Hermanni's blog: "In the nightside of Eden"

On a day significant to tragedy I feel foolish writing of my own personal tragedies. However, each one of us has our own battles to fight and variety of emotions to deal with. No matter our startus or situation, we're all still equally human. A little over a month ago, God and his wife showed up at my door and told me I'd better sit "the fuck" down. It was harsh, but it was the only way I'd comply. I'd become a busy body, rising at 5:55am to host a friendly writing camp that began every day at sunrise, followed by a trip to the gym and a full day's shift in life putting me to bed around 2am. Rinse and repeat for over four weeks. I thought I had it made. I was ruling; stringer and smarter then ever. Even with a fried laptop and all my missing videos, pictures, and music I wasn't letting that keep me down. Even with a busted cell phone I was finiding ways to communicate with nature and those closest to me. Technology wasn't one of my top priorities to master. It was my mind and body and I was styling. Then the Gods had me clean out my closet. That was the first strike against me. While moving mattresses I managed to step thru a box spring and give myself a nasty laceration on the ankle resulting in a chubby row of emergency room stitches. The very next day my optomitrist decided to add more stiches to my eye with removing some damaged tissue. I'm all for preventive medicine, but already the outlook was griming. Now that I had a new walk that looked like I crapped myself along with instructions to stay off my feet and out of the water for 2 weeks, I was caving. No problem. With school coming up I focused on healing. By the time I'd return home I'd be back in the water and dancing to the playback in my head. Then Mrs. God left the back door open and let one of my cats out during Coyote happy hour at Granddads. That was the clincher. I could handle the loss of information on hard drives and all the silly feedback from people about how im still is a long way from being done. I could cope with human error somewhat. But as soon as I heard my cat cry from his brother, my heart imploded. That's when I finally sat down and dried my face of the blood, sweat & tears. Getting out of dodge was going to be a good thing. I'd arrive in reality once again on Sunday, reconnect with old friends. Ok, so I'll take public transportation and reconnect with old friends. Bad luck has its way of making you pay attention to what the Gods are trying to tell you. Slow down. Start over. Try a different approach. The beginner's mind is a beautiful place to come from. With plenty of time to think and plenty of practice writing in cursive, I've decided to start anew, and give the soul a sense of someting fresh; getting me back to feeling good.

I belong to a great family of Aunts. Both my father and mother had only sisters to share with us. Two each. The four women are all different in their ways, from appetite to style, from humor to humility. But one thing they all have in common is that they all suffer from "favorite aunt" syndrome. And I don't use suffer lightly. Every time I go home, there seems to be some small kitchen sized war waged from one aunt on another about whom I love more, vice versa, and which aunt will get the honor of house-sitting next time I hit the road. The judging is determined by the Aunt force itself as they factor in which one of us remembered who's birthday and who received what, from fruit cake to phone calls, who keeps up with the websites and who knows the songs better, who changed who's diapers and who remembers the names of ex-girlfriends, etc. I remain quiet and let them duke it out as I myself judge the event always scoring it a tie. Maybe that's the problem in the kitchen. Everyone is forever competing in a tiebreaker of sorts and getting nowhere. Although in the circle we tread from stovetop to fridge, standing side by side at a sink full of suds, we acknowledge our sarcastic bickering as nothing short of a happy family who equally loves the others dearly, just as simply as we acknowledge that the dishes are done. One of my Aunts is my champion for my Rooster collection. Every holiday or birthday I can count on a rooster related object arriving in the mail or under the tree depending on where I settle. My kitchen mantle displays a tin rooster-band. Three tall cluckers each with an instrument and a smile, flanked by other musically interested roosters and chickens watching the band with brazen intent. Outside in my garden you can find a variety of roosters made out of a wealth of materials, from recycled auto parts to aluminum to wood. Among them you..d find the tin rooster on the motorcycle with a smaller rooster in the sidecar who represent the zen mechanism in all of us and imply freedom through the power of imagination. You'd also find the Canadian flag rooster whose purpose is to cock-a-doodle a reminder of our political and geographical boundaries. I would like both a Christ and Krishna Rooster to remind us of our religious boundaries slash similarities. These would also bless my garden and provide abundance I think. Anyway. My favorite story from my rooster loving Aunt, or "Ant" as it's actually pronounced in the south, might be one that merits a victory in the Favorite Aunt Competition. It is a story of love expressed like no other Aunt before her. I was at a cookout a few years ago, sort of a family reunion as I was rarely getting home in those days. When I did manage to make time at home the whole family would gather to share in these gay times and I would take pictures with new nieces, nephews, cousins, estranged uncles and other random members of the family I had never met until this point in my life. I was seated at a picnic table enjoying my saucy BBQ something as my Aunt snapped shots of nearly everyone taking turns sitting next to me like I was some sort of summery Santa Claus spreading joy in the form of Sloppy Joe kisses. After only a few of these shots I caught on and chimed in suggesting that I should have a cardboard cutout made of myself to make it easier for everyone, being as I'm not moving and all. No sooner than I had mentioned the idea of the life-sized duplicate my Aunt appeared from behind her film camera, "IF YOU DO, I WANT ONE. I'd put you in my living room right next to Dale Earnhardt." Now if you know anything about southern culture, the NASCAR experience, or the general importance of auto-racing, you will know that this statement might just be the greatest compliment one human can receive from another. I mean this not in an entirely cynical way as humor is related to perspective. I mean this because I know what it means to my Aunt and how much I am loved by my Aunt and all Aunts alike and why I love them so much and keep going back for more. Here are some other things i would do if I WERE a Cardboard Cutout.. ..I'd run for President with Flat Stanley on my ticket, and then I'd be gay and marry Flat Stanley to help tear down outrageous marriage laws. ..I'd slide under the door of the girl's locker rooms to remind them to conserve water while brushing their teeth. ..I could probably read the newspaper without ever opening it. ..I'd be most curious as to how I was going to handle waste elimination. ..I would no longer attend Yoga class. Instead, I would go to Origami class. ..My wardrobe would probably include cardboard sleeves from Starbucks. ..I'd probably sound like a balloon or blade of grass when I sang. ..Rather than burial or cremation, when i kick it, I'd be recycled. What would you do?

