:roblog:

exchange with bre'er paf about places and kids and vanagons

On Fri, May 25, 2012 at 7:34 AM, John Paflas wrote:

You know what's amazing Mon Frer?  My oldest daughter will be a hs sophomore after today.  Holy damnation sheeit.  And I see'd on the facebook yer younguns has shot up a sight too.  I try to remember back to that age; gain some insight on my own breed. And I remember when I was around 13-14 and my parentals had a dinner party.  At all them old folks hounding, I relented and played some chordal type stuff on my crappy acoustic.  I remember the next day my parents telling me the old peoples liked my playin and that I was leaving kiddom and grownin up.  That sure felt good at the time and I still remember it to this day.  Kids listen to us more than we think.   So the other day, I passed one of the many vanagons we have in our college town and it made me think of your trip to the great Northwest and how you dug it out there, and that you just decided to stay.  So I was wondering, if you could name one thing about the Seattle/Northwest area that sets it apart, makes it different from the rest o' this here world, what would you say?  There is that permastale stink but always-something-new-to-get-into energy that makes NYC the cool place it is.  There is that home-feeling, yet surprisingly observant people that make the Midwest the way it is and on... you catch my drift.   "Well the Lord can make you tumble/ the Lord can make you turn... the lord can make you overflow... and the Lord can make you burn.  burn on big river burn on..." —Randy Newman, on the flaming Cuyhahoga, round Clevburg town

---------- 
From: Rob Dalton 
Date: Fri, May 25, 2012 at 9:13 AM
Subject: Re: Yer Long Weekend Blues, Errata
To: John Paflas

you said a mouthful, brother — high school sophomore? holy florking snit!

i sometimes feel like i can see my boys growing before my very eyes, both a full head taller than their classmates (lordy i hope they take to the hardwood) and full of life and unfettered spirit. the Salad Days, fuh shizzle.

speaking of vanagons, the dalton clan is flying down to cali in july to see my sisters, the beach, disneyland, and then we gwine to rent this beauty and drive up the california coast. cain't wait. and i'll never forget the moment when i fell in love with this region, taking a ferry to vashon island with amy and my old westfalia, the rust-bucket "villanelle." it was august or so, and the sun was setting over the olympic mountain range, and the puget sound was sprawling and beautiful, and i just thought, "this is the most magical place i've ever been."

so, in short, what makes seattle unique is the constant proximity to natural grandeur: mt. ranier, always looming like olympus to the south; the emerald city — all the cosmopolitan i crave without all the god damn humans — flanked by the olympic and cascade mountain ranges; the sea, threading its salty fingers everywhere and all of it reminding me, constantly reminding me, that i ain't shit, and that all of this was here hell of aeons before i showed up, and will be here hell of aeons after.

put THAT in yer pipe & smoke it.

so shit and fuck and hartford

in retrospect, from the other side of Giving A Shit, it is remarkable how easy it is to just fucking pull the plug. yank the motherfucker out of the wall and then there you are: it's done. no more laborious obligations like breathing and moving about. no more writing things down for an almost entirely ambivalent, if not entirely oblivious, world-wide-whatever.

a relief to be done with it.

 

 

 

mostly. 

for munt, wherever the fuck he is

 

i am sorry for what i did

 

under the earth i go,

on the oak leaf i stand.

i ride on the filly

that was never foaled,

and i carry the dead in my hand.

only mostly dead

i've taken to waving at people in cars. from my car, when i'm driving. from not in my car, when i'm not. they don't know what to do—they generally acknowledge the gesture with a mock friendly head lift or mouth open or half-hearted gesture. we think we're invisible but it turns out we're not.

invisible.

happy 420. here is a nice bit of post script from munty fresh.

From: munter

Last night I dreamt I went to to roblog again. I thanked you for the years of glee you have given and I explained that, while I would miss it, the drawing of the curtain was no doubt something that you had to do.

We flicked through pages and reminisced; here a joyful photograph of childhood, there a perfectly formed WTFmonster as friendly as it is disturbing, and then the occasional piece that speaks seriously that I wish I had the skills to adequately respond to. 

When we were done you said "I'm gonna press delete now" and I watched on my screen as, piece by piece, it wound itself back. One by one, the navigation months vanished, and each article briefly flashed by, each its own little tear.

And then, it was gone - I was looking at a blank browser window. 

All that remains is the bear; that bear in my heart, nestled next to Bukowski's suffocated bluebird;

the bear with rape on its mind.

 

Shanthi; in gratitude....

 

 

 

 

 

i wish you all manner

 

 of grace and equanimity;

 

 

a calm heart,

 

 

a sated soul.