It's working

Howdy folks. I figured I'd throw out a brief message to let you all know about Ninny's latest adventure. Ninny has, somehow, begun trying to get just a tad healthier. With the help of one Danger(space)Kitty, Ninny has been going to Yoga. But that's not all. Ninny has also gone back to running (albeit not much) and even more recently, with the help of a DareBare Swears, lifting a weight or two. The end result......are you ready? Ninny has gained 6 pounds!!!! That's right boys and girls, Ninny is gaining weight again. So here's to the joy of work paying off.


Cheers!

The Quick Fix

So yes. This has been a bit of a trying day for 'ol Ninny. The sudden and horrifying demise of my beloved hairy lip has caused me loads of self doubt and lowered self esteem. I calm myself remembering that it's just hair, hair that's not retreating from my body (like other hairs that shall remain un-named (damned genetics))so it will grow back. Also, I discovered tonight, that though the pathetic femi-French gay mustache remains, it isn't as horrible with the addition of my trusty spectacles. I love my glasses anyway, and often kick myself for not wearing them more often. Well for the coming weeks, I doubt I shall go without. Here is a visage for those of you in mourning. Granted it's no substitute, but it will at least serve as a buffer until the old hairs grow back.



All I need is a cardigan and a malt, and I'm back in business.

In case you missed

In the case that you are one of the poor few who never had the opportunity to bask in the glory of my former mustache, here's a picture:



Admittedly that's not a fantastic picture, but still.... such a horrible loss. Really.

Mustache Massacre

Tragedy! Scandal! The worst has happened. I was trimming away at my lovingly cultivated mustache when.... wait for it....I FUCKED IT UP!

Then I tried to fix it and things got worse.
Yes.
Worse.
There was facial hair everywhere! I tried to stop it, but it kept falling!
Finally I had to stop the molting, before my whole face was bare.

Now I face (pardon the pun) the ultimate dilemma. Do I eliminate all traces of the once glorious face broom, or do I sculpt to a tenable hold over while the rest grows back?

I'll let you decide.

Here be the tragic results, prepare yourselves. It's truly horrifying.



Don't ostracize me for my atrocity.

Lump (don't bother reading this, it's more of a journal entry)

I fear it may have been months dear Ninny Spot readers. Oh don't act like I've betrayed you, those of you who take the time to read this only do so out of some bizarre mixture of semi-allegiance, pitty, and and so that the next time I see you, you can nod knowingly when I regurgitate whatever I write, not knowing that you are actually one of the 3.14 people who read this.
Tonight, aside from having difficulty with my shift key, I am Lump. Sad and lonely in a boggy marsh. I fear that this open schedule of mine is allowing me too much time in my head. I've been spending most of this time trying to keep myself busy with art projects and exploring the possibility of a far off career change (one that would require me to go back to school, again, and get another degree). These things were succeeding in keeping me distracted, succeeding, that is, until now.

Oddly, I've had company of some form or another for the last three evenings (including tonight). Monday Ms. Hosebeast came up to visit, yesterday I had my weekly Eureka fix with Master Danger(space)Kitty, and tonight Mr. Book Co. came and watched a movie. Yet now, I find myself in bed, tired nonetheless, knowing that I should sleep as, once again, I'm up past my bed time and will inevitably struggle to rouse myself in time to prepare for work tomorrow, yet wishing that I wasn't alone. I'm sure I'd not feel this way if I wasn't spending so much of my time wandering around inside my own head. You see when I do this, I tend to bore myself. I get wrapped up in circles, and the few people I talk to grow weary of hearing the same circular synapse sequences again and again and again. However, that's not the real root of my lumpishness.

