Yeah, every time I move, I try to get the dross out of my life. If I don't count furniture, art, photos, books, I can get everything else in my sub-compact car!
Er, of course, this ignores my storage units in Fairfield and California! I hate it. But this last move went wonderfully in that I packed 100 boxes before the movers came, and zip! they were on the truck and outta there. Took weeks to do that packing and ZERO hours of rushed packing at the end. Actually just sat there and watched the truck being loaded -- not anything to do! And unpacking has gone well too -- most boxes emptied in only a couple weeks. Getting set up in the new place artistically is the hard-but-good part. I stand there and just gaze at a room and churn and churn about what could go where, and I fight the architecture's impositions, but the shape of one's digs can force so many choices that most of the aestetics are created by the accoutrements' placements. A vase here for something old, candles there for Shiva's vibe, a splash of throw pillows there with fresh flowers for immediacy, and of course, luscious plants floods the room with green radiance. It takes a ton of thought to get things nice and peaceful. Composition, composition, composition. A great bonding experience with one's partner to get things just right. As for music, well, I have not had a lot of music in my life for a couple decades. Don't even listen much on the radio while driving. Yet it still has it's power over me of course. Think soundracks in films. I'm thinking I'll buy a nice keyboard and once I get my chops back, I'll start composing again. Used to be purdy good. Things change, and things return later like a cat gone for months. For all my life I was a pack rat, and finally, I got the clean-it-all-out bug, I really dumped a ton. My last move from FF to Cali, I dumped all my furniture, all of it. Was really nice to just start from scratch in the New World. But what a burden to drag all this stuff behind one like a ball and chain. Once, I was down to a full backpack -- was going to live in a tent on Maui. Then that fellow from India said I could be happy in the material world, 200% etc., and I was a dead duck. Never got to Maui. Went to Majorca instead, and the rest is history. But it kept me off drugs and had me believing I was a do-gooder of the first order for decades, and I don't think Maui would have had that influence on me. Then there's one's pack-ratting of chores undone. I have a phone, a camera, a microwave, a voice recorder, a bedside clock, computers up the yang, and I have yet to take a tutorial out for any of it, and I can't run any of them very well at all. If I happened upon a crime scene, it'd be all over before I figured out how to take video of it with my phone. I hate that. Talk about a backlog. I don't dare get an iPhone. Now, movies, I'm up on movies. On the small screen, Netflix is losing money on me. Latest big screen thrill: Stardust. If you don't love Stardust, you're not human. It's a mythos wrapped in an adventure in a metaphor for the human nervous system -- with such a deep love of human nature in all it's spectrum. Magical, of course, inspirational, in spades, and it just has to be seen on the big screen first. What a wallop I got from it. In fact, today, I'm going to see Stardust again. And man, the trailers I saw two days ago have some incredible films coming out -- can't hardly wait. It's like I'm astrally projected into whole worlds. Better than traveling in the real world in many respects. I've been to 16 countries, and for $8, I get a thrill none of them ever gave me. Oh, yeah, who doesn't transcend peering down into Yosemite Valley from Glacier Point, who doesn't swoon while looking up inside St. Peter's, who doesn't want to stand at the base of the world's largest Buddha statue, etc. etc., but the travail of getting to these moments is thousands of times harder than getting to my local theater. Then there's a special music sung by me when I'm "riding the beast." If one mood-makes a bit that one's body is, well, a horse of sorts that one rides within instead of astride, it can be quite the new language to explore. Phihhh on any immersive video game, ain't nothing like riding the beast!!! I'm an animal loose and free. Trikking taught me this love of the "sense of body" in time and space. Gotta run -- Stardust! Edg I posted a couple new trikking vids: http://youtube.com/profile?user=TrikkeGuy --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, TurquoiseB <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > If you're anything like me, the music system is > pretty much the last thing to be packed. It *takes* > music to get through packing up all of your shit, > and rediscovering how much of it owns you. > > I'm finding that the Grateful Dead's "Without A Net" > works just great. Recorded live, no retakes. It's > very we-had-to-get-it-right-the-first-time-and-we- > think-we-did-and-that-you'll-find-it-danceable music, > and tends to keep a spring in the step when your back > is saying, "Stop this silliness...you're OLD, > ferchrissakes." > > Some very sweet solos by Jerry, too, especially on > this album's version of "Cassidy," one of my all-time > favorites. Garcia, whatever his excesses, could get > really OUT there, and if you tuned in, he could take > you with him to those further shores. He still can. > > My rule for packing is the same for this move as it > has been for all the others I've made in my life. If > I haven't touched it *since* the last move, I'm prob- > ably never going to, so out it goes. In Sauve, all > you have to do is take the stuff you no longer want > and put it on the ledge outside Fouzia's Moroccan > épicierie, and it'll be gone within half an hour. > And someone will be *using* it, and *enjoying* it, > whatever it is. It's like reincarnation, only with > objects, not souls. Then again, maybe my turntable > had a soul...who knows...all I know is that I never > plugged it in to the sound system while I lived > here, so I am in all likelihood never going to any- > where I live. So it now lives with a very excited > young French boy, who snatched it up off the ledge > before I was ten meters away. He had a big smile on > his face, and seeing it, so did I. > > Just hit the Back button to replay "Cassidy." Twice. > It's a nice song to listen to when getting ready to > make a big move. I met Neal Cassady once, and if my > brief encounter was any measure, he was far more out > there than Kerouac portrayed him as Dean Moriarty. > And the lyrics by John Perry Barlow never fail to > inspire me and get me looking forward to being On > The Road myself. It's a lovely "goodbye song," one > that reminds me of the bittersweet taste of goodbyes, > but also of the somalike taste of new hellos. > > > I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream. > I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream. > Ah, child of countless trees. > Ah, child of boundless seas. > What you are, what you're meant to be > Speaks his name, though you were born to me, > Born to me, > Cassidy... > > Lost now on the country miles in his Cadillac. > I can tell by the way you smile he's rolling back. > Come wash the nighttime clean, > Come grow this scorched ground green, > Blow the horn, tap the tambourine > Close the gap of the dark years in between > You and me, > Cassidy... > > Quick beats in an icy heart. > catch-colt draws a coffin cart. > There he goes now, here she starts: > Hear her cry. > Flight of the seabirds, scattered like lost words > Wheel to the storm and fly. > > Fare thee well now. > Let your life proceed by its own design. > Nothing to tell now. > Let the words be yours, I'm done with mine. > Fare thee well now. > Let your life proceed by its own design. > Nothing to tell now. > Let the words be yours, I'm done with mine. >
