what has happened in these last two weeks while i have been away from the site? in the world at large: i can’t say for sure, have not been paying much attention. most likely a few horrific natural disasters, maybe an unjustified invasion or two? Certainly Bodies were meticulously counted for one reason or another? “terror” was surely wrought and/or fought somewhere? a vapid very nearly brain-dead celebrity either murdered or married someone, was either pardoned or jilted, and any which way it received the same amount of media attention. Yes? our swine politicians lied to us, lined pockets, passed the buck, signed death warrants, and otherwise “defended” freedom and democracy? am i right? pretty much business as usual then?

in my own personal microcosm: i saw the host of a morning show tell a woman who had gastric bypass surgery (stomach stapling to lose weight) and a full body lift (to remove the resulting baggy flappy skin) that she was, and i quote, “very courageous.”  i somehow found it within myself to neither smash the television with my bare hands nor to pick up the first blunt object i could find and go on a brutal killing spree. so that was good.

i read accelerando by charles stross. a fine book. his best yet i’d say. the singularity, post-singularity economics, post-humans, matrioshka brains, etc. it’s ever so slightly depressing though. it rekindles your desire to live forever, in whatever form, to see how it plays out,  even though you know damn well that no matter what kurzweil says, no matter the timeline in stross’ book, you won’t see any of it, you won’t be uploaded, you won’t get re-constituted, you

live forever. someone a handful of generations from now might get the chance but not you. Not as a denizen of this particular neophobic, supernatural obsessed, pig-headed culture. now I’m in the middle of anansi boys by neil gaiman which will itself no doubt depress slightly by dint of the comparative lack of real-world magic…

in other microcosmic news i’ve pretty much quit smoking. yes i know, you see that “pretty much” sitting there in the middle of that sentence trying to look inconspicuous… well i’m down to a couple a day instead of a pack or more. so i’m on edge but otherwise pleased. I feel as if i’m well on the way. Perhaps by the time I tuck cozily in to my deathbed my lungs will have cleared. that seems to leave only a vicious strain of self-devouring cynicism to contend with. the last remaining and hardest to kick of all the bad habits. also i celebrated a birthday. i turned 31.

aside from the 9-5 i slogged through, the crop of bad movies and pre-season basketball i watched, the walks i took, and the few decent conversations i had i didn’t do much of note. i certainly didn’t break out the brushes and start painting again (leonardo you can rest easy for another day) nor did i get to work on a novel, a short story, a paragraph of micro-fiction, or even a dirty knock-knock joke. truth be told i sat on my ass a lot doing not much of anything. Nary a longing glance passed from my eyes to the g5 tower. looking at me from across the room you might have taken my calm inactive exterior as a sign of peace and relaxation. you’d have been mistaken unfortunately because what may have seemed peaceful satisfaction to your dirty filthy prying eyes was in reality more akin to paralysis.

on second thought…

before i continue let me say i realize that the “bearing of the internal” thing, especially when delivered by a faceless digital acquaintance, can be very tiresome for you readers out there in entertain-me land. some people enjoy watching others squirm and flail and ultimately dissolve in a cloudy puddle of ruined identity, while others, the lion’s share i’ll guess, just want to see some pretty pictures or have an amusing anecdote served up hot and fresh. as i’m not really in the business here of purposely boring people i’ve decided that rather than describing in minute detail the gaping and slathering mental maw I found myself staring into I will instead simply lie to you. Yes, that is exactly right. I am now going to spare you the embarrassment and unpleasantness of any public soul searching in favor of the extremely bearable lightness of lies.

who says lies, when told with proper feeling, can’t provide catharsis?

as I was saying…

I found myself paralyzed. The smell of the autumn leaves after the rain… It was, if anything, too evocative, the sight of the wet streets, too beautiful. i’ve always loved the fall. Just outside the black enameled bars of my first floor window a wood thrush, solitary and uncommon here in october, shook the rain from his feathers. his spotted white belly puffed and deflated, puffed again and relaxed. his long thin beak poked purposefully at nooks hidden beneath the cinnamon colored curve of his left wing. he stood amidst the small plants and the garbage cans in front of my building. fat raindrops still fell at irregular intervals, finally making their way through the few leaves which managed to remain with their branches. i remember thinking, “what is he doing here, he should be three quarters of the way to southern mexico by now.” he turned and looked at me through the open window then and just stared. a dog walker was dragged past by her sniff crazy black lab, en rout to a date with a zip-lock bag no doubt. a motorcycle blasted across 75th street toward columbus, its boom bouncing between the apartment buildings like thunder in a canyon. the wood thrush never flinched, just kept staring; his black eye, a tiny glass bead, trained right on me. i could hear the wind outside, could feel that perfect october cold. the thrush blinked and and like a flash i understood everything.

he was an old timer, a 9 year old. he’d only managed to sire one clutch this year. what’s worse two of the five eggs hatched brown headed cowbird chicks… those god damned nest parasites. he’d spent the last few months rooting through the underbrush of central park for insects to feed them all. sometimes he’d luck upon some berries, sometimes not. he was tired. most likely there would be no more clutches. this meant his most impressively elaborate and gratifying songs were behind him. and he knew it. he’d still take to the lower perches at dawn and dusk for a while yet. still do his best to combine two notes at one time in that flute-like voice he’d been known for, was proud of… but without the flush and urgency of the mating season… well it wasn’t the same was it? nothing was. he was old, could feel it in his left wing, could see the bright pink of his legs and feet had faded a bit. when the younger guys had taken to the air to start the long migration he told them he’d catch up, but he knew he didn’t have it in him. he also knew, and damned well, that no thrush had ever survived a winter within the breeding range. this late in october there were very few fellows left to sing with. this morning he hadn’t heard any other thrush’s song answering his own. it was very possible he was alone, the last wood thrush in new york city.

i blinked then myself, having taken this rush of imagery and feeling into my mind in the space between two heartbeats. the thrush turned away from me and started walking toward the curb, possibly embarrassed, possibly satisfied at having related his story. a few cars passed slowly by making that sustained whooshing sound that’s manhattan’s closest amalgam to ocean surf. the thrush watched them pass lazily, walking toward the street, then took to the air headed east back toward central park. it was dusk and i assume he had some singing left to do. i just sat there. not long after the street lights blinked on and the rain started coming down again.

i spent the better part of the last two weeks thinking about this thrush, perhaps the city’s last and my best laid plans of sprawling paintings and pithy narratives seemed to pale, becoming nothing but bumbling human hubris to me. as i said, in a way i was paralyzed. i thought of his song, the complex “flute-like” song he’d been so proud of and i thought about my own creative output, my projects, this website… i knew then that it had all gone horribly wrong somewhere along the way. that what i was doing every day was not right, not good enough. until tonight i’d been unable to even log on to the site.

there you are. pretty lies in place of ugly convoluted truth. happy? yeah, it’s much better this way…

now to bend the lies a bit i’ll say this, i expect changes here. i will likely post less, certainly not every day. perhaps other more drastic changes will follow? not sure yet. i still invite all of you to contribute as before, but be warned, the ground may shift beneath your feet. the nonist must evolve, age, even cease to be, as everything must.

anyhow, there it is. glad to back in whatever capacity. hope everyone is well.