This sad and lonely boggy marshness, has been drawn from a different sense of being alone. One I've been carefully maintaining for the last year and two thirds (yes I just did the math). I'm grasping at straws again, wishing I had some kind of partner. An intimate friend to hold, share ideas and make things with, someone to wake up next to. Yes. I'm lonely. It's odd though, for as lonely as I am, I have no desire to seek out a person to be with. At least I've learned that lesson in the past several years. If you look for it, it will elude. The only way it will rear its lovely head is if you're distracted looking for other things to do and think about. Perhaps this is one of the reasons I've been throwing myself into more creative and educational endeavors. Or perhaps I just have more time on my hands than I'm used to, and even the various projects I'm undertaking aren't enough to occupy my mind, so it reverts to its standard default. LAUL warning signs (Lonely And Ugly Loser feelings) are cropping up. I've been truly adventurous, on my own the last few days, exploring myself in new ways. Yet I still find myself wishing I could follow these explorations with someone else. Instead, I'm throwing it in faces, "LOOK WHAT I MADE!" As though my friends and acquaintances will print out my slightly illicit digital images and hang them on the refrigerator. "Did you know that Neutra believed that humanity and nature were one, not diametrically opposed as some previous architects thought? And that he strove to reflect this in his buildings?" Yes, these are the things that fall from my mouth when left to my own devices. But it's either that, or lie on my bed, wallowing in groundless self pitty, feeling lump. Sad and lonely in a boggy marsh, even though my life is full of wonderful people who tolerate my blabbering self.

People like you. For if you have actually read all the way to this point in this tedious posting, you are most definitely one of these people. Thanks to you all for listening/reading/nodding and smiling. It means a great deal to me (and yes, I'm not so clueless as to not notice when you're doing so, I just choose to pretend like you mean it. To me the fact that you're willing to put on the front, means that you are hearing the important parts of the conversation the parts that say "hi. I'm needing validation. You see my life is a series of pointless creations and futile queries, most of which go unanswered. So please. PLEASE. nod along with my babbling. Soon I'll leave you alone and you can go back to whatever it is you should be doing while nodding at me

When I win the lottery. It will be those of you who will nod for me that receive the greatest gift of all: a Peanut Butter Twix with a chocolate cookie center, and a five dollar gift certificate to Walmart. With this gift card I highly suggest you purchase for yourself the cheapest "My First Gun" you can find, and a few rounds of ammunition for it (you'll have to dip into your own pockets for that part). Carefully lift the barrel of the gun to your forehead, smile real big, so that when the rigamortis sets in you'll look presentable, and free yourself from this shit hole. Wait, then who will nod for me? Never mind, I'll just pay off all your debts and let you live in my artists commune for cheap. I only ask that occasionally you bring home a nice boy who will help me feel less lonely.

Blow shit up day

So Ninny finally got a new ride. It's black. It's shiny. It's still developing a name. So far it's being called Vladamir, however, that's not set in stone yet. Upon finally completing the acquisition process, Ninny grabbed his dear friend Diana, and headed north to visit the Dude, Davey, Kaili, and Sallykins for a blow-shit-up-day celebration. Young Master Vladamir handled splendidly up to Santa Cruz. Unfortunately, several insects lost their lives in the journey.

After our arrival in the hippie haven, Diana revealed her true colors as the god empress of Dune.

During a sunny afternoon of merriment. Ninny decided the time had come to make an homage to Ms. Drella Jones, with an amendment for other Ninnies in the world.


On our return trip, Diana and Ninny stopped in Castroville to visit the Giant Artichoke!


Suprisingly the Giant Artichoke is not only home to the ginormous leafy bud that goes so well with garlic butter, but also to a variety of oddly large fruit. Each of these fruit contains smaller, or shall I say, normal, sized fruit. Sometimes the baby fruit within are of a different variety of fruit, proving once again, that nature is not nearly as ridiculously prejudiced as humanity.



Ninny's final, and perhaps most delightful, discovery in the Giant Artichoke was this new truth. At the heart of every artichoke there lives a lobster wielding claw toy machine.



So the next time you go to eat your artichokes (which I highly recommend you do) take care when eating the heart. For therein lies a toy machine, that just might wield a stuffed lobster.

Undead and mustaches

My my what a weekend. Ninny and Danger(Space)Kitty ventured down to San Diego to play with our dear friends Drella, JP Satán, and Azure Die. On Friday we dawned our mustaches and ventured out to Ye olde Eagle. Oddly, Drella and Ninny appear to be somewhat pirate-ish Mr. Danger(space)Kitty showed us once again what gorgeous looks like. Perhaps it's just in our blood.




Apparently sometime in night on Friday we all died. Ninny regressed several years and then died. Luckily a kind group of ghouls resurrected us and brought us to the park to walk amongst our fellow living dead.






