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01/21/05 09:44:05 pm
Well, whatever is going on, my ftp issues are still not resolved. So these journal entries still go unpublished, for the time being. Still, is publishing them the point of writing them? Or is writing them itself the point? I think the latter.
Outside, snow is falling. It's coming down pretty hard. We're supposed to get about 8 to 10 inches by tomorrow evening. The rate it's going, I won't be surprised if we see more than that. I guess the luxury of living in an apartment is not having to shovel the drive way. The downside is still having to dig out my car.
A cold winter night, snow, music, and a book. I think I may do some reading when I get done with this. What are you listening to tonight? I was driving home this evening and the radio program I was listening to was playing Hawaiian music. It was oddly appropriate. The slow, soft ukulele conjures up images of palm trees, soft seas washing upon a sandy shore. Small huts with palm thatched roofs. Meanwhile, my windshield is caking with snow. My breath is fogging the windows while I am waiting for the heat to kick in. The contrast is somewhat comforting; a validation that I am alive, that I exist.
Isn't all of life full of contradictions? The seem to throw each other into relief, highlighting the beauty and the ugliness all around us.
Since I don't have any Hawaiian music at home, I am sipping tea and listening to Captain Beefheart. “Trout Mask Replica” to be exact. How's that for contradictions. The music is disharmonious, but at the same time it is poetic and eclectic. Like a feast of free-form jazz, deep blues, and bad rock, with a shot or two of coffee-house poetry sessions. Don't forget the fact that the Captain is, although named Beefheart, is a vegetarian.
Yeah, I know this site, this journal is supposed to be about Walter. I didn't forget that. In fact, I was just getting around to a point.
Walter is a contradiction. He's alive, but at the same time he's dead. Whatever he was, whoever he was, before we brought him back to life, no longer exists. It was a life that was over. But at the same time, he's alive. A new life. A new identity. Both history's in the same body, the same mind. But never meeting. Sort of like two books about the same historical figure sitting next to each other on a shelf in the library, but by two different authors. Each has their own style and flavor. The two stories have the same character, but have no other relationship.
I look out at the snow, flakes of frozen water tossing on the wind, slowly piling up in drifts. I am warm and indoors, and for that I am lucky. Granted, the room is a little lonely without Sundance. Still, even if I go outside, I can come back in whenever I like.
If Walter is still out there ( I really think that he must be), is he indoors. Is he in the snow? Did he get stuck by the snow and rain storms they just had out in California? Is he soon to be hit by the snow expected out east in the next day or so?