Chasing Circles

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Fall’s destruction is a means of recreating.  Fall is so beautiful, like the curiosity in a baby, but it is so unnerving like the breaking of a piece of art.  Fall has to be divinely beautiful to ease the transition from sunny paradise to the brutal hug of winter.  In this transitional time, we are broken apart and smashed to ruins like an east coast earthquake.  The thought of building it all back up again is daunting, seemingly impossible.  Is it even worth that burst of exploding energy to recreate again?  It is tiring, all this change, all the beauty around.

Coffee is not seemingly enough to want to conquer these diamond dreams lately.  I am being dragged down with Fall’s heavy and demanding hand.  I sleep, I stretch, I seek the sun, I await the wheels of change to start to flow again.  To find that spark to start the construction, the jump to get my heart racing, to finally get sick of the simple.  I want to overcomplicate my plate once again, but even the espresso seems to have gotten weaker.

The circles of creativity and growth, in this season of change you have to be content with the sluggish shuffle of self fulfillment, but still dream with a translucent shimmer over your monotone eyes.  Out of this rubble a better version is going to be unsurfaced, more rubies will be formed, more colors will be created, more complicated structures will dominate like a Dr. Seuss city.

This One is For Mum

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The world will always focus on the negative, that is why you must always focus on the positive.  Nobody is going to tell you all things right that you are doing, instead your critiques will be criticisms.  Its never a biased opinion, the feedback you get from the battling outside world, its slightly skewed towards that catch 22.

You remind yourself every night and right in the morning the light behind your eyes and the perception of personal greatness.  You locate the strength behind your soul, and you face the long swim upstream once again.

Find the balance, humility v ego.  This is where confidence comes from.  To be assured that you can deal with an array of situations, whichever stumbles your way.  Confidence is not letting the negative drag you down, not letting your horse get too high off the ground.

The Conditions of Choice

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All I want to do is whatever I want.  In work, in adulthood, in friendships.  This is what makes me happy, always has, since childhood.  Back in the day I was the happiest when I could wear whatever the fuck I wanted to.  I wore the strangest outfits, based on textures and feeling over corresponding colors and shapes.

Of course you can’t always do whatever you want, there are situational restraints and most of the time you have to prove yourself worthy and trustful to be able to get away with doing whatever the fuck it is to keep you happy and satisfied.  At work, you have to be autonomous, self-motivated, responsible, smart, trustworthy, practical, sustainable, and underpaid certainly.  It takes all of that, plus time, and most importantly, luck.

With adulthood doing whatever the fuck you want means that you have to have the structure to support it.  Without that structure, you cannot be free to move about, to dance around.  Most importantly, you have to keep yourself well fed.  If you keep up with the groceries and cooking, you don’t have to worry so much about this essential duty.  Eating out all the time is not the answer, this does not make you free not does it provide you with a sense of security and happiness.  Its fine once in a while, but for the majority, the more you can cook at home, the more independent you can be.  Its your schedule, and most importantly you know what is going into your body.  Home cooking saves money with is great for independence.  It keeps you healthy, which gives you inspiration and energy to do those things that you choose.

Cleanliness also helps.  If you look around and see a nice space you have room to move about to explore, to tear down and create an empire.

With friendships its about love and respect.  But also it is about taking that tie to see friends, to explore their interests.  It is a two way street, this part of giving allows you space to interact freely, to not be held down by cultural clichés or self conscious scripts.

I am talking about doing what you want all the time, not about getting heat you want.  This is a mood, a feeling, a concept.  This does not apply to material means, physical objects, tangible dreams come true.  It is a choice, and this is the on the I pick.

Mari v Mari

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Say something for yourself.  What makes you happy, Marianna?  You really don’t like it when people don’t consider you, but you hardly consider yourself.  So what do you expect.  Stop being a hater, stop being obsessed with double standards when you can’t even follow the rules.

Where is your spark of joy today, outside of the routine reasons?  Many things make you light up that glowing smile, spark the flame in your diamond eyes, but those are exterior.  What gives your heart a red thump from the inside?  What makes your fingertips lighting bug?  What makes your elbows jazz?

Think about it.  Why does the heart muscles squeezes, and what makes it relax. What gets your goose? What frees the bird from its cage?

I know the answer personally, do you know the answer for yourself?

Fine, I will tell you my secret, but don’t be so easily fooled, you might have one for yourself.

You have to do things for yourself for the sake of taking care of your body.  Details my friends, it feels good to floss, it feels good to stretch it out, it feels good to have shiny toenails.  It feels good to eat healthy, and exercise, to find time for friends, to find energy for the extras.  Don’t get lazy when it comes to the one person that matters the most.

