So I was at the beach a few nights ago. I made up my mind a few weeks ago to visit one of my favorite beaches before I go so I could say some goodbyes to my hometown. Not that I'm never gonna come back, it just might be a while before I live here again, if ever. I went to the tidepools at La Jolla and watched the sky and the waves breaking over the rocks. I wasn't feeling too good as I drove there but as soon as I parked my bike and started walking to the beach I couldn't stop smiling. The wind was blowing and it was cold, but I looked up into that black sky and felt completely free. I guess that's why I'm leaving. I stared out into the blackness for a while and thought about my family and my friends and the people I care about. I thought about how all my relationships are in my head and I'll always have them with me because of that. I felt connected to everything. I felt absolutely insignificant, and that made me feel good. I felt like a god and that made me smile too.

Eventually I got too cold and went to a coffeeshop for some tea. I just happened to bring my Walt Whitman reader with me that day. I've been skipping around as I read it, and imagine my surprise when I opened it up to this poem:

"On The Beach At Night Alone"

On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the
clef of the universes and of the future.

A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All indentities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

I don't believe in magic or mystical coincidences or anything like that, but I'll say this: after seeing what I saw and reading those words, I'm ready. I'm free. Beyond any contraints, be they emotional, monetary, governmental, or whatever... I'm ready.

Satan: How'd it go?

Tom: Pretty good. I talked to my sister beforehand and she reminded me that I've dealt with people being flaky on me in the past, not calling when they're supposed to and not being somewhere when they say they're gonna be, and I'm worried about repeating history you know? I told her Tiff has similar issues with people trying to control her.

Satan: You're not the controlling type.

Tom: I know and it seems like we just weren't understanding each other.

Satan: So it's all good.

Tom: I think so...I mean yeah, I know it is, I just feel kinda shaky you know? I hate fighting with people I love. I don't want her to hate me for making a stink but it was important, you know?

Satan: Yeah yeah yeah. So what are you gonna do when you get there?

Tom: Four-fingered surprise, day and night baby!

Satan: Ooooh, what's THAT?

Tom: Hahahahahahaha...

Satan: Tell me tell me!

Tom: Shut up you demonic little bitch.

Tom: This morning I was thinking about going into therapy.

Satan: Why would you need therapy when you have me for a confidant? Me, a figment of your imagination that you personify with a Biblical name that stands for everything evil, unwholesome, and destructive in the universe. I'm genuinely hurt.

Tom: Fuck you, bitch. I'm all jacked up over a woman.

Satan: Can't get that shit on lockdown?

Tom: Honestly, I don't know what my fuckin' problem is anymore. Monday morning she sent me a few emails saying she was worried about money and then I started worrying too. She said she was gonna call me at 7 that night. I figured I'd be okay until then but I was still worried as fuck. She was tired and fell asleep and didn't call me until like 1 in the morning. By that time I had already left in a huff, gone to the beach and wept harder than I have in years, came back, and went to bed sad and angry.

Satan: Jesus fucking Christ man, you cried over that?

Tom: No. I'm leaving for Austin on Sunday and I've been planning on going to one of my favorite beaches before I leave so I can say some goodbyes, you know real spiritual shit like that. I went to La Jolla and the waves breaking underneath the black sky were too much. I've been going to that beach since I was a child and I started getting hit with all sorts of images of my family: my mom picking up seashells, my dad and I playing in the surf, stuff like that. I know how much my parents mean to me and in the past two years or so I've been coming to grips with the fact that I'm not going to have them one day. I'm okay with it but goddamn it was overwhelming. Then I thought of my pregnant sister, who I love just as much. This whole "circle of life" thing completed itself in my head and it was as overwhelming as getting run over by a fuckin freight train. I'm glad it was dark out so no one could see me crying.

Satan: So...maybe this isn't all about Tiffany?

Tom: Maybe not. Two people have posited the notion that maybe I am still stressed out from finals, which aren't over yet.

Satan: But they're almost over right? Why do you need therapy?

Tom: Yesterday morning Tiffany and I talked and it was all good. She sent me an email later asking me what time I was gonna be home so she could call me. I told her and made plans to be around when she called. I was on my way home and decided to check my email on a whim. She had sent me another email telling me that she wouldn't be able to call me until later because she was going to see Punk and Porn. If I hadn't have checked my email on a whim I would have been waiting again and gotten very, very upset. Instead of getting upset about it, I sent her an email asking if we could set up a time that's convenient for both of us to talk so I'm not waiting around going nuts and she's not feeling like a bad girlfriend because she doesn't have a phone.

Satan: And?

Tom: She called me and was upset about the email. She says she tries really hard to call me and she doesn't have a phone and when we first hooked up she TOLD me that she needs someone who can keep up with her busy life. I just want to stop feeling the way I have been for the past 3 days and I was asking for her help. Instead I feel like I got attitude and misunderstanding. I went to bed absolutely livid.

