I wonder if it’s wrong to reject someone if you don’t find them funny. One consistent judgement I have towards others is weather or not their sense of humor matches mine, especially if they seem underwhelmed by the inane and often lewd, sometimes non sequitur instances and thoughts I am dazzled by. I have been really digging life lately, feeling remarkably well-adjusted and capable in every way. I feel physically strong, I feel mentally flexible and emotional independent. On of the effects of this seems to be that I am able to more rationally evaluate friendship, relationships and situations for what they are and ponder them rather pragmatically. So, it led me to wonder if it was wrong of me to partially denounce someone who did not find one of my lewd insanities funny. Really, it just means that they are not as humorous as I thought them to be.
I have been doing lots of thinking this week about openness. That is one of the reasons I enjoy writing in a blog. It’s kind of like a journal but I find that I can write in a more crystallized and concise fashion if there is the slightest chance that someone will read it. And I think it’s kind of cool that I can attempt to be open about my thoughts. I think it is exponentially more exciting to have an actual conversation with a real person, but I am enamoured by written words and I like it when I have a place to practice writing and sometimes receive feedback.
I have been working on a couple of new projects. One of them involves what happens when I go running. My mind becomes very clear and whereas in a normal train of thought the individual items seem rather layered, when I am running everything is separate and specific. While I am running, I try and run for a few minutes, then recall my train of thought, then run for a few minutes, then once again recall my train of thought adding the thoughts on as I go. It’s somewhat like an additive choreography or music score. My run on Friday night went something like this:
Running though the west side of Dolores park around early dusk;
“Wow, I love this city. The view of the city is beautiful and I wish that it was feasible to stay here. I am free of Michael and independent. (I have never felt so independent in my adult life).”
Down the hill passing a man in his 30’s and viewing him as I approach his back and then pass a college-co-ed-type girl;
“Release his pecs, do active tricep release, and activate his serratus anterior and his infraspinatus. Tha’d fix him right up.” This was the point when I realized how ridiculously much I have been working lately.
Turning left and going across Church Street on 18th;
“Wow, that big truck is coming suspiciously close to me. I might get hit but that’s alright cause life is good and I have lived it well. It’s amazing how scared I am of cars when I am in one and how I don’t mind skirting death and injury when I opnly have my own little body to maneuver around.”
Up 18th;
“That’s a cute Australian Sheppard puppy. There’s the tea lounge where I took Mom and Okito. There’s Hazel’s old house.” (followed by random thoughts about going to her birthday party after the tech rehearsal in May for Pavlova and what Michael said about seeing the performance of Pavlova where I started out naked on the floor in the big concert hall)
Going south on Castro St;
Thoughts about the fancy stores, people out and dressed dumb on a Friday night, a shoe store called “De la sole”. That’s stupid.
Continuing up Castro;
“Wow, there is an inordinate number of bald shiny-headed males who have very tense necks and jaws.” (Random thoughts about jaw release in regards to fellatio and how to keep necks and jaws happy for oral sex in general.)
Running east on 19th St I pass two bald shiny-headed men holding hands. I smile at them and they don’t even pretend to return my greeting. I wonder if it’s because their jaws are too tense and painful. That can definitely make it more difficult to smile. Directly after that I pass a girl wearing uncomfortable-looking fancy clothes and high-heels. She is walking down a hill and the high heels make her look (in my humble opinion) stupid. I think about what high heels do to the feet/legs and the deep-back line of the body (a reference to connective tissues and how they affect one another).
I run down the other side of the hill and notice that I feel my serratus anterior engage as my arms swing. That is exciting to me. Continuing down the hill back towards Church St., I think about how I did the most romantic things possible and they were thrown away (last year). I wonder if that’s why I shy away from being romantic now, even though I want to. Then across Church and back into the park, I am running along the MUNI train tracks I wonder if I am being held at arms length for a reason? Then I notice the two girls on a bench who were sitting and drinking beer when I ran by before. I am at the top of the park now, the part with the best view and the sky is purple-pink and wispy over the city. A few feet down I see 3 men collecting their blanket and other picnic items. They are all mid-20’s, carefully groomed so as to look casual (but it’s obvious that they spend too much time worrying about weather or not they look like that fantastic j-crew ad, and possibly about their penis size and about weather or not they are masculine enough to make the ladies swoon. I run by in a tank top and knee-length tight stripped pants (which are something I would not normally run in but were the only thing I had with me today) and they lasciviously look my flushed, sweaty body up and down. They smile at me and I politely smile back. I probably made all of the assumptions about their appearances and insecurities as they checked me out.
I turn right and run up the west side of Dolores. As I run up the hill, I think “just keep going up” and it makes me progress more efficiently. Then I imagine that my spine is being in traction and it makes me feel longer and more effectively aligned.
I turn left and cross Dolores to run east on 20th. I am caressed by a warm wind that is quite pleasing. I see the building in the distance some 5 blocks down that has “Bethany” written all down the side in enormous letters. I like having my name down the side of a building because I like my name. I used to live very near that building. (Random thoughts and sadness about that apartment). Then I turn right a block later to run south on Guerrero st. I am running downhill and think of looking into a pair of blue eyes attached to a head of curly hair. Then I see a man standing on the sidewalk next to many plastic shopping bags. One of them proclaims by it’s lettering that it came from “El Corte Ingles” El Corte Ingles is a chain department/grocery store in Spain. I went there a few days before my 25th birthday and then 2 days after my 25th birthday when I was still hung over (worst hang over I’ve ever weathered.) The first time I went to El Corte Ingles I bought a randon assortment of groceries; cheese, bread, cucumbers carrots and tomatoes, goat’s-milk-kefir, honey, musli etc. The second time I bought a jump rope. After musing about Spanish shopping expeditions I get annoyed with the fucking song that comes on and change the music back to Opeth/Isis/Manowar…a veritable plethora of auditory pleasures.