Physical & mental state

I feel extraordinarily relaxed. My heart is calm.

I resumed exercising 2 weeks ago. I sweat while running. Now my legs can rest.

I feel put, like a plant on a bookshelf — inert but alive and thriving.

I eat clean and efficient. Nothing extraneous. I’ve removed noodles, bread and rice from my diet.

I shop for lofty food — leafy greens and avocados, beans, garlic and onion, fruit, nuts and raisins, pesto for lettuce wraps.

I improvise a recipe of shredded carrot and black beans, tzatziki sauce, cucumber and red onion. Chopped romaine, feta and chickpeas.

Broken wheel and moonless sky

I had a nightmare the moon smoldered and spun, then fell out of orbit. Afterward, I wondered about the consequences, but I did not immediately feel adverse effects. I knew they would come, though, since I’d been told the moon holds sway over the oceans and such, and by extension, factors in as far as human behavior — what with us consisting of up to 60 percent water. That’s according to the US Geological Survey.

Recently I had a flat tire, so I had to join AAA on the spot. They charged me an extra fee because normally you have to wait a certain period before requesting assistance. But it was cheaper than calling a tow truck. I had initially pulled over at a gas station and attempted to fill my tire with air, but I couldn’t revive it: My dashboard said the pressure remained at 0.00 percent.

Thinking about both these things, I drew a connection. I surmised the message was my life was out of balance.

A few ways of writing

There are multiple ways to write. A few examples: a) you already have the story in your head, pretty much in its entirety (this happens to me sometimes); b) you invent a character, put it somewhere, like a store or a cafe or a gym, and let the character take charge of the story; c) and I just thought of this one, you can discuss a topic that interests you with a friend while recording the conversation. Then listen to it and transcribe your more interesting remarks.

I suppose that last one would be better suited for essay writing.

There’s a documentary on Kenneth Koch on YouTube, and he mentions a technique whereby he just gets behind a typewriter then writes unfiltered. The he goes back and edits — or more like, salvages.

I also read an interview in the book The Essential Allen Ginsberg where Ginsberg advised his writer friends to do like he does if they want to put out a book: go though your journals and pick/choose/edit.

Empty-headedness and attempts at thinking

What about who I am or what. I’m not sure how many people think in terms of “what” when they consider their identity, but do you think of “what” often, or is it more like “who?” We might consider a little of both. It seems that the what is more like which labels apply, or what do you feel like in relation to them. And who might be ego or your archived past. I can’t find labels that suit me most of the time. Weirdo maybe. Or unorthodox. Or strange. Politically correct I am unique. Interesting.

I feel like nothing. I have empty inside me but it feels nice. This is the joy of dumbness, or being struck dumb. I am dumb in the face of the mysteries of the universe. I cannot comprehend. I “understand” the universe spiritually but it ends there. Nothing else really registers, though a good Thai meal or a noteworthy cup of coffee or a poem will resonate. Good music like the unplugged jazz I listen to or certain classical music, like Beethoven or Schumann piano pieces or Schubert trios. Chopin and etc.

My house is like a religious house. No one here is religious but it is constantly quiet with us reading or thinking or daydreaming or sleeping or eating. My cat is loud enough to make up for the rest of us.

July 4

Her middle-age son was barbecuing near his garage in his apartment complex.

“It brings back memories,” I heard the woman saying.

Her grandson was riding a tricycle back and forth along the garage’s threshold.

As I was leaving to run an errand, I drove by them slowly in my car to show regard for the young boy, and the woman waved to me.

I waved back.

Neighborliness is rare here in transient Las Vegas.

Book reviews and why I’m averse to ’em

I read a ton of books, but I’m too lazy to post book reviews. Also, reading for me is a personal experience, and I suppose that could become tainted in a way by sharing my reactions to a book. Like, to give an analogy, one time I was hiking at a high elevation in the mountains and it began to snow. It was so quiet up there that I could hear the snowflakes as they fell onto the trees and bushes. I thought it was so beautiful that my first reaction was to whip out my phone with the intention of taking video. But then I was like, the video would do this no justice. Also, it was a very personal experience that I felt would be corrupted and spoiled in a way by posting footage on Facebook or wherever else. Wouldn’t it kinda be like sleeping with someone then telling about it?