Sadly there are few good pictures of our various parings. Ms. Jones has some lovely pics on her blog here. You might also wish to peruse around on Myspace, as there are several pictures from the San Diego Zombie Walk there as well. With that, Ninny shall nap before the adventures of getting a new car begin.

Belated

The following were written on tiny slips of paper. Life was exceptionally rough at the time and I've been carting around these tiny chunks of mental vomit since. I have decided the time has come to dispose of the tiny blurbs. But first I thought I'd record them here.

There are times
There are times,
too numerous to count,
when I think to myself...
"I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Then a clear alto voice rings in.
It registers softly yet firmly,
somewhere between the past and the present.
"You'll take as much as it gives." It says.
"and you'll say thank you when it's finished."
And though I hate this.
Though each time I marvel at the pain,
the fatigue,
at the surreality of each instance,
I know she's right.
And each time I say thank you.
Even if it may sound more like fuck you.

Gone Wanting
I recently welcomed my dear friend into, what has become known as,"The year from hell."
We're going on our fifth year now, it's truly quite remarkable.
When the latest event added itself to the menagerie of catastrophes, I thought to myself, "again?"
So another home flooded.
Another period of wandering from place to place wishing that home felt like home.
The part that frightens me is the absence. It's like traveling. It's almost fun for a few days, sitting on floors, dressing from knapsacks, walking blocks to bathe, but then you reach a point when you think "hey, I want to go home now."
But home has become a myth. A concept glorious in its foundation, but transparent in its reality. Home is the place you go when you want to feel safe. But now, be it my ark, my friends apartment, or my childhood residence, home is a vacant edifice.
I have hands reaching out from far and wide. Offering whatever they can, and yet I feel more alone. As though no matter where I go, I'll still have an absence waiting.
Home has changed from a place to a feeling. It's an idea of security, not physical, but emotional, and there are few, if any (at the present) who represent it.
Family helps but hurts, friends know but don't quite understand, and the rest feed the dryness that stings your soul, reminding you that absence is a reality.
Inherent in existence.
Innate in its function.
Painful and painless.
A missing.
An abstract void.
A home gone wanting.

The Wombat Cricket Club Debacle

That's right folks, J-J-Jimbo Ninny is back. Wipe your eyes, unclasp your hands, and save the hallelujahs, I know my return was long awaited, but the speaking in tongues should really be reserved for holy occasions....on second thought... theoje jksoekcj djkliehk iahelvjahcikeok ahwoeijckwol ! aoiejr !!joiajw eoivjwoeifjo.

Praise Ninny. Holy holy. etc. etc.

So Ninny is back. But where has he been you ask? Well, usually I'd reserve answers to such questions for the Ninny Spot's sister blog, Ask Ninny, however, since you were so polite in your query, and since Ask Ninny refers one to this page for referencing the cause of his prolonged absence, I shall share with you the tale.

You see, I, J-J-Jimbo Ninny, have been on sabbatical. For those of you wondering what exactly a sabbatical is, please ask on Ask Ninny. Yes, Ninny has been abroad (no no, not a broad, abroad, Ninny does not do drag, though he does greatly appreciate the artistry of it). Ninny was sent away on a mission of diplomacy to help negotiate a bit of a feud amongst the Wombat Cricket Club of South Central Buttpumpusville.