1:22am. Dark in the house. Dark in the office but the computer light shows that nothing stands between me and it so I stride gracefully thru the blank space. I throw on my headphones as the system warms up. The French Band, Phoenix is on stand-by to play. But I'm not pushing start yet. I'm enjoying the quiet the headphones make being in the ear but not on. I love Phoenix though. I'm tempted. But I know I'll become distracted and not want to write. I'll likely dive into my 23,085 MySpace messages and get nothing accomplished. I wish I spoke better French. I don't speak French at all. So I change my wish. I wish I spoke French. The closest I ever came to knowing French was when I used to smoke. I vacationed in France over the summer but had already quit smoking so I threw my Japanese at them. Arigato Mon Cherie. I can't sleep thanks to thanksgiving food. I know, I know. The turkey myth is that we all sleep heavily after. I guess I didn't have enough bird to satisfy the sandman gland. Or I must've counteracted the sleep aid by devouring a pie and half, equal parts pumpkin and coconut crème. My niece kept untying my shoes from under the table so I took back the Happy Feet Penguin I got her with the intention of sending her letters from around the world as the Penguin migrated back to Antarctica. It was the kind of joke that will be better in the long term noted my brother, as the short term revealed a heart broken little 5 year old and an angry mother of said spoiled child. I caved. The chance to teach the child something about geography and correspondence has faded. So has the teensy speck of interest I might have had about having kids. No thank you. My parents have been divorced since I can remember. My niece will grow up the same. It runs in the family. If I were to trace the ancestry for her, it wouldn't look so much like a tree as it would a sprawling ice plant covering the whole yard. She's already used to the dual households, though as she gets older she might find it more and more difficult to divide the time, especially when she's in town for only a few days and has learned to spell guilt. The dog is the best thing about coming home. She's getting fat thanks to her new diet of snacking all the time. It seems to be making her coat nice and fluffy. One of her charming characteristics is how she'll lick her butt for so long that when she comes up for air she's out of breath and panting like she's just chased a rabbit. This morning we napped on the couch together in and out of parade highlights, and then tonight while watching Shopgirl, she slept with her head in my hand while I wondered if I'd ever meet someone special, kind of the way Claire Danes met Steve Martin and got a taste of something special but earned a more true love later thanks to a dedicated Jason Schwartzman. I wondered if my Jason Schwartzman was out there bettering herself for me. And then I realized that all I really need is to take my dog with me back to San Diego. It's a lovely idea. But it wouldn't fly. She's lost her hearing and doesn't even notice when I get up to get more pie. I need a girl who will stop me from eating so much pie. Pun unintended. I lucked out by getting one of the houses to myself this Thanksgiving Night. It's just the dog and I. I played the drums while the doggy slept cozily by my seat thanks to her burgeoning deafness. We went out to pee several times in the cold and rain, she squatting in the lawn, me standing freely watching the steam rise from the stream. We snacked. We hugged. We scratched. And we stretched. All is quiet. Headphones on. Still nothing playing in them. And for all that we can hear at this hour and for all that we can see in the darkness, we are thankful. For life really only exists at this moment. And at this moment I've got my chubby dog and my bounding thoughts, plenty to practice gratitude on.

