Archive for May, 2013

portrait of the neurotic as a not-so-young man

Posted in Uncategorized on May 18, 2013 by darryl zero

The need punched me in the gut, sitting on the metal bench in front of a co-op in Iowa City, talking to a stranger over farmer’s market breakfast about the world and my place in it–it’s time to go.

The wanderlust has returned, vision blocked solely by my momentary obligations, waiting only for me to actually take the plunge.

I feel ready, even if I know it’s at odds with some other things I have going on.  Fuck it.  Vitality may be forever (or, at least, as long as you can sustain it), but youth is in short supply, and I’m just about out of it.

just to clear something up…

Posted in Uncategorized on May 15, 2013 by darryl zero

i’m reticent to say where i am and what i’m doing at the moment, not because i’m doing anything wrong or bad, but it’s complicated, and all you need to know is that i am not at home, and i’m currently sitting up, very awake, and very much wishing i were elsewhere, a specific elsewhere and with a specific someone, but since that’s not possible i’m either here or at home, and i was given the impression my presence was necessary, so here i am.

in the wake of my computer being jacked, the presence and goodwill of my friends has proven as supportive as it has been unexpected.

there’s so much to mention here, so much about friendship and presence and what it means, but i don’t want to get into that right now, mostly because i don’t have much time.

just know that some things actually don’t ever change. and one would be a fool to expect anything else.

if you are out there, in a dream, maybe, and you find me, know that if you write me, i will write you, and if you are just as afraid as i am, hit me up and maybe we can be the guiding light for one another.

an observation from my mom’s front porch.

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on May 5, 2013 by darryl zero

I’m waiting for my popcorn popper to cool off, having roasted a half-week’s worth of Ethiopian Harrar and getting ready to turn some Tanzanian Peaberry into some yummy yummy ish.

I have no clue where this need to have such control over my coffee came from.  I never felt the urge in Portland (not with Stumptown within a decent walk), even though I probably could have saved myself a decent chunk of change.  I didn’t even feel the need when I moved back to Iowa–coffee here sucks, for sure, but there was always something passable nearby that I could suffer through.  Although I suppose the pretty penny I paid was the clincher–getting decent coffee in Des Moines is tricky, especially considering how everyone here likes their coffee fucking scorched, Starbucks-style.

Yeah, I guess it was the money what made my mind up.

Like most things I get into, I’ve really gotten the fuck into home-roasting; each bean gets its day in the sun, although I have to say the African beans tickle me the most.  With apologies to my Colombian heads, give me an Ethiopian bean whenever.

The funny thing is that, now that I roast my own coffee and french press it, I don’t get crazy withdrawal headaches when I, say, don’t want to drink coffee on a given day.  I notice it (lethargy, mostly, although it’s more apathy than lethargy), for sure, but it doesn’t…suck.

It could all just be placebo, mind-over-matter type ish, too.  Who knows?

8:14 (91)

Posted in eight fourteen with tags on May 2, 2013 by darryl zero

Some odd months ago (September, gods–it was back in September, and I’m closer to the anniversary of it than I am to the actual moment), I sat down on a bench on the edge of the Boston Common next to a beautiful girl with enormous glasses and a troubled look on her face.  She had a Marimekko bag, and I asked her if she’d gotten it in Boston, and whether or not there was a store in town.  We’ve been friends ever since, and I make a point to think about her at least once a day.

In most ways, she’s nothing like me–we’re from different socioeconomic statuses, different educational backgrounds, different types of families, we espouse different (albeit somewhat more convergent than anyone realizes) interpretations of the space-between-spaces, we approach life from different perspectives–and yet, in other ways, we’re exactly alike.  We both feel in extreme ways, wielding our emotions in a powerful sense, radiating and projecting it across time and space and, occasionally, the internet, sending jets of our own imagination shooting across information and other pathways.  She’s become very dear to me in such a short time, in that way that people do when you want to know them and want to keep them close to you, and it all started when I asked a girl on a bench about her bag.

Meeting people is easy.  I’ve always been good at it; fortunately for me, I’ve been blessed enough to meet some downright fun, interesting, respectable people, but also because I’ve always felt and functioned better when I had some kind of interpersonal context–that is, when I know there are people around sharing the same experience, that you-are-there-and-I-am-there-and-isn’t-this-nuts thing that I think is very much an Iowa thing.  Most of the time when it happens, people tend to shrug it off (at least, outside my home state), give a token response and carry on with whatever special thing they’ve got going on in that moment.  But sometimes, you get someone that actually shares that part of the experience, and you can see it in their face when they look at you that they realize they are there, and that you are where you are, and that it is pretty awesome and crazy and wonderful and beautiful to be there.

I can’t explain it, and I darn sure can’t say that’s what I thought I was getting into when I spoke to her, but I’m glad that’s what I got when I talked to that girl on that bench in Boston.  I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I have the best friends anyone could ask for, and I don’t deserve any of them, but I’m glad I have them.

Time’s up.