This was supposed to be a short yet fruitful mission where our Ninny would strengthen his skills as a mediator while building new connections and friends amongst the Wombat community. Unfortunately, the conflict amongst the cricket aficionados in Buttpumpusville was thick with hostility and complication, and it required a full six months before either side was willing to consider compromising towards an agreement. You see the Wombat Cricket Club is comprised of two main factions and three hundred and twenty seven and a half smaller factions. Because of the rather small size of the club, the three hundred and twenty seven and a half smaller factions actually make up the majority of the club, each faction is an individual, the half being a conjoined twin that, though fully independent of his once attached sibling, never grew to full stature and is thusly considered a half of a person. Oddly, he truly is only half of a person and consequently has difficulty with depth perception, performing any dance that isn't the pogo, and clapping. I digress, the point is, the two main factions only consist of two people each, or in this case, two wombats, and two sentient enchiladas both named Alfred. Apparently the Wombats and the Alfred Enchiladas had already reached an agreement upon my arrival in Buttpumpusville, and were ready to set the season calendar so they could start planning their Tupperware parties.
The three hundred and twenty seven and a half other factions, however, were on the verge of all out war. Each of the smaller factions had a different issue they felt was of the utmost importance in settling before setting dates for the season and moving on with their lives. The actual Wombats and the Enchiladas' differences had revolved around the eating of cheese in the club, conveniently the Wombats are both allergic to cheese, and the Enchiladas being made of Cheese, had no desire to be eaten. As a result these two parties settled on not allowing the consumption of cheese quite quickly, and left the club to sell seal tight lidded plastic ware to housewives and domestically enabled, yet socially inept gay men. The remaining factions argued this point for quite a while. One of the factions, named Pierre, whom had recently moved to Buttpumpusville from Arles, and whom had been eying the Alfreds with a slight hint of drool, felt that banning the consumption of cheese was blasphemous, and touted it as being blatant prejudice against him for being of French descent. His voice, however, was quickly silenced, quite literally, by a freak accident involving a salad shooter and a drunken hedgehog from Auckland which I shall refrain from explaining at the moment, let's just let be said that neither Pierre nor the Hedgehog shall be returning to the Wombat Cricket Club anytime soon.

The remaining three hundred twenty five and a half factions each assaulted Ninny with a number of complaints ranging from whether it was proper to wear a hat tilted forty five degrees to the left on a Sunday, to the prohibition of two legged dancing and clapping on the field. In the end Ninny prevailed, setting inline a number of compromises such as the infamous one handed clapping agreement of April, and the grueling yet successful agreement to the wearing of hats at any angle regardless of the day, as long as said hat was not adorned with pink ribbon or a large fluffy bunny (the exception being the fourth Thursday of each month, whereupon the adorning of a hat with pink ribbon and a fluffy bunny is requisite to playing with the club).

Having settled all of these conflicts Ninny has returned to his new home with Frankus and Charley in Hollywood where he is happily settling back into the life of a Ninny. He shall be venturing forth for San Francisco on Friday for some gay frolicking, so please look for him there. Otherwise, might I suggest a trip to Buttpumpusville to watch some Wombats, enchiladas, and others play cricket? The season oficially begins on Sunday, at 3:31 and 30 seconds. All hats without pink bows and fluffy bunnies are welcome.

moving on

So the count down has begun. Mr. Ninny has reached the point in the school year where, aside from completing grades and cleaning up the room, his main objective is to keep the kids from killing themselves and count down days. As of now there are 6 (count them 6!) work days left in the school year. I can hardly wait. I believe baited breath is an appropriate term to go here.

Also, Ninny just received word that he will be working somewhere else quite soon. He will not need return to the hell he has endured for the past six months. That is something that truly calls for celebration. Some will occur this weekend, but a great deal more the following (that would be the weekend of the June 22nd for those of you checking calendars). Look for Ninny in San Francisco that weekend. He'll consider a new Ninny shirt to make him more identifiable, the old Ask Ninny shirt is starting to look a little worse for wear.

