There's a notion people have, have been taught, that they must look out for their safety at all times. Never let down their guard. Never miss a beat or slip up. And safety first: watch out for numero uno and thats good. I believe that. I do think that its healthy to meet ones own needs before trying to provide for others. But with that notion, has come an assumption that forgiveness is bad. That, by forgiving someone, you must compromise yourself. Compromising your own morals. And that, I dont agree with. And I think its okay to compromise ones own morals here and there. Relax. Stop trying to maintain yourself. Keeping this steady image of who you think you are: as something in your control that you can hold onto and rely on no matter what else happens. But I think thats the thing that must be most flexible. Staying true to oneself is not necessarily staying constant. People change. So dont limit yourself and restrain yourself by trying to stay true and constant to an image you want to maintain. Thats as superficial and out of touch as it gets.

I went to church with Seth one night and I think it backfired

God, for Seth, is an unsinkable tanker built up in the water that will stay afloat through the storms and that mutes all the waves and cold.
I have no protective tanker and Seth knows that. But what he doesnt know is that he doesnt have to look down on me, swimming in the water along side him and throw me a vest and pull me up into safety and sweet salvation. Not only does he not have to, I refuse it because- as easy as that would make things- I dont want anything to be muted for me. I want to feel every rise and fall and Im saturated and my skin is pruned but thats how I like it.
I dont need the horizon line to be off in the distance so I always will have something unattainable to grasp at. Im there, I set the horizon for myself and its not just a pretty view. Beauty for me, is not just beautiful because its bizarre, other wordly and unattainable. The reason why its beautiful is because when the sun sets, it comes down right on me and crushes me into the ground and I burst into orange light and pink rays and purple shadows and when it rises in the morning, it pushes me up with it, balancing and Im part of the sky. I can see clearly the whole sky looking up and the whole world looking down and it pushes me through the clouds for that moment. Im part of it all, not just watching from the shore. And I can feel every part of it and I wouldnt give that up for anything. I would never give that up for security and stability.

A forest cant always flourish and be lush and healthy. Every once in a while, theres a forest fire. And that forest fire has to happen. And then theres rotting wood and ash and that feeds the things that eat that stuff and strengthens the soil so it will be fertile for the next generation of trees and plants.
In Boulder, the hundred year flood is due. The local newspaper has mapped out flood plains and given advice on what to do when the flood happens, Y2K, 20/12. What if the flood happens, and we get out of the way and let it happen and then carry on? I used to be afraid of earthquakes, growing up in LA. The thing that cured me of my fear was when it occured to me that, without infrastructure (building freeway onramps, stacking people on top of each other in high rise apartements so there are four layers of beds and cabinets on a shoddy short-sighted foundation, just to tempt something to come and knock it all down), earthquakes would be no problem at all. Nobody would ever die from an earthquake! again!
All of this, all of these "natural disasters" are no big deal. Its fine. And people die and friends are lost and opportunities are passed by and its all okay.
Religion (providing that unsinkable tanker for people to hop onto when really, theyve just got to swim) is halting and limiting our evolution just as vaccinations are promoting an unnatural health, a fake immune system that can fight off the little guys just by forcing them to evolve into huge killers. And hell, its the same with the economy. Now, I know nothing about the economy but I do know that theres a boom and bust situation here, and its got to be the same thing.
Its time to let go

Boulder's Cafes

--I realized, reading over this, that is sounds really bitter. I didnt intend for that. I see most of these things as just funny and amusing. Quirky enough to put into writing. Hope it didnt come off too bitter.--

Baxter's favorite Boulder cafe is the Cup. Danny likes the Tea Box. Helen goes to Espressoria. My former English teacher can always be found with a laptop and a stack of papers in a manila envelope at the Bookend Cafe. Seth and Daniel call me to come join them at the Trident.

The Trident is probably my favorite too. You can always expect to see the same people at the Trident. Some go there for the indy hipster atmosphere, some to study. Some for the chess boards and backgammon- one of whom is the terrifying Israeli-Romanian Alex, who makes persistent eye contact and speaks in a thick undistinquishable accent. He looks like the kind of person who you would see at one in the morning, drunk, brass knuckles in pocket, looking for a fight to pick or a girl to rob. Im telling you, he's scary looking. Bald, stocky, dismissively flaunting muscle tees, gold chains and rings. But he wouldn't hurt anyone. If he's ever wandering dark allys late at night, he's just looking for someone to discuss developmental phychology with and to beat in backgammon. And oh my god he will. He knows more strategy that I thought was possible in a game made of cork triangles and stone discs.

Samuel's another psychologist I met at the Trident. He hangs around, petting and adjusting his flowing sandy 80's rocker hair, pouting his lips, making skittish eye contact with girls, hoping they'll be impressed by his highlit copy of the DSM-IV and the pot of tea on his table that maybe makes him look sensitive and in touch with... you know, horoscopes, yoga, feelings, all that crap. But no. He just wants someone to watch him from across the room, to partake in his impossible, tempestuous, star-crossed romance. He's a 28 year old man but is in all ways a 16 year old girl. I know this because one day, I went over and talked to him. He was reading The Sun Also Rises, one of my favorite books, and I noticed the little skittish eyes he had been making at me. I was brain-numbed from studying and felt like bursting his little self-indulged bubble of unilateral romantic tension, so I leaned over my table and invited him for a game of boggle. He killed at boggle so naturally I was impressed. But those were the only points he earned in my book. Literally, everything he said was a turn off, from his humble recounting of elicit, dramatic sexual escapades, to his shitty poetry and the invitation for a day of meditation and rock-climbing with him. No way would I go out of city limits with someone who lives so much in their head, could convince themselves of whatever truths favored them, and who didnt mind being suggestive with a 17 year old girl.
"I guess it would be illegal for anything to happen between us, huh."
It must have given him chills saying that. The situation was perfectly unattainable and I'm sure the word "illegal" complemented my eyes and made him squirm and smirk.
"Yes sir it would. Anyway, I have to study so Im leaving bye."

And then there was Spencer, the English major who's impressive ability to whip out of his bag whatever author or poet was mentioned, increased my visitation of the Trident in hopes of bumping into him, until I realized he was a one-act show. I like my guys multi-faceted. Also he straight-up sucked at boggle. Beautiful, though. He looked like a Greek God. A chisled statue of bold features, dark hair and black eyes. I never found out where he was from. But his personality was a bit too much like the stoic, severe statue of his demeanor so I branched out from the Trident to see what else Boulder had to offer.

Now Im at the Laughing Goat. Same cozy space with makeshift furniture but with less Naropa graduates reminiscing over charity drives, meditation workshops, astrology and the power of Soy. Here, people are concious of their volume, showing an initiative other than impressing the table next to theirs', bolstering their failing egos based on disillusioned self-righteous supremacy.

Okay, there's one problem with the Laughing Goat. The only thing in their glass case that wouldn't exacerbate my annoyingly persistant sore throat was a wedge of quiche smaller than my fist. (I have fairly small hands too.)

This quiche is made of egg-flavored rubber. I should have just gotten an italian soda. It's hard to go wrong with an italian soda.