archivist

home-coming football game yesterday made sense only after leaving it and going to the Ace with Erica and Max, then Sally, Rick, Karen and the kids show up. Nothing like the Ace Hi Tavern in downtown Golden, Colorado. A certain type of energy vortex and situation that is an unbounded whole. I make some cultural video footage as I go along. Thinking of the future, but suddenly I realize that the archivist in me has bloody well documented all but a wipe of the ass (well, I guess that, too) of friends for 20 years long about now. I scan in negatives from around 1982 to 1986, there are many, why I scan them I do not know. Just to have them digital, have copies for posterity, whatever, but I have so little connection to things that I have aggressive sensibilities to just burn it all. go for the Taoist solution, the unruffled path, and the unwobbling pivot. bull shit! that’s what it all is, just a crock of shit. any kind of mediated action. like this here, dammit. Being immersed in a historical context, and seeing faces brought into juxtaposition in former ways, age vanishes, or becomes relative. I sit with a friend for an hour on a park bench in the sun, the waning sun. energy wanes, boredom sets in, I faced the consequences later. I am not ready for entanglements, I suppose confusion is the key factor to set alarms going. confusion. what the hell is happening. those whom I know, their lives are plateaus of flux, burning to varying degrees, slipping, engaged, floating, whatever metaphor of being one could want. the spectrum that spans from unsaturated living to saturated being, the range, the range floats. And I can hardly care anymore, did I ever? chant chant chant, come we go Chant Down Babylon one more time. if only.