This November has already turned out a weeks worth of 80-degree scorchers. I keep forgetting to wear sunscreen as it's not something my Novembers of past prepared me for. I know the east coast is seeing their share of winter already, but damn and bless this global warming all the same. However, this week's sunspot across my crown brought on a sadness yesterday that I could not explain. I was too drained to find its meaning. I knew it wouldn't last so I didn't dwell. I know better being human and all. I got electrocuted again. Maybe that was it. It had been two years since the last dose of electricity jarred my system through a hot microphone. This time I was dripping wet after a dip in the Jacuzzi and while reaching for the off switch in a dark room, I grabbed an exposed wire and felt the love of man all the way up my left arm into my heart. According to my friends I made a sound no human has made before. I think I'm okay from it. The only result that's been happening regularly is that I spill things. I have a case of the Dropsies so to speak. Apparently it's common when mercury is in retrograde to flip your cereal bowl over into your lap or just let go of a beverage at a surprising instant. I didn't vote this year either. Again I was too exhausted to find it's meaning. I love my home and I love this life and I do love our "freedoms," however I can't understand the ritual enough to research the characters in the race. My only homework was reading signs plastered in the front lawns across the county. I certainly don't want to vote based on font and landscaping. I'd rather keep quiet, pay my taxes and pray the government leaves me alone to be honest with you. The idea of political borders is outrageous to me. Sure I know it's been happening for 200 years now but to me that doesn't seem very long in the grand scheme of things. Manmade laws can't be applied everywhere and they don't even make sense to those who still live according to natural laws, which is mostly just the few animals we haven't killed yet anyway. Humans have been walking around on this planet for hundreds of thousand years. So why all of a sudden is it we need to keep feeding a separatist theory while trying to rule the world? I'm no more American than I am Scottish, unless we keep geographical borders in play, then okay I am of the Americas. Couldn't we just say we are people of earth and be grateful for whichever side of the rock we're facing and leave all others to enjoy their view as well. In government, is there an ultimate goal for peace? I don't see it, nor have I ever read anything about it from any party or candidate. Therefore, I choose to make my own peace in the sticks of San Diego and pray for the rest of the world to find theirs. My votes don't count, but I believe that my blessings do. In summary, I think globally & I act locally. I do my part for the good of the environment. And I say thank you to just about everything. What more does a good citizen need to do? I wouldn't fight back if they begged me to. Alas, my shadow is calling me back to the high tide. I must drop my spirit once again into the sea for the divine exfoliation celebration. "Everyday is Sunday when you're unemployed." - Honeycut

I'm an old man. Tonight I dressed in my finest cardigan, visited the third environment, that which is the Starbucks, said hello to my friendly neighborhood baristas all aglow in the throws of the premature Christmas ejaculation, and drove south to city college in the heart of the finest city in all the land in hopes of seeing a somewhat bad version of Grease, the Musical, alone. The sad part wasn't that my only evening social event was this or that I went. What was worse was that it was really good. Even the sad kids they have to hide in the back row during the dance numbers were decent. There's something about amateur dramatics and the audiences, friends and families to bring about an energy and excitement rare elsewhere in the world. Maybe because a lot of people in musical theatre seem starved for attention or sexually confused or deprived and under the lights any mask is tossed aside revealing only true youth onstage. I speak from experience. We can learn from this togethership locale just as much as we can learn from staying after the show to find out which ladies in the cast had boyfriends waiting for them. I've been crushing pretty hard lately. It seems every girl I meet I put her through the inner monologue audition to find out whether or not I'd date her. The bonus to this kind of omni-crushing slash star search is that I get to meet lots of different kinds of people and learn of a variety of trades, flavors, attitudes and opinions, all the while trying to fall in love or be rejected. I don't think I've found "the one" yet simply because I don't really care about the outcome, and probably because I'm too busy being in love with myself. I guess I'm already taken in that sense. Either way I'll write some songs about the mess so everyone who participates will receive a gift. The rest of the weekend looks as if I'll be juggling quite a few things. I've just learned how to work the clubs, which look like bowling pins, (yes I'm talking real juggling, the anti-gravitational deceitful sidekick to prestidigitation) So tomorrow I'm going to add a toilet plunger and a melon I think. I've been playing with balls for years but now I'm moving onto to bigger and smarter objects. Finally it occurred to me that if I just started practicing, I should get it sooner or later. This is the same theory I used when I started playing guitar at 14 and surfing at 19. I always told myself to keep it up, so that when I'm 40 I can rock. So keep an eye out for me at the next IJA Festival. I'll be going under the code name, Just Darklight The Juggler. My gimmick will be that I juggle two giant letter J's while smoking a third. I'll have t-shirts for sale. I'll leave you to ponder some random shit I have noticed: -Walking through IKEA is the closest you'll ever get to walking thru a website. -In Starbucks, the 12 days of Christmas actually means 48. -Jennifer Love Hewitt has a boyfriend and isn't really my type anyway. -The Pro-Longboarder I was searching for turned out to be a lesbian according to local gossip. -Local Gossip sucks ass. -Weird Al Yankovich still kicks ass. Check out his parody of "Trapped in the Closet." -The world is going to end in 2012 according to the Mayans. -The Mayans are about to get popular again. -As I get older, the more I enjoy community theatre and wearing the same cardigan every day. -As I get older. The more I truly enjoy being single. -The more I'm single. The more I blog about it. -Life is Tea, in the south. Pretty Sweet.