpanish,OK?
Sounds good. Where are you from, Oscar?
Ahhhhyime from..Acapulco.
I have some relatives in Acapulco. But most of them left during the revolution.
(Bone dry jester’s cap. Death’s head jester cap.)
Acapulcoesanicetown, but, ereybody’s about the bars andhe beer. I not like beers so much. More bout friends and coffee.
Ah.
Ma’be we have coffeesometime?
Sure.
Eyou’reontheinternet. Do you hever lookatemoofies?
No, the movies aren’t my thing.
Iwasintelibrraryonce. I was using teinternetandtheesguy nextome was looking at te moofies with teweemen and I look at him and he didn’care. You ever wachte moofies?
Not very often, Oscar.
I tell my friend. He was showing te movies. AndIsay you everwachtemovies? And he say, No nefer. AndIsay ereybodywachestemoofies. But in my mind.
Heh.
I think ereybody does it.

http://ist-socrates.berkeley.edu/~jsearle/132/132study05.doc

These are J. Searle’s final questions.

I’m fairly comfortable with everything in the first point, but it looks like Searle’s Cal lectures are a bit more detailed than his books.

I have to say, it’s reassuring to see that I could be ‘caught up’ in a few days of study.

* * * *

It has been a lazy day. The grass is green. The magnolias look handsome, maybe sort of stoical. Certainly nothing like the oaks that grow on the yellow hills at Stanford, but these are pretty good for magnolias.

It has been a boring day for the trees. Not too sunny, not too cold. No rain. Just birds and breeze and passing cars and squirrels. Noises and vibrations. Unreachable itches. Trees don’t have fingers. Think about that. They have to look dignified. Trees can’t fidget. They never sleep. Transpire. Drop some leaves. Morning noises. Noon noises. Night noises. Must be awful.

I like it when olives grow by the beach. They have tormented trunks. Figs, on the other hand, are really never sentimental. They’re wise and gentle. Primordial, like pines.