Nothing should be complete. Actually nothing can be complete. This life is a process. This land is your land this land is my land from here to the gulf coast whatevers. Property and territory are stupid. This is mine. Oh yeah, this gun is mine and I'm taking your mine over. End of point. Shift to another topic. How about my son's birthday today. He's 27 and weighed in at an even 9 pounds as the record shows. I don't like stupid. I know, I should never have used that word. I know, but when I said it, I thought it was appropriate and then, after it blurted from my mouth via the brain I had this mini thought that oops I chose the wrong word. And this has nothing to do with Sigmund. Sigmund has been replaced by medication. Trial and error chemistry. Try this for a bit and if it makes you feel like killing yourself call me before you do. What should I do if it makes me feel like killing someone else. I'm not sure, maybe you should see a psychiatrist. What insurance plan do you have. Very limited. And yet, I think I would feel much better if I had some prettier nails and a lot less cavities. And possibly a different nose. And maybe a different mother and father for the next time around. Or a different line of demarcation. Or an evolutionary ascension. Or a transfiguration. Or maybe just an end to the feeling that there's something out there that is more than this. Or the knowing that what it is that I want to add is frivolous, and it all adds up regardless. But wait...one more thing...this land is your land...be free. feel free to fuck around. Pow a firecracker expodes in celebration.

Of course there are miracles, why would there be a course in miracles if there weren't any miracles. You sexy thing. I don't believe in miracles as much as I believe in a lucky streak. Good luck has to eventually run out and in my mind, this has nothing to do with god or karma. Come on jesus roll me a seven. Holy fuck a five and a two just when I needed it the most. I swear to god jesus that I will throw these dice down for the last time once I make enough money at this game to pay off all my dishonest debts honestly. Another 7, but this time is was a four & a 3. 5&2, 4&3 &6&1, which is hard to believe that this was done alphabetically for you non believers. Now let's do it numerically. five and two, four and three and one and six. I'm still in the game and for this I praise you dearly jesus. Your sweet name jesus rolls off my lips as I roll the dice. Snake eyes, You fucker you. A lightning bolt. oops...lost my head. THOMAS!!! yes dear lord, I lost my head for a moment. Come here and touch my wounds again. Will the real jesus please stand up. All three contestants stand. Not one of them is pretending to sit back down. One is a swarthy looking mid eastern male, the other is an overweight black woman from the bronx and the final contestant looks like michael jackson, which I'm sure will be disputed. Anyway, I'm not sure it's necessary to quit rolling the bones for any reason. Except maybe that you've tired of it and want to move on. Two fours, two threes, two two's , two and  a one, 1 & a five, 5& a three, seven and a possibility that is way beyond my comprehension. But please....have faith.

I love to nest in my comfort zone but it's getting a lot less easy to do. Mostly because the nest rearranges at a lot quicker pace than I can sometimes handle. And I'm not even sure if this is true and I'm not even sure why I'm even writing about it tonight.But I have to, because I had this thought in mind for this blog and suddenly it went poof.  Of course things change...I mean could you imagine an existence where everything just fucking stands still. This is going nowhere. The bride and daughters just came in and we are all discussing the drama they just experienced elsewhere. A change within a change that I was thinking I would talk about tonight. And there is so much kitchen drama going on in here right now that I can't even think straight. Ha. I love it though, because in this crazy reality of our household there's about three different stories going on simultaneously There's the story from the gathering of the afternoon at Aunt Fanny's apartment to clean out her stuff, the story of Kellie being pissed at her 4th of July week end schedule at the pizza place she works at, the story of a brother in law being bitchy because he's constipated and a few other stories too....especially the dogs we harbor getting overly excited about all the dramatic dialog going on in between me shouting shut up goddamit over their whining. And so, this has been going on since cavemen days. It's all about fucking and the consequences of that thoughtless animal act. And for a moment it got quiet. It worried me a bit. It was a tad longer than a lull. I looked up. Two must have had to go pee. I collect my thoughts again wondering what it was I cared to say tonight. It's thundering, Nothing anymore....and yet....there's always more....or less or maybe even hope.  