Satan: What are you gonna do?

Tom: I don't know. She said she'd call me at two today. I'm afraid to say anything about it.

Satan: Okay, okay, hold on here. You're REALLY tweaked about this whole thing. You've already said it might not all be about the phone situation...

Tom: Yeah. I'm really fuckin afraid and insecure in relationships.

Satan: Well, fuck man...aren't we all?

Tom: I don't fuckin' know. I ain't you.

Satan: So how do you feel about her right now?

Tom: I love her. I miss her and I think it's coming out in fucked up ways. Last night I was almost mad enough to punch a hole in the fucking wall, but I would have given anything to talk to her for five more minutes. Right now I'm at work and I've been checking my email every 5 minutes to see if she's sent something. Every time the phone rings I look to see if it's her number. I'm driving myself nuts.

Satan: Relax.

Tom: Huh, easy for you to say.

Satan: Oh yeah Tom, I'm not really you. Fuck you.

Tom: No fuck you.

Satan: Look man...

Tom: Hey, I TOLD her I have baggage too, but NOOOOOO, she didn't believe me... "Oh you're PERFECT Tom, you're so handsome and sweet." Maybe baby, but I gotta tell you...

Satan: No buts. Just quit being a shithead right now.

Tom: That's the tragedy. I'm not trying to be a shithead.

Satan: Look this is getting really sad. Will you just give yourself AND your poor girlfriend a break?

Tom:

Satan: Oh hell.

Tom:

Satan:

Tom:

Satan: Well?

Tom: Well what?

Satan: Oh screw you man, I'm outta here. Gonna go listen to my new Bill Hicks CD. FUCK YOU.

Tom: Fine. I got plenty to do here. I'm totally okay now. I feel great. I can totally resist the urge to check my email every five minutes. Screw you.

Tom: Hi.

Satan: Hello.

Tom: I've been away a while.

Satan: Yeah.

Tom: I'd like to think you've been missing me.

Satan: Sure. What do you want?

Tom: I've been kinda apprehensive the past few days.

Satan: Having second thoughts about dropping everything and moving to Austin, eh?

Tom: Well, no. I think I'm at a place I always get to when I really want someone. I feel helpless and childish and bitchy.

Satan: Sounds like it's really hard for you to give yourself to someone. Don't do it if you're not sure.

Tom: I'm sure I want to do this. Can't I worry about it too?

Satan: What do you worry about? Don't you think Tiffany loves you?

Tom: I think Tiffany loves me. But I listen to a lot of classical music. Is that gonna be okay? Jesus Christ, why do I get like this?

Satan: Get like what?

Tom: I JUST TOLD YOU, FUCKER.

Satan: Ah.

Tom: WHAT?

Satan: I said, "Ah," as in, "I see."

Tom: Goddammit you better fucking tell me RIGHT NOW...

Satan: Can't do it. That's the point. I can't tell you, so I'm not going to. You'll find out on your own. Don't worry too much, okay?

Tom: You simple, smug, motherfucking bastard. I'll cut you motherfucker, I'LL FUCKING BURN YOU!

Satan: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Tom: I hate you.

Satan: What's up?

Tom: Seems like it started out with us making mix CDs for each other. Listening to music, going places, talking a lot. Somewhere, somehow, the focus shifted. She needed me to eat dinner with her parents more. She couldn't always be there for me to talk to.

Satan: And so?

Tom: I'm a little bummed out on relationships right now, but I don't wanna sound bitter or whiney or vindictive.

Satan: Okay.

Tom: No sage advice?

Satan: I don't know...maybe she wanted different things.

Tom: I think everyone wants the same things and has different ways of getting it.

Satan: Maybe.

Tom: You're not helping...

Satan: What do you want?

Tom: No pressure.

Satan: Granted.

In the last few years, especially since he moved to North Carolina, my Dad has been practicing what I call "the politics of annoyance". He says some pretty outrageous stuff and I think it's mostly to get a rise out of people. Here's a recent transmission:

Me:
My god dad, do you dream about politics at night?

Tom Senior:
No my excitable young son, only during my thrice daily naps and those occasional lapses of consciousness that are the byproduct of my hyper-vigilence. Plus, I have ample time to think.........think and plan......plan and think......always watchful...........waiting and watching....watching and waiting........it's when you let your guard down that they worm their way into your unconscious mind.....boring......deeper and deeper....until one day you awake to find yourself a member of The Young Republicans or The Democratic Youth Council..........unfortunately, by that time, it is too late....far too late.... heeh heeehhhh....but let them try their chicanery, they can't find me here.... I know their tricks....my aluminum foil beanie and the booby traps in the front yard are the only thing between my free will and their tireless efforts to turn me to the Dark Side.......when Nader takes office in November, I've been promised a prominent position in the Ministry of Kickin' It Old Skool. After I assume my position in Nader's cabinet, I will, at that time, go by my astral name, LorTab the Mellow. I guess I just care...maybe too damn much.....maybe not at all.....time for a nap.