Hoy

Hoy es viernes. Estoy enfermo y poco cansado. Mi compañero de cuarto y yo somos vivir en nos apartamento de nuevo. Hay nos cosas en nos cuartos, y nosotros compramos camas nuevas.
Hey that's not bad for having barely completed Spanish one a couple of weeks ago. As near as I can tell, I believe that says: Today is Friday. I am sick and a little tired. My room mate and I are to live in our apartment again. Our things are in our rooms and we buy new beds. Which is all true. Last Wednesday we met with the property management lady (who was friendly and professional with a no-bullshit manner about her that I appreciate) and the manager of the carpet cleaning company (who was receptive to my concerns about the behavior of his employees). I also had the pleasure of dealing with my ill vehicle that day. The problem turned out to be the same she had recently endured meaning there was no charge for the repairs. Unfortunately, as Ninny's dear sister was driving poor fancy home, she discovered a new concern and notified me immediately. It seems that when driving Fancy one noticed that the alignment was off by a fair amount, there was a strange new grinding noise eminating from the rear left wheel, and when you went over small bumps the back end of the vehicle bobbed and swayed in a manner reminiscent of Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. One that made the driver suspect that the cars hind quarters were about to snap off and land in the street next to the wheels. It's a very disconcerting sensation to say the least. So little Fancy was taken to the doctor again. There she was inspected by the kind gentlemen who have taken such good care of her over the years. They informed Ninny that the problem lay in these little bars near the wheels called the Lateral Links. It seems there are control arms in there (two of them per wheel in fact) and they had been bent. There are two ways in which this can happen, one: wreck the car (Seeing as Ninny has not wrecked Fancy, that option was out) and two: someone strapped her down wrong (sadly, the kind man who towed little Fancy all the way to Long Beach from LA, who was friendly and patient with crappy traffic and whatnot, apparently strapped her down using these little rods). So now Ninny gets to work out the cost of these repairs (something he can't afford since he had to purchase a new bed from the flooding of his apartment without compensation from the management company)with the tow company, as it is their fault entirely that this damage to his little Fancy occurred. On Thursday, after picking up his new bed, Ninny awoke ill. An edgy and creeping illness swept through my body over Wednesday night, apparently egged on by my weakened immune system (that's referring the amount of stress I've been enduring, not any disease that would cause such). So Thursday was a no work day for Ninny. Then again, today, Ninny awoke in the middle of the night sweating with a split-head and a rasping cough (one that differs from the smoker's hack he usually endures) and the poor students of Ninny's class are out one teacher for yet another day.

On the brighter side of things. The mountain in the topics is now more of a mound in the living room. The heat and humidity of the apartment have all but disappeared, and most of our belongings are finding their ways back to their respective homes in our rooms. New beds have been purchased and soon, life in the lounge will return to its appropriate status. Ninny will have his vehicle back sooner or later, and there are only two work weeks left now until Ninny is permanently freed of the horror that has been his work. All-in-all things are looking a bit more positive.

And then...

My Fancy has betrayed me. She is infirmed. Resting outside of Danger(space)Kitty's residence awaiting the vehicle paramedics to whisk her down to the Doctor in Ye Olde Long Beach. Another exciting time for Mr. Ninny, you know, it's Sunday, and all I want to do is sleep more.

The sea and the means

My dearest friend wore me recently and, in light of recent trials in our lives, mentioned a desire to buy a boat and go out to sea, never to return.

I've been wishing to flee myself of late. I know this utter pull of escape. As though simply uprooting oneself and disappearing into the horizon could erase the pain. Unfortunately I see the past wherever I go. The future may be what pulls one forward, but the past is what ties one to the present. Knowing what's been makes what is more real. So in response to my friend's message I sent this.

"The sea is a barren desert of rocking and nausea. Sure it's filled with fertile and lush life but that's all beneath the surface; and though sparcity can be nice, it's also quite draining. Besides, the beauty of the world is in fact everywhere. If it wasn't, I'd be gone by now. The only thing that keeps me facing each day is the knowledge that there's something else out there that I'd like to see, witness, or do. I'd like to buy a motorcycle and drive it to the beach. I'd travel up the coast stopping at sea bluffs and forests. I'd visit all the cities and stroll up broad boulevards with tall buildings and masses of people living their lives. I'd tip-toe through tulips and sit beneath cedars. I'd smell salt, grass, and manure. I'd look to the sea and know that it's out there, but know that it stops at another land far away with different people and plants and bluffs and broad boulevards. Then I'd come back on my motorcycle and share my adventures with you, then hand you the keys and a camera and send you off on your own. I'd tell you to kiss Arcata for me."

And she would.