Do yourself a favor wake up to your mind life is what you make it you see and still you're blind. Just another song from a long time ago. Some may remember it and some may think it's so new. It doesn't matter....keep smiling each phase of your life.  I'm not a preacher or a philosopher, mostly I'm a bullshitter. But there are times I actually believe what I'm saying or writing has an element of truth to it. And really I know better than that. Usually anyway. Hopeful illusion seems like a good explanation of of how I feel mostly. I love love, but it's so intangible. It's really real the way I feel. And that was just another line from a song. I would say that every word here is a line from a song. It caught you. It caught me too. We too. Whee. What do you think the most popular song is besides om mani padme hum ? It's yidra. Say yidra ten thousand times and it's yours and you and yidra are all together possibly sitting in an english garden to wait for the sun. And then, you are content that you know the walrus' plight and you know that you have to do no more than to just sit quietly and breathe deeply until the next book that you're looking for will give you better directions. In the meantime though, you may think you have achieved what you were searching for. That's fine. You may even have to die with that in mind.

today in ann arbor packing son's stuff in car so we can haul it back home so he can haul it off to his next station in life. It's hot and and so what. I'm taking a break. I don't like using his laptop because he has no mouse. We will be leaving sometime tomorrow morning. But, we have to enjoy a few pints of pale ale later on after the packing is done. Right now he's arranging what should go and what should stay. I will help with the grunt work when it's all arranged. This is a chunk of his life that I'm sure he will miss. All of his friends have gone their seperate ways, connected now by cell phones and the internet. The last time I was at this apartment it was robust with chatter and party, Ok....so here's some song ...and then...after the song.....maybe some rest...and maybe some quiet.

Our first daughter Malina was born on this day twenty-five years ago. I remember the day well. We were scheduled for a 10am appointment at the hospital to determine if my wife was going to have to be induced into labor because she was already 10 days past her due date. I had just come back from a 4 mile jog and was in the yard puttering around in the garden when my wife suddenly opened the kitchen window and asked: how long are you going to be farting around over there...I think I'm going into labor. Holy shit, don't panic...let me panic from here on in. For us, birth was always a mystery. We never knew if we were having a boy or a girl so, we always had two names going on just in case. If Malina would have been a boy...I'm pretty sure we had the name Jacob picked out. We already had our Luke so we figured Luke and Jake would be a nice combo. So why not name the child Jake to begin with you might be thinking....nah, that would be too easy. I love how names take on different variations. Malina is an unusual name and from what I've read...it's a Spanish derivative of Magdalena...but it's also a Polish word for berry...and my wife also accuses me of always wanting to make things sound Polish. Like when I used to call Malina... Malina Mooshniego when she was a toddler. Mooshniego is not Polish, but to an Irish bride, it probably sounds that way. The same goes for our Kellie Noel who I tagged with Kelka Noelka. And Julie Rose became Rousa and she now is lovingly called Rose by me and Luke sometimes was called Lukasz and sometimes Boogie Luke...but now Luke suffices. Sometimes nicknames stick...why I don't know. But today Moosh is 25 and as much as I love Malina....I'm glad moosh had some staying power. And with all my kids....I danced with them all in the front room with Dr John singing....such a night.  What a crazy song...what a blessed life I have.

I must confess that I miss you. Forgive me for departing so abruptly. I had to shit. I know there's been movies similar to this experience, most notably the one with Ben Stiller, who for some reason I don't much care for. Which is odd, because I have not met him personally to converse. Would I like Ben Stiller face to face over a cup of tea. Or Phyllis Diller too for that matter. Or that fucking lanky goofy guy with the big teeth or Martha Stewart or any other other character that comes within the boundaries of my scope. I like you...I dislike you. You're a good guy...and you're not so good. You're a good woman and I like you more 'cause you're so damn bad. And you out there, whoever the hell you are...you're a pimp. Here's a question for you tonight...is a pimp lower than a whore, or are they equals. wtfwjd. My bet is, that we're all in this shit together. Jesus fucking freaks, far sighted jews, stinky muslims, wishy washy agnostics, & how can I post this when there is no god to bless me atheists. btw, since the muslim world owns the internet...I really don't believe they are stinky....I actually think they're pretty cool....they sell me beer even when their license has been suspended for 20 days because they got caught selling to minors. And you know what, stink is just about as vulgar as retard. I don't think bastard is a big thing anymore, but what the hell do I know. So actually, I'm pretty much saying something about nothing. But saying that....I'm glad I popped back in here tonight...and I want you to know....I love you.