Love,
Dad

P.S. You haven't told anyone of my whereabouts have you????.....HAVE YOU?????

Tom: Hey, I'm worried about being an alcoholic.

Satan: Yeah?

Tom: I drink and smoke a lot, almost everyday.

Satan: Why?

Tom: I'm not sure. I think life is kinda boring right now.

Satan: So you're not having trouble keeping up with things?

Tom: No. I mean, that's one of the classic signs of addiction isn't it? I think I'm just bored and dissatisfied with the day to day state of things. On top of that, I can complete my daily tasks with half my brain tied behind my back. There's no reason to be sober. That's why I dont have any problems drinking at work. Or before I'm at work. And after.

Satan: Wow. You'd better do something.

Tom: What the fuck am I supposed to do? School isn't back in for another 2 months, I don't have the money for summer school, and to go anywhere or do anything interesting I'd have to use my France money.

Satan: Shit man, I don't know. Read a book. Volunteer somewhere.

Tom: Okay.

Satie and Maupassant make me feel a little better about writing. Not because I want to emulate their work, not because I want to be like them. Satie wrote a lot of short pieces. Maupassant wrote a lot of short stories. Sometimes really short stories, a few pages long. Satie wrote piano pieces that are twenty, thirty seconds long.

I like my ideas; they push me to write them down before any thoughts of publishing or selling or adulation enter my head. But they usually sputter out after a few pages (or lines) and I always think I should add more, if for no other reason than to finish the thought. But usually the thought is finished. I’ve said what I wanted to say, I just have a hard time shaking the feeling that I owe posterity something more “literary”.

Asking to kiss

Stalkers don't make sense to me. I don't mean the insane ones that wanna kill Jodie Foster's dog or whatever. I mean the stalker guys that almost every girl seems to date at least once. The one who won't let go. The one who shows up to your work. Even the guys at bars who don't leave you alone. Women have the stalker quality to a certain degree but I think the way this society is, it's really up to the males to make total asses of themselves.

But some of us guys don't have to worry about that do we? Sooner or later some chick is gonna come along and utter the magic phrase, "Yeah, okay." What we do then is all a matter of guts and style. Guts because it takes some balls to put yourself on the line, style because you don't wanna make an ass of yourself doing it. And unfortunately it has traditionally fallen to men to make the first move. So...I ask first.

I ask before I kiss someone. Bob thought it was kinda stupid and for a while I did too. Now I'm pretty sure it's the right thing to do, a lot of the time. Why not? Is it dorky? Does it kill the mood? Fuck no. I don't think so. I'll ask the devil.

Tom: Hey Satan?

Satan: Yeah?

Tom: Is it wrong to ask a woman to kiss you?

Satan: Who, like your mom or just some random stranger?

Tom: Well I was thinking more along the lines of someone you're on a date with. I think that, if you've been paying any attention at all, after a few hours you can tell if she wants to make out.

Satan: Well shit yeah. If she doesn't no sense convincing yourself she does. You gotta leave a little room for her to chase you too. But you'll know if the vibe is there. If you've got you're arm around her, hand in her...

Tom: But would it be okay to ask?

Satan: I don't think there's any 100% fool-proof way to do it. I mean after all you are invading someone's space, and that first one is kinda tough sometimes, so I'd say yeah go ahead and ask if you feel like it. If the chick is really cool it ain't gonna matter anyways.

Tom: What would you do?

Satan: Come on bitch, you know the muthafuckin' Lord of the Underworld ain't gotta ask for shit.

Tom: You know with Jesus being all the rage now, I can see an inevitable backlash in the making and you need to be there to capitalize on it. I already have your tagline.

Satan: What is it! What is it!

Tom: "What Would Satan Do?"

Satan: You make me proud, my son.

Tom: "Lord of the Underworld ain't gotta ask for shit!"

Satan: Enough.

Thoughtcrime in the making
or
Observations, year 25

The advance of technology does not, ultimately, make us any freer. Perhaps that's the Great Fallacy of the Information Age. We think, we assume technology gives us more freedom, allows us to work less, and gives us greater, easier access to information... In short, it makes us happier than we were before. And maybe, for a short time, each new technological advance does indeed makes us happier. To me, the clearest example of this is the internet.