A mountain of crap in the tropics

The joyous adventure that is Ninny's existence continues with more excitement these days. Following a relative calm period where the only trials of life faced involved the constant barrage of insults, challenges, and spiteful remarks that Ninny's daytime alter-ego endures, came a new (yet sadly familiar) tribulation. As Ninny was flexing his culinary muscles last Wednesday evening, making a Spanish Tortilla to take to the final night of his Spanish class (that is: está haciendo una tortilla española para la clase ultima de español)a strange and eerie sound commenced in the apartment. Ninny, thinking firstly of his beloved tortilla, carefully pulled it from the stove and stashed it on the counter where it sat beautifully, waiting to be eaten. A quick inspection of the apartment located the source of this high pitched unearthly noise. The industrial fire system in the building had been activated. Tiny strobe lights flickered in the little boxes mounted in the ceiling to alert residents to the possible danger of being barbecued at home. A second inspection informed Ninny that his apartment was not on fire, in fact, the only unusual smell was the scrumptious odor of potatoes and onions cooked delectably amidst egg and garlic in the form of tortilla española. However, the sound and flickering continued, and then a new tone joined the me lee. A second and discordant sound had begun to sing with the original shrill howl. Ninny began to think perhaps he should do something quickly. No sooner had this thought dawned on Ninny when a pattering noise joined the cacophony of fire music. "Oh dear" thinks Ninny, "this really can't be good." A third rapid inspection tells Ninny that water has begun to fall from the ceiling. Now, Ninny is not a dim bulb, he knows (lots of things in fact, as represented on Ask Ninny) that ceilings do not produce rain. The water was, in fact, dripping from the fire sprinklers. It is important to note these sprinklers were not activated, no, the water was seeping from above the sprinklers. Ninny dashed and dotted, dodged and grabbed, placing pots, bowls, and whatever else he might find under these miniature waterfalls birthing in his residence. It was this moment when a knock on the door drew Ninny to the entry. A kind yet worried face greeted him as he opened the door. "Umm...it kind of smells like smoke and greese, and the fire department says we need to evacuate the building." Ninny thanked the nice girl for her warning and, taking a final look at his apartment, grabbing sunglasses, cigarettes, and coffee, evacuated his space, his tortilla still sitting on the counter.
An hour later, after four fire trucks and two cigarettes had come and gone, Ninny, now accompanied by his dear friend Dare, re-entered his apartment. Luckily, during the evacuation, the fire department and building managers had warned Ninny as to what to expect when he returned. It seems that Ninny's dwelling was directly below the source of the alarm. Which meant that all of the water produced in dealing with the concerning smoke and greese had meandered through the ceiling into his home. Ninny's living room and kitchen were mostly intact. A kind mustachioed fireman led him on a quick tour. The kitchen had puddles but the tortilla was fine. It was the hallway and bedrooms that had endured the worst. Ninny carefully trod his way down the marshy hall to his room mates quarters. A large garbage can had been placed in the middle of the room to try to catch water before it reached the floor, the carpets color changed from deep brown to beige about halfway into the room signifying what looked like the place where the water subsided. Turning to his right and entering his own room Ninny quivered. There, in his beloved sanctum, lay a new bog. The items that, in his haste to carry on with life, Ninny had left on the floor, were now dense with water, the floor pooled around him as he stepped, and on his bed sat another large garbage can (in actuality it was a laundry hamper with a garbage bag in it, those fireman are crafty folk)it was nearing half full of brown murky liquid. The bed itself was soaked. In the end, the back half of Ninny's apartment was emptied of all it's content (emptied into the front half)and a small army of Hispanic carpet steamers (who muttered judgments to of Ninny and his room mates sexual preferences to each other in Spanish as they worked, and no that is not a terracotta butt-plug, it's a Scandinavian garden gnome you sick fuck)peeled and pulled at the floor with tools, hands, and shop-vacs. The following two days left a hum of industrial fans and de-humidifiers whirring in the space.
Now it is Saturday. Ninny and his roommate remain homeless. The building managers decided to have a nice weekend in their safe dry homes without deigning to contact poor Ninny and room mate, or arrange for their accommodations. All of Ninny and his room mates belongings remain in a large pile in the center of their apartment, making movement within the dwelling near impossible. The fans and dehumidifiers are gone leaving a hot moist climate where an apartment should be. The new home of Ninny and Frankus is now a mere mountain of crap in the tropics.

quiero

I would like to run away with the circus. To find that which is eluding. To discover the means and way to a life less lacking. Unfortunately all I find is an absence. A void left from lives fulfilled, adjacent, yet peripheral to my own. At some point that which I'm familiar with will become unfamiliar. That which I desire forgotten. But for now I live in flux. Wishing for one thing while living another. The true United Statesian existence; that of wanting more while not appreciating what you have. When I awake I'll feel bitter. When I rise I'll feel pain. When I think I'll remember losses, and when I dream it will seem more real than actual life.

