My buddy and I have been laying the plumbing for a video/photography company here in Troy. The partnership has had it's fair share of personality grindings, compromises, and periods of both explosive productivity and slack. The pressure is on, considering how key this is to our survival. (Survival meaning self-generated fortune, independant of "The Man". It's been an adventure. I think that it will be successful. Either way, the lifestyle resounds with my particular way of being, so even if it doesn't, it will be a righteous ride.
My body has taken to travelling again. I have found the way to make the time to visit values ones in NY and MA. I have broken out of the Troy bubble enough to love the mountains and windey roads. The wide open roads.
My lower back aches from studio construction, heavy lifting, and bending. My apetite has grown with my soreness, and I sleep soundly with the satisfaction that comes with physical accomplishment.
The scent of love and trust tickle my nostrils, but remain (still) our of reach. This blodhound knows that that it's there. The breeze speaks in fact and promise.
Posted by Administrator on Feb 21, 2005
I just re-read this old entry
tonight and was stricken with nostalgia. I used to write with raw, bristling, honest passion. It was the one of the first times that Evan was thick in turmoil. It was confusing re-reading it. I wonder if I have lost some of that passion, or if the more even-keel of my modern self is simply a sign of maturity from the knocks of experience.
This lead me to re-read a bunch of my old writings on here. I noticed an unmistakable tone of low-key darkness. I consider myself pretty happy-go-lucky and optimistic and determined and non-wallowy and all that, so this caught me as a surprise. Why wasn't I perkier more often? Am I just one of the countless angsty internet blogheads wallowing in exhibitionist self-pity? (I don't think that I am one of these.) Why do I even do this? And yet, my fingers move.
So in the spirit of self-discovery through brutally honest disclosure, I dedicate the rest of this post to dedicated readers who started reading koax.org for this reason.
I moved out of my beautiful victorian apartment January first. It didn't really hit me that I was leaving it until I had finished cleaning, moved every last bit out, and had the keys in my hand to lock it up and slide the keys under the door for the very last time. It was like a near death experience of sorts. A parting. A goodbye. The memories of the past two years came rushing back in rapid succession. The memories were in the form of still-frame images and feelings. Each lingered for just a moment - just enough time for the complex details of each one to fill up my active consciousness, before the next one bumped it out of it's place and did the same. An obnoxiously impatient slide-show.
One of my last actions was to look into my own eyes in the mirror over the mantle. I realized that I hadn't given myself a good soul-searching stare in a while. It was a little uncomfortable. My face reflexively made the movements like it was looking at another person. It's amazing how automatic it has become. I was struck by both the unfamiliarity I was with my own face and the absurdity of my face moving in ways that it would move with a stranger.. feeling them out, genuine curiousity mixed with the instinct to make them feel accepted and comfortable. The face looking back was _my_ face. Too weird, too weird.
Standing there, I did a little emotional inventory of myself.
This intrigue with darkness - I wonder if others are the same way. I wonder if others find wisdom in other ways. I wonder if I'll ever be satisfied without living with perpetual dissatisfaction with what is known - without a distrust of things that are accepted. Insistent curiosity is a curse? Am I sowing my oats? Is this some programmed growth mechanism that hasn't yet ebbed? Will it ever ebb? I crave simplicity and comfort, but the only simplicity and comfort I seem to be reliably capable of supplying for myself is the comfort in the self-supplying of unpredictability .. novelty .. and chaos. I wonder if I'll ever be capable of anything else. I wonder how much of this is me, and how much of it is my "path". If fate is real, then I wonder how much of this has been in store for me from the beginning of time. I've been happy in order before. I wonder if a wave of order will sweep me on into the distance. I wonder if I'll have a mate, and if so, what she'll be like. Will she share a similar masochistic curiosity? Will she have a similar darkness inside her? Or will it be more of a complementary-yet-respectfully-understanding type thing?
Re-reading that entry, I was embarassed by the words, just as I'm sure I'll be embarassed by these, looking back at them in 4 years from now.
Writing this was good. I'm glad that I did this. And I realize that it was rather tortured and dark. And I also realize that I found satisfaction in the soul-scraping involved. I do wonder though, whether or not there's another way...
I wonder whether there's a _better_ way. I wonder how other people get here.
Posted by Administrator on Feb 04, 2005