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A Bee in My Bonnet

Name:
Mudface
Birthdate:
2 March 1979
Website:
External Services:
Schools:
Fixations, a.k.a. what I ramble on about:

Health: Nutrition and Exercise (Yoga, Running, Hopping up and down and disturbing the neighbors)
Love: Storge, Eros, Agape, Philia
Movies and Books and occasionally music
Teaching
Maui and Adventuring
Philosophy
Girly Insecurities
Random Shit I See on the Internet




I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.

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Born: Minneapolis, MN USA
Grew up: Apple Valley, MN USA
School: Menomonie, WI USA; Eau Claire, WI USA; Toulon, France; La Rochelle, France
Lived and worked: New York, NY USA; Auckland, New Zealand; Christchurch, New Zealand; Nagasaki, Japan; Saigon, Vietnam; Bogotá, Colombia
Stopped at a few places along the way
Currently getting comfy in: Makawao, Maui, Hawaii

I keep this journal because:

:it helps me remember my life more fully and completely than photos.
:it illustrates quite effectively that everything--the good and the bad--gets buried under new days. Life is constantly changing.
:things once articulated often feel more manageable.
:I like to exercise my writing daily.
:I like having access to a network of friends who lead various and exciting lives--I like peeking in on them, offering help when I have it to give, and asking questions when I need them answered.
:I live as an expat, and move around quite a bit, so it allows my close friends and family to check in on me.

I write public, friends-only, and private entries. I have been keeping this journal since April 2003 (and keeping paper journals more or less all my life), but I friends-lock every public entry after it's no longer recent.






All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!

--Hafiz


What am I giving you? I am giving you nothing. I am giving you things that God knows, everyone knows...It seems like you know something, but you still know nothing. I tell you and it evaporates. I don't care--how could I care? I tell you how many people I have slept with (thirty-two) or how my parents left this world, and what have I really given you? Nothing. I can tell you the names of my friends, their phone numbers, but what do you have? You have nothing. They all granted permission. Why is that? Because you have nothing, you have some phone numbers. It seems precious for one, two seconds. You have what I can afford to give. You are a panhandler, begging for anything, and I am the man walking briskly by, tossing a quarter or so into your paper cup. I can afford to give you this. This does not break me. I give you virtually everything I have. I give you all the best things I have, and while these things are things that I like, memories that I treasure, good or bad, like the pictures of my family on my walls I can show them to you without diminishing them. I can afford to give you everything. We gasp at the wretches on afternoon shows who reveal their hideous secrets in front of millions of similarly wretched viewers, and yet . . . what have we taken from them, what have they given us? Nothing. We know that Janine had sex with her daughter's boyfriend, but . . . then what? We will die and we will have protected . . . what? Protected from all the world that, what, we do this or that, that our arms have made these movements and our mouths these sounds? Please. We feel that to reveal embarrassing or private things, like, say, masturbatory habits (for me, about once a day, usually in the shower), we have given someone something that, like a primitive person fearing that a photographer will steal his soul, we identify our secrets, our pasts and their blotches, with our identity, that revealing our habits or losses or deeds somehow makes one less of oneself. But it's just the opposite, more is more is more--more bleeding, more giving. These things, details, stories, whatever, are like the skins shed by snakes, who leave theirs for anyone to see. What does he care where it is, who sees it, this snake, and his skin? He leaves it where it molts. Hours, days or months later, we come across a snake's long-shed skin and we know something of the snake, we know that it's of this approximate girth and that approximate length, but we know very little else. Do we know where the snake is now? What the snake is thinking now? No. By now the snake could be selling pencils in Hanoi. The skin is no longer his, he wore it because it grew from him, but then it dried and slipped off and he and everyone could look at it.
--Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.

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"Remember that there is only one important time and that is now. The present time is the time over which we have dominion. The most important person is always the person you are with, who is right before you, for who knows if you will have dealings with any other person in the future? The most important pursuit is making the person standing at your side happy, for that alone is the pursuit of life."

-Thich Nhat Nanh, paraphrasing Tolstoy

Locations of visitors to this page

1920s paris, accordian in the metro, adrenaline rushes, airmail envelopes, ali farka touré, all-night conversations, anaïs nin, andalusian gypsies, anne sexton, anthropology, apt quotes, beat poets, being the getaway driver, bhutan, biking home drunk, bloomers and pantaloons, blowing bubbles, bogota salsa dancing, buenos aires (probably), campervans with flower decals, campfire smell, catharsis, chance encounters, charles bukowski, chinese trapeze artists, couplesinmatchingjackets, crossing mexico, crumbling cobblestones, dave eggers, delicious wine, django reinhardt, dreamingof papua newguinea, drunken sailors, eccentric old ladies, ennui in cafes, ernest hemingway, ethnology, expatriation, finding the good, flying in dreams, foreign accents, free hugs, free wine at exhibitions, funny laughs, george barbier, getting a lot done, getting lost in music, grins beneath conicals, hafiz-e shirazi, haruki murakami, henry darger, hotairballoonsasfarastheeyecansee, humility and grace, indie music forthemostpart, infectious laughs, inhibited/uninhibited dancing, jack kerouac, jean-pierre jeunet, joseph campbell, journaling, kinkakuji, kissing, la côte d'azur, la maga, lasting impressions, laughing, le quartier latin, letting my guard down, ligers and tigons, living quietly in japan, long scarves, looking fetching, love, lucid dreams, lush tropics of vietnam, marion peck, meaningless insults--you are!, midwestern thunderstorms, mono no aware, moss-covered stones, mullet sightings, mussed hair, mythology, nature-inspired writing, new york city, new zealand green, nina brosh, nina simone, not having a car, office supply closets, outdoor concerts, overflowing bookshelves, pablo neruda, paper lanterns, parisian cafe terraces, pastis and other apperatifs, peace, peacock feathers, peeling labels off bottles, people-watching, perma-grin, philip glass, picking up and moving, poetry, psycho dog man, riding the rails, road trips, rubbah slippahs, rumi, running*naked*through*the*fields--wee!, saigon traffic, same same but different, satisfying my curiosity, satori, saying 'follow that car', scrawling notes on napkins, self-forming knowledge circles, shiori matsumoto, shy smiles&nervous glances, sidewalk buskers, skydiving, smilinghuge at brooding artists, sneezing and bless yous, spain, speaking broken french, staying up all night, subtitled films, sugary beaches, surrealism, tableaux vivants, tilty-headed puppies, tongue-in-cheek braggadocio, travel, travel writing, troubadours, truth, unbridled passion, unconventional beauty, vanuatu, vincent marcone, walking in sand, wandering, working up a sweat, world travel, writing, wu wei, yann tiersen, yasunari kawabata, zen buddhism

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