Oil Change

Sitting in the spartan, dingy lobby of the auto shop, waiting while my Venza gets an oil change. I've got a birthday gathering for my brother Donaldo, at my mom's house, in an hour or so. That'll be fun. Ender's car, the yellow Yaris, got broken into while he was at work. They broke the window but didn't take anything. Strange though. I wondered if someone had just vandalized it, but the car was unlocked (Ender was sure he had left it locked) so they did open it. Do people even steal stereos anymore? I had upgraded my sound system before I sold the car to Ender, and it's not incredible or anything but it is a solid unit. I was also wondering if they were trying to steal it, but couldn't because it was a stick shift. Still, if it's an easier car to steal (and I'm not sure that it is) why would someone steal a bright yellow car? I've only ever seen one other yellow Yaris in my years of driving it (I was coming out of the Lowe's parking lot and at the stop sign directly across from me was a yellow Yaris. We both waved excitedly at each other, and gave each other the secret sign that all Yaris owners give to indicate that we're still loyal to the secret Yaris Mafia. It's a very compact efficient reliable Mafia...but perhaps I've said too much.)

It occurs to me just now, at this very moment as I joke about Mafia ties, that I do have a handful of what I would call "harm-wishers." Not enemies exactly, in that I don't think I'm being actively hunted (unless you are actively hunting me in which case I know exactly what you're up to and just because I haven't done anything about it, don't think I underestimate you; I'm just pretty lazy about doing all that Batman plans-within-plans, wheels-within-wheels stuff.) While I don't think I'm being actively hunted, I think someone hurling a rock at my car is about the level I'd expect. It's a unique vehicle. 

I'm no mathematician, but it used to be that if you saw a yellow Yaris and threw a rock at it, there was a fifty percent chance it was mine.

Not anymore though. Its new owner is a good kid, kind, considerate, hardworking, and helps out his mom. 

It's a beautiful day.

what brings me back

Music brings me back, mostly. Especially music without words. I stumbled across Max Richter's "Infra 5” and it was exactly what I'm feeling because I'm remembering a dream two nights ago where we held hands and ran through an M.C. Escher-style house and shrieked with joy at every new impossible angle. 

I stole a kiss. 

We got separated but I knew you were okay because I could still hear you laughing. 

Now everything is static, behind my eyes and in the air and it fills my ears. It isn't bad or good; static means an open channel. Adjust the receiver, find the frequency, turn the dials. 

What experience awaits. 

Music also makes everything else quiet. I've been simmering in a stew of noise. Distracting myself, I think. 

Perhaps I resent not having a clear objective. 

 Today was fun. It's my birthday. I know nobody gets what they really want, and I have accepted that I'm probably not going to be given a capybara as a surprise gift. It's for the best. They're social creatures, and if I got one then it would be cruel of me not to get many, many more.

Also I'm not sure they could fit through the doggy door. 

Guillermo-9, Fate-27

At least it's not a total blowout. 

Everyone needs an unfinished song, somewhere they have to be at a certain time, and a question that needs to be researched. 

I think. I forget. 

I feel...un-encircled. 

Goodnight!

autumn pulses in my chest

In my probably incorrect understanding of how the human brain works, most of our processing is happening below our level of attention. I think of a rolling thunderstorm. A thought is more like a lightning bolt, a moment of connection between positive and negative charges. When I think I'm forming a spontaneous sentence in my head, it's the result of the tension between my experience of the external environment, and the frothy cafe mocha that is my sense of self. 

But honestly I try not to think about that too much. 

rockabilly past my bedtime

Rockabilly music on the radio (streaming platform algorithm). Hundreds of dollars of ink in my skin. Or rather, trapped in the belly of a great white macrophage. White blood cells forever trying to eat the pigment and die trying. Ours is not to reason why. 

Had a lot to do today. Got a lot to do tomorrow. Sleep would be wise but this time feels like mine and I want to wrap it around me. 

(This isn't really a brains kind of operation.)

Trying to drive to the stars. 

There is a journey ahead, I think. The road calls me. Sends text messages. Somehow slipped into my calendar app and schedules clandestine meetings in ghost towns and gold mines. 

I have no business there anymore. The cardinal directions retired and now it's all geographic coordinate systems and left turns into traffic. 

I'm cozy now; and the whir of the fan covers up the sounds of chewing.

Friday the 13th

Technically yesterday, but I don't consider a day over until I've slept. 

There was no bad luck. Not near me anyway. I got a little sleepy around midday but that's normal. 

There are so many adventures going on; the bad luck must be too busy to find me. 

It's also because, like the majestic capybara, I do not behave like prey. I stride boldly and foolishly out into the world, and pretend I know exactly where I'm going, and Fate hardly notices. 

Fate looks for those who are lingering at thresholds, trying to tiptoe between two worlds, and grappling with grand choices. That's where Fate likes to reach out and tip things one way or the other, like a cat when it sees a glass of water. 

I don't actually know why I escape notice. Maybe I just look like a puddle.