My alarm clock was set for 11:07. Sometime in the early morning another one went off. My mother's thunderous ranting filtered through the walls, a hurricane thrown against cardboard. She was letting Scott have it. It wasn't the automatic full-banshee higher octave mode, but you could feel it waiting in the rafters. I tried falling back asleep. It was pointless. Something young inside me twinged and gratted; another part felt pity. I overrode both. I turned on the air-conditioner port, hovering in an 'after-school special' moment before fading off.

All is quiet on the western front. The world is silent and the bodies lay unseen. Somehow the television and electricity still work. It's as if I played with ghosts only to wash them away with disbelief or time. Either way, I feel compelled to study after the protein and coffee take effect.

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In the equivalent of basic training for all branches of the United States military, there is a middle phase where recruits are built back up and encouraged, like coffee beans turned to ash and given realization that their dispossession tastes fucking great with hot water and cream.

I entered this phase of apprencticeship early friday. Dr. Zivago seemed pleased when I called him by his first name. His tone was chipper when I asked after his well being. When he spoke I did not feel like crawling into a hole..usually. We discussed one arrangement after another, one task falling away to some other: the mythical biohazard barrels our departmental conclave had, the biohazard bags, getting the Knock-U-Out-Good drug by navigating amazon forests of viney red tape, and of course going Bob Villa on our holding room restorations.

I learned how to open a can of paint. I starred at the contraption trying to guess where it could be blown off. I thought for a few minutes and then googled it, finding a short story on never ever using a man's chisel to do the deed but, instead, cranking it out with a screwdriver. I chose a flat head. It worked perfectly. Starring into the creamy white and undisturbed texture of that paint was breath-taking. I was convinced the face of a god/God was littered in every can of paint. I poured out the purity into a plaster roller tub and painted the corners of the holding room. Dr. Ziv saw it, corrected me, saw it again 15 minutes later and said it was good. He even complimented me on loosening the calcium deposits on the fossilized metal sink. I wasn't prepared for a compliment so I just nodded.

The at-home stuff was about the same: I went hiking down and up the 'O' shaped length of streets on our mountain (starting on the upper left side of the 'O'). I finished reviewing all the mathematics I'd need for the GRE, which I hopefully would only have to go over a second time to solidify. I remember cooking dinner, IMing online and watching a few History channel programs, Law and Order: SVU. Everything seemed about right--except I could have studied more, but then that's my usual attitude.

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I was useless to the world except for maybe plants as I stumbled into the kitchen. Mom smiled and waved me over, tempting me with green tea with clover honey. I sat down and watched a wonderful BBC documentary with her on the Java temple of Borobudur. It's the single largest Buddhist temple in the world, a 9th century creation that put any other architecture at the time to shame. The film tended to focus on the spiritualism as much as the archaeology.

It reminded me how much respect I have for Buddhism. In another country I think I could live quite happily as a Buddhist. The idea that one rejects all desire is appealing. Some argue that desire brings pleasure, but to me it is that passionate pleasure that creates so much conflict (obviously), in that passions grate and butt against one another in the waltz of a western world with two left feet. After all, if you wank yourself and blind or cripple some poor passer-by in the process, there isn't very much pleasure derived from the whole scenario now is there? I think this is why humans invented selfishness and New York City.

I'm digressing. I try to follow this core value--the core value--of Buddhism. It gives me a different sort of pleasure, a natural side effect, like an aftertaste. The pleasure from peace of mind is like water, where it possesses taste and you possess appreciation only when you desperately need to drink. I often forget this idea and become very angry at not being able to immediately understand a math problem, or the exact definition of a word, moreso when I don't focus enough and miss obvious shit. Fortunately I remember just enough so I don't become a complete tight-ass and crunch when I walk.

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My photography isn't enjoying a meteoric or even potent rise on DA, but at the moment I'm fine with that. There are bigger warships on the horizon than the HMS Ego. Here's my latest:

Conclave of Orbs

Description: I took this at 4am from a main street sidewalk/walkway. I saw this shot every time mom and I went to get coffee at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. I'd been waiting over a month to seize it. I finally did. It was finally complete, all without being bothered by security. One of the guys came out just as I was finishing the last shot. Much love to Fortuna for that one.

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