It's a major technological advance that has changed many facets of our lives, and unlike television or gunpowder or the wheel I've seen its development in my own time. And I'm glad to know something about it. I'll have stories to tell my children about the lawless days of software piracy, when you could download almost anything you wanted, if it was popular enough. It seemed like we were on the brink of making a really cool, needed advance in how we think of art in general and music in particular. What is music? How should we compensate artists? Should you be able to download music at will? What about copyright infringement? Do multi-billion dollar companies and platinum selling "artists" really need billions more? Do most struggling musicians care whether anyone dowloads their tunes? Is music or any other art a commodity to be bought and sold? Maybe it's just me wondering these things...wait, I know it's not. I try to avoid considering anything I do a commodity. To me this is acceptance of slave morality. I know I must work to earn money to buy food. That doesn't mean I'm going to accept someone else's price tag on my piece of shit concerto. Not realistic? "That sounds good...you could join a cover band. Write radio jingles." That to me is unrealistic. Art does not equal money.

This is the way the world was set up when I entered it. That doesn't mean it's the right way to do things. The idea of discussing figures is distasteful to me. And I don't think that has anything to do with the "market value" of anything I've done. I think most of my heros are of like mind. But how does one eat and still commit art?

Well, the rulers, elite, powermongers, what have you, have answered all of the above questions for us. They always seem to step in and take over new technology and use it for their own means, in whatever way they see fit. They always have. And why shouldn't they? They have the money to buy it, to pay for the research. And this is what I see happening to the internet. Two people used to be able to exchange their favorite songs online. Now that is illegal. Maybe it was always illegal, but it was never enforced. It's only gotten more illegal, and it's only going to get more illegal. Instead of a freeflowing exchange of ideas and art, the internet has become another shopping mall.

As computers begin to ressemble the human brain in both physical appearance and cognitive functioning, it will become necessary for the powers that be, the elite, etc., in order to maintain control and keep the royalties coming, to police our thoughts.

The only solution, as I see it, is the creation of an autonomous state out of reach of their reach. I don't know how to do this yet, so I'm going to go live in France. I have no hopes that things are going to be much better over there, but Europeans seem to have much better memories of social events, and they seem to get wise to the schemes of government a lot quicker than Americans do. I'm hoping to find an intelligent cynicism with the scent of roquefort.

A word on computers ressembling the human brain-

The human brain is the most powerful computing system yet known. I have a hunch/fantasy that one day programmers will look at the brain as a model to be emulated. As such, computers will become more "intelligent" than ever before. As the human brain is wet, squishy, and grey, I also have a hunch/fantasy that inorder to proceed with the development of the computer-as-modeled-after-the-human-brain, programmers will find it necessary to keep the computer moist, squishy and grey, for some reason...I don't fuckin' know.

Tom: I think I've entered into my existentialist phase.

Satan: Don't be absurd...

Tom: Existence is absurd. Pain is absurd. Without some synthetic concept of "god", these things don't mean anything. You are absurd. I am absurd. Freedom and responsibility are the source of man's dread.

Satan: Is that it?

Tom: It just feels right, okay?

Satan Which part in particular?

Tom: Existence preceding essence.

Satan: You really hate it when people tell you how to behave, don't you? Even if it's God.

Tom: I try to pattern my existence after those who seem truly vital. People who constantly learn and question things probably won't have the time or inclination to take an interest in MY sordid affairs, much less tell me how to conduct them. I hate criticism, especially of the "constructive" variety. At this point, God is kind of useless.

Satan: Say something in French.

Tom: L'être et le néant.

Satan: John Cage.

Tom: What?

Satan: "I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry."

Tom: Ohhhh, touché...you cocksucker.

Satan: Don't get personal, ass. What about that feminist thingy you wrote down today?

Tom: Oh yeah. I found out that a "feminine" cadence is one that ends on a "weak" beat. I admit that if I was a woman this would probably annoy the shit out of me just because it equates feminine with weak. However I'm not a woman. I am a man, and I don't like being told what to think, especially in a sneaky way like this. To me this woman-weak man-strong bullshit is the height of Aristotelian is/isn't subjectivity. It's fallacy all the way.

Satan: Surely you stated that a bit more eloquently in your notes.

Tom: You be the judge:

March 2004

The doctrine of partriarchal hierarchy /domination handed down to us represses men and women equally. It heards the male population towards the belief that women are weaker than men in all things. Males who oppose this doctrine have their manhood as well as their sanity called into question by its adherents, male and female. In accepting the doctrine of male superiority, as in donning a pair of someone else's glasses, a man's perception becomes blurred by the subjective notion that women are "weak" and men are "strong". When a man or a woman tries to force their observations into this constrained box, fallacies abound and insanity is assured.

Satan: Interesting, but do you think anyone will buy it?

Tom: I don't care, and I don't have to.

I lost a lot of money in Las Vegas. Happy Birthday Leah!

I would like to invite everyone to join me in celebrating the music of Daniel Rodriguez. He's an ex-cop who got famous singing patriotic songs in the wake of 9/11. My favorite album so far is "The Spirit of America". Lee Greenwood eat your heart out.