OK....that simply means to me that I should not be blogging. I had a meeting to attend & I made 324 excuses in my head to not attend that meeting. I attended and thus it's now 9:23 some where. It's probably later, because I like to pause a lot. Don't you love it when people define you. They may say things like...you never rest...you do too much, you don't eat enough...you eat too much ...you don't do enough...you give too much...you don't give enough & et fucking cetera. Abbreviated thusly from 9:33 pm forward efct. The phone rang in between so forgive me for my lapse. The bride just called. It's pouring cats and dogs on the way home from the cottage where she and her sister and our daughter Julie were doing some cleaning at the cottage 31.7 miles away from home. I'm not good at math or numerology, but the way I figure, so far tonight these are pretty good numbers. Add to this: 3847 and plunk the sum of it all, divided by two for the next race at Pimlico. Or if you live in Maryland...you may want to play those numbers for the mid day quick four. It's still not raining here. I have experienced rain on one side of the street and not the other. It didn't last long, it was fleeting. The rain suddenly stopped all together. It's raining...it's pouring...the old man is snoring in Paraquay. Some of you know what I'm talking about. This is a metaphor. So four plus metaphor equals what? I'm not quite sure...all I know is that the dogs are barking and the bride must becoming home. It's 10:14 pm. The bride's aunt Barb  just called from Pa. asking about Aunt Fanny. Look at the time.

A day where by its end you wonder...where the fuck was I today. I don't know who said this: life is in session...are you present?...but a few hours of my day was like that up until now. Suddenly I raised my hand and said: here. And this time the professor didn't say: go back to sleep Mr. Mazur. I won't recount my day for you even though I did accomplish a lot. This is less about accomplishment and more about mindfulness. And really, even though I'm thinking about it, it has more to do with feeling than thinking. I was busy most of the day, but it wasn't a good busy, it was a busy that was preoccupied by something else. Maybe dread...I was thinking about dread yesterday. Dread resurfaced. I love stupid dread. I love the way it just pops in uninvited. No fucking knock, just dread in your face. The place is a mess, no beer in the refrigerator...and there's fucking dread hanging around. Excuse me while I shift a bit in my seat...this really isn't about dread today, it's something else. In my reflection, as I write this blog to you, I can honestly say that I'm not aware of any dread that I felt today. My dread is dead. And that's okay. But what if it's not dread that I'm really talking about...what if it's hope and joy. What if hope and joy are dead along with dread. A day where you dwell in the comfort of numb. And guess what...there is no such thing as a day. For me, I find that quite refreshing, dreadful and humorous. I think I'm trying to define malaise. Or torpor. Or maybe nothing at all. Yes, now I feel better. It is nothing.

                        

I'm fond of this snapshot I took this morning. It wasn't what I thought I wanted to capture, but it ended up capturing me after all, after a little cropping and quick fixing. It's not great, but fond isn't all that great either. I'm fond of you. Do you remember anyone ever telling you that they were fond of you. I'm telling you again...I'm fond of you. I never used to think that fond was a good word to use, but now I'm thinking differently. I'm not asking you to enjoy the snapshot just because I'm fond of you either. I'm fond of my smirking right now. I'm fond of not making a whole lot of sense. I'm fond of the fact that Rosemarie Saunders used to sign her Christmas cards to me....Fondly, Rosemarie. When she did that, I never understood what she meant. I'm fond of you. I'm so fond of you, I want to fondle you. Very few people have a fond recollection of fondling...especially the fondlers for fondling inappropriately being classified as molesters and perverts. But, who's to say. I'm fond when I'm not judged too harshly. And I'm fond of when I catch a gaggle of geese floating by in a pond. And did I say, I'm fond of you. I will not fondle. I'm not fond of how the geese fucking shit all over the place in total disregard of where I step and I step unconsciously in their poo...and you, did I say that I have this fondness. No, that's not true....I'm really not that cautious...I love you. & will you be fond of me even tough I was fond of this song a long time ago...