October 13, 2004

  • The first pic…

    This is the first picture on my blog. Yes. i bit the bullet and actually paid so i could do this, give you, my sweet sweet following, readership, fans, colloquially known as Cielo, a picture. my very own drawing of the desolate ladnscape. you see, my friend/acquaintance (don't you just love those fuzzy inbetween relationships where you can't categorize where you really fall in the sliding scale of knowing each other?) okay, she's definitely just an acquaintance but we act so natural when we actually see each other that sometimes I wonder, whatever, Meredith just got a blog and she goes through it in a very different way, mostly showing pictures and narrating her story through snapshots. Well that got ol’ dusty thinkin’ that maybe he could show and tell in similar fashion. So there it is:
    “Desolate Landscape.” A quick masterpiece depicting how I am doing for the nonce. It’s a bit bleak, Yes. Lonely. Yes, but, still, its got its own charm, right? The subdued elegance, the understated statement.
    God, I should have been an art historian, anyone with a nack for bullshit can go elbow deep up his/her ass to make you see the “worth” of any piece of crap some hack snob art school wuss puts a signature on.
    But this is neither here nor there.
    What is of importance comes in the form of the October agreement. Yes, trick Diz and I still query ourselves on the possibilities that out of some magical prestidigitation, a big fat zero can become a one. Will it happen and who shall hit it first? For about a night, it looked very good for me. Putting in some extra time in social endeavors, I felt that my vibe, my energy (I once new this hot edgy cool chick ((who never, though she seemed to enjoy my company, expressed any interest)) who acerbically described a “loser” by quoting his use of “the energy over there”) was going in the right direction, maybe even the correct frequency to synchronize with someone in the same sphere…(retrospect weighed that fantasy back to earthy reality)
    Which brings me to harris…
    Harris, a man I knew only from the fringe of his fame for many a day, and I shared a punch drunk subway home after a debate where we were the only single people in attendance. In our flirting with the girl who’s Chinese locked boyfriend (who I know and harris does not) allowed us a slight sense of an opening we came upon great conversation fodder for the lengthy trip home: a universal question that I have gone through: true love existing versus the idea of it being crammed down our throat by fairy tales and movies, all that media overload. But what really got to me was his description of what he was looking for in a girl. My crude adjectives of edgy but smart paled to his better worded description:

    “You see, S— (how Victorian English of me, right?) is pretty hot. But I talk to her, and [a back and forth opposite motion with his hands] theres nothing there, so automatically she’s out, I need someone who’s in my sphere. A sparring partner, who if I lob a fast ball with some heat on it can hit it back. Not out of the park every time, but enough.” (quotation farther than it might appear).

    And ladies and gentlemen, that was why I did not get angry when upon saying good bye, Harris called me his young padowan. For, even though I am younger, I felt no hierarchical miss match (this part of me that wants to rank everything, I shall maybe get into later, the competition, needing to have a defined place, yadda blah bla) except this, his better view of what he wants to find (he could not find the subway though, in that respect, drunkenly finding your way, i am still the jedi and he the apprentice).

    More picures coming, I swear.