The Edge of Everything Else

In Marblehead this evening. It's August, but it could easily be a not-so-chilly October. Lisa is running a little late for our first meal at a quaint little dockside pub called Barnicles (name makes sense, right?), so I've ventured down to a small pebble beach nearby.
It's almost completely high-tide, but there are a few dry rocks left for me to sit on. This allows for a serene panorama of hundreds of ships in the bay. Across, the coastline lit with tiny lights that almost look like candles and, beyond, the ocean...indigo at the horizon. For some reason, the thin, unmanned lighthouse at bays end has a green light on top. Irish? My thoughts move on...

I may have found a new favorite place to be.

At the end of the beach is a private walkway leading up to a hill with a single, massive tree. Not sue what kind...a wide-branched dome of oak-like leaves. Looks like there's a plaque near the cliff. I'll have to investigate later.

Then there's that sound...light breeze mingling with the hypnotic waves...an occasional bell in the distance.

One of these days, I'm going to swipe one of these boats and go exploring...something tells me every day is almost one of those days...
__________________________________
M.M.
http://www.somewhereinouterspace.com

Storefront solace

Ahhh...sushi corner. Nestled in a tiny of melrose. One of the reasons we moved here...that, and the bookstore that closed a month after we moved in. Alas...
I love the charm and comfort of a storefront. I miss having friends in town that owned stores. Like a little citadel of commerce to use as a temporary respite. That, and you just can't beat the guilt-tinted discounts...alas...

Kevin smith has his comic store in new jersey. Sometimes it seems as though his entire career trajectory was beelining toward comic-store ownership. I think I can relate (although I probably reached my ceiling of pompous fanboy-tolerance a while ago. They really nailed it on the Simpsons...)

To sum up (my sushi is here):
Ideal=small theatre/bookstore/coffee shop

To the future!
Q
__________________________________
M.M.
http://www.somewhereinouterspace.com

Hazy Shade of Summer

It's funny how getting things done can bum me out.

I've been pretty productive (in an essentially non-creative way) this past week, getting some mundane tasks out of the way.  I've found myself a bit in the doldrums.  Not sleeping well, unfocused in thought (those same 3 or 4 songs keep repeating in my head...), given to staring at the sky in the grips of faint existential day-dreaming...

Last night I slept for about 1.5 hours, and now I'm at work typing this...slowly...

I knew this morning that I would be hard-pressed to function at 100% today after returning to the house 3 times to retrieve items I needed.  I feel like I'm not making strong eye contact with people today as well.  I shouldn't be out today.  It's like waking the kids up at midnight to go shopping.

 

Of course, I know the source of all this.  I have all these stories and half-completed scripts bouncing around, trying to get out.  Gotta uncork soon.

Fuzzy Logic

I've noticed lately that awareness seems to get encumbered by the weight of things. It seems like fragments of past experiences, dreams half-remembered, echoes of media broadcasts...they all seem to swirl and nest in my present-time consciousness.
It's difficult to gauge or categorize the state this leaves me in...Mentally fatigued? Maybe. Only partially awake? Who knows...It all sounds like a potentially dangerous way to live (or, at least, a recipe for mortality regret. "I could have done SO much more with my time...")
I guess I'm concerned about that fear we probably all harbor...The fear that we're dreaming more than doing. SO many things to peel and mine from my subconscious...So many floating projects with dubious futures...
Anyway...
Certain things seem to pull me out of this self-imposed incubation. Certain tactile feelings...Certain moments...
The night sky as I float in a pool
The feel of the grass in front of Nana's gravestone on my fingers
The smell of a freshly cleaned towel

All part of the ongoing investigation that is my life, I suppose. At least, this time, I had the wherewithal to write it down.