I wandered to to a hillside today. I sat and lay on the dry grass in the shade of a shrub. I scrawled spanish phrases on cards while gazing upon the scorched hills of Griffith Park. I thought not of loneliness or absence, I thought of beauty and comfort. I thought of solace and knowledge. For once I dreamt of sharing, not fear of missing, and was at peace. This moment was monumental. Sitting in the near shadow of Frank Lloyd Wright, staring blankly at the rolling grey of the city's northern border, wondering if I'll experience the joy of sharing such a moment with another. Yet there was no fear or sorrow in this moment.

This evening i cried. I sat on my couch and felt tears well. I allowed myself to wallow in my losses. I stumbled through memories of rose garderns and proud parents. I dreamed of warm nights with street lights for stars and clammy palms clasped in mine. I imagined tattooed stiches and suits made of flesh and wondered if mine was destined to be an existence of solitude.

Now I stand in the kitchen, dreading the dawn and sinking deeper into my dreams. I will escape into fantasies scribed by others and wait for next month to relieve me. I will write my own reality for a few fleeting hours and face the waking world with thick bags beneath my eyes and a bitter taste on the back of my tongue.

At least I'm aware of my illusions.

Tomorrow

It seems tomorrow is día de las madres. For some reason i wasn't expecting to have any problems in coping with this day. However, as tomorrow approaches it's baring down on me harder and harder. I've been fighting feelings of being cheated by time, of jealousy for friends who still have theirs, of intense nostalgia, and desires for a stronger memory. It's been thrust upon me unbeknownst to my consiousness and proving trying. In any event, the day will arrive and the memories won't stop and won't strengthen. But in honor of my mother I bring to/direct your attention to this image.

May your mothers' feel the love they deserve, and may mine, wherever she is, continue to feel that which she gave.

Wanted: clean hands

Since Mr. Ninny has been on sebatical as of late, I called him up and asked if I might borrow his blog for a posting. He kindly asented and here you have the words of one Charley, rather than Ninny. So sorry to dissapoint those of you who have been eagerly awaiting another meaningless ramble by one J-J-Jimbo Ninny. Ninny did tell me that he will be back with more tid-bits of disinterest someday, he's just not quite sure when he'll be done with the "Wombat Cricket Club," yet.

So here's the news from the Charles arena. Frankus, Ninny, and I have finally procured an apartment in LA. Yes, I'm officially becoming an Angeleno, as will be Ninny when he returns from sebatical. Our little box in a bigger box will provide us shelter from rain and sun, and is walking distance to things like metro, cheap beer, and LACC. All of which are great benefits to me.

That having been said, the less fun part of the last few weeks has been the final passing of Mom. The queen mother of all mothers, and one of the worlds greatest educators is finally at rest. She actually died almost two weeks ago now but the mourning process is long, arduous, and inconsistent. Her services were yesterday in Long Beach and were lovely. It's quite odd to think that I'm one parent down after having two for so many years. Even today my father and I are at a loss of what to do and find ourselves pacing the house. Ninny has recommended more drinking, and though my liver may protest, I shall follow Ninny's sage advice and imbibe even more alcohol this evening. Now if I can only find a way to smooth away this rough crawl on my skin and slip down into a safe space for some real rest. Human contact is proving to be a necessary thing, an act of intimacy can soothe most pains. But this pain is deep and forboding, and I suspect that all the alcohol and caressing in the world won't erase it. Then again, if I can lose myself in vices a bit more, the chasm in my consciousness may start to fill in and settle. Or at least, public works may notice it and decide to build a lovely bridge across it, achoring the two sides that are currently at odds.

At any rate, those are the main events of note most recently. New apartment with a good friend (yay!) lost a momma (boo).

Thanks to Ninny for allowing me to use his text-megaphone for some good old fashioned spewing. He's promised to forward on any questions or comments others may have for me (as well as to filter out all the shit that seems to fly at you in times of duress).

And not to worry, I suspect that the "Wombat Cricket Club" fiasco that Ninny has been wrapped up in recently will subside sooner or later, and you'll have your ninnyspot back before you know it, not to mention more answers on askninny as well.