Plumbing the Depths of Disorganization

That’s been pretty much the case lately- I have a stack of stories in progress currently pulling double duty as a mouse pad. I’ve got first drafts stuffed into the file cabinet, stuff to read at an open mic on top of the computer, stuff to send for publication on the hard drive, a stack full of disks of other works in progress stuffed into my briefcase, other drafts rattling around in the bottom. I think at this point, I’m officially disorganized. I lost a disk of (admittedly not that vital) writings to my computer, as it tends to eat floppies. Knowing me, I probably have most of it on the hard drive, and forgot I put it there. But that’s okay, it was a small folder and a lot of junk files, at any rate.
I’ve been spending probably more time than is good for me checking out the cable internet here at the new digs. To my technologically-stunted self, this is pretty darn cool. You can watch movies on your computer! (No, not those kind of movies). I never really understood the attraction, myself, but the adult industry (let’s be PC) from my understanding is a multibillion dollar industry. (!) To each his own, I guess. But I’ve been checking out the Atom Films website, which has lots of short films. I’ve been a big fan of short films since time immemorial. A few nights ago I happened across one of the most disturbing and also best-made films to date. It’s called Il Cyclo, (The Cycle, for those whose Romantic language vocabulary is anywhere near as rusty as mine). It centers around a man with a curious scar on his back. This man first throws a large object wrapped in black plastic down a flight of stairs, then proceeds to a medicine cabinet, gets a straight razor, fills the nearby bathtub with water and shuffles off this mortal coil. I’ll spare the subsequent gory details, but the man is “reborn” as it were, from the scar on his back. And so it begins again- a new body is thrown down the stairs by a different man, and we see the heap of bodies there at the bottom of the stairs… I found some identification in this movie, surprisingly enough- essentially creating your own hell, instead of just getting up and walking away. But realizing to a very large extent, I determine my own experience, in terms of how I perceive it, really made me think. My life is really not that stressful, compared to how it could be, and for that matter has been. If I expected some bed of roses, well, tough nuts on that one. But to a large extent, perception determines experience. My wife offered that advice, but don’t tell her she was right, I’ll never hear the end of it. If I come into life with an open mind and an interest to learn or experience something new, it’s really not so bad. Yet I was doing everything short of pulling out my hair (I shave my head, so this would prove challenging), but drinking too much and not really taking care of myself. I found that this was really a matter of perception- I can’t say this is the case for everyone, but in my own circumstances, it amazes me how much that small shift in perception can make. I’m not running around thrilled to death about how great my life is now, mainly because if I was I’d never get anything done anymore, but at least I feel all right about my life- after all, this is what I have created for myself, and I think I could do a lot worse.

Another Tale of the Maine Woods

(for Mr. Ogden)

Untimely, this, the

path by the rusted-out Buick 8, the

seat a few yards away , pocked and

faded by countless snows and sun,

The pine trees stand tall in

sandy soil that grinds against my heels-

They are not laughing

I move towards the

boards, a shed still

showing through the weeds, broken boards weathered to whiteness,

traces of red paint still clinging,

a floor

still marked by the

goldenrod pushing through its cracks

Untimely, this, the

bones half- buried in the soil, white

almost as the boards, sinking

slowly back to earth;

I do not doubt the skull-laugh,

jaw still open in

(perhaps) mirth- what

epitaph did his/her hand write in

the sandy soil?