Whimiscal Beer, I Am In

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If hops are of the cannabis family, then we have to assume that beer used to be brewed with THC on a consistent basis for thousands of years.  That is not a shocking assumption to be made.  Like hops, pot is easy to grow, its kinda like a weed.

Contemporarily, home brewers experiment with this idea, but this is too small.  Dry hopping THC into beer does not need to be relegated to your closet fermentation.  It needs to storm the market, be a thing.  A trend packaged and all dolled up, pushed about the young and adventurous, to be popular and the largest party hit.  The people will love it.

Colorado, where are you on this project?  You better hurray up and dominate the market, else America’s high five is going to steal it from you.

Hop Ya Later

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Americans do not have the best taste, but they certainly have the best influence on worldly culture.

I am not sure how the west coast hop craze has overtaken the palate of the so called sophisticated beer aficionados, but the why does not matter.  What matters here is how this dominant influence of dry and dominating, one dimensional flavor has quickly and subtly changed the beers that I know and love.  Sounds like a terrible date, why would you want to put that description on your tongue.  You would never even give that guy a first chance.  <shivers>

They have gotten more hoppy.  All of them.  Craft beers, old standbys, well-know favorites, new creations. All of them.  All beer has changed in style like the latest fashion trend.  All of the good, well rounded, malty with a touch of hoppy, benevolent ESBs from the English country side, the hefty bastard from Scotland, has drifted towards the side of the west coast.  It’s not that my tongue has been burned by consumption of hops over the years, that is not how it works.  My tongue is not burned, honestly beer has become more bitter. It is leaning away from the malty goodness, out of partiality, and into the kingdom of the west.

Give me the balance.  Give me the complex.  Give me something that continues to grow as you sip beer after beer.  Like a lays potato chip, nobody has just one.  Let the flavors linger and get to know one another, let’s explore a whole palate of what the beerscape has to offer.

You have watered down the beer taste you assholes.  Stop ruining my life, you American hipsters.

Autumn’s Magical Tug

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There’s something about September, something special in those precious final moments that desperately cling to the lure of summer’s dream.  The last night-cap after an adventure filled night, the last bite of gooey dessert, one more tight hug goodbye, a stolen kiss in the moonlight, the smell of the sunset, that last glance over your shoulder as you leave the room sending sparks in your eyes.  It’s a sense of longing, but having just one more second to enjoy the sense of serenity. Of fulfillment. Of peace.

There is a magical something about that late September feeling.  That anticipation of change, yet the reluctance to let go of summer’s charm.

This change in balance is about losing the force of the summer sun but gaining the crisp of fall.  It’s like the cracking of the delicate crème brulee, biting into a crisp wafer, snapping open that perfect apple.  The last puff of summer’s flame is the satisfaction of breaking something perfectly layered,  like crushing the layers in a buttery croissant, biting into a nutty baklava, breaking open a flaky turnover, crumbling a cookie, breaking a brittle.

These last few days are that particularly perfect standstill in the tug between the changing seasons.  Only rarely do we have this troubled serenity, like that moment of twilight when the sun has subsided, but Mr. Moon is still missing.

Why Eating in America Sucks #5

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Recycling is a concept.  It does not actually exist. Yes there are those blue bins dotting down the alleys, but is the trash even sorted in this great large city?  I have my doubts.  Remember when you were supposed to put your recycling in a blue bag, tie it up, and throw it in with the rest of your trash?  Yeah, that happened.  That was the city’s solution to the recycling problem for years.  Yeah right like somebody actually sorted the trash and picked out those gross blue bags.  This is why I have my doubts that the new recycling program with those fancy blue bins are actually getting the job done.

Unfortunately the full and disturbing extent of the issue does not stop here.  With the alleys full of blue dots, at least we are pretending to care.  Not in food service.  Here, we don’t even pretend to try to recycle.  There is only one bin, and let me tell you it is black.

Not even cardboard boxes are recycled.  It is truly sick.

Even the places that say they do, it’s about a 50/50 shot.   Don’t be fooled, recycling is not happening.

Yes, this is part where you are supposed to get angry.

The Poor Man’s Slow Hustle #3

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I feel free again, already, knowing that my week will not be dominated by the demands of the man.

Relaxed, like I can breath.  That pressure bubble of time has lifted, and I can think about doing things for myself again.  I can continue to answer my endless list of questions, I can make long lists written in pencil and actually cross out completed missions.

Time can slow down again, and time can relax into a flexible scheme instead of a tightly run plan.

I am no longer fully dominated by work, saving that precious feeling of freedom solely for myself, locked in my own mind just to make sure that I give myself enough attention.