DP Poetry: The Beauty of Technology
(left as message from DP, on my cell phone, 9/25/04)

The beauty of technology
lasts only a moment in our hands
until the batteries
until the batteries
until the batteries fail

a poem audibly detected
once known
perishes after sound waves
vanish

Nailed It! Pacific Coast Trails Seacliffe - DONE!

Great and happy to say that I finished the Pacifc Coast Trail Runs Seacliff 50K, in record time, for me at least. Completed the 31 miles and 4000 ft. elevation gain in 5:25:29. Yeah! Very happy with that time, gven that I came in 6th out of 30 runners, and given that my last 50K I got a 6:06. PR! YO! The first runner came in a 4:56, so that's not too bad for me to come behind him. And, the person before me (a woman) had 5:19.

It was a nice course, starting close to the cement ship in Aptos, running up to Nisene Marks state redwood park , and doing three loops which covered most trails in the park. A very cool day, with some light rain. I had never been through the park on foot and it's one of the most beautiful parks around - even rivals Big Basin. Some of the most beautiful single tracks I have ever run, and some great views. Huge cliffs, redwoods, magical forrests, streams to cross, and we even ran past the epicenter of the '89 Loma Prieta earthquake.

I ran most of the race alone. The race had a general start, so all distances (14k, 22k, 35k, 50k)started at the same time. Those kind of starts arent so bad, though just like on a freeway, peopel tend to stay together in clumps, which is all right unless you are on a single track and get stuck behind some slow, large-bootied person. I ran with this one girl who was only doing the 14k, and she was nice, had some knee troubles so didn't want to go too far. Came all the way from Sacramento - runs the Pacific Coast Trail Runs as a way to learn about Bay Area parks. Once the course when into the trails, I was running with two guys, who I thougth I would pave with as a way to relax and find a groove, but they weren't going that fast so I decided to take off. Passed two more men, and after that was basicaly on my own.

All in all, it was a good race. I still think I could and can do better. Maybe break 5 hours? Is that possible? What this would take is to go back to where I was a few years ago - no caffeine, no booze. Somehow, when my body and mind are left to operate on their own natural functions, without the enhancement of stimulants and depressants, then that's when I have the most energy, the most mental strength not having to rely on external things to support of drive me. And I just get better rest and sleep. And, if I want to achieve a 50 miler, then I will need to work on the core, perhaps with a yoga class and pilates.

Flores Para Los Muertes

When I was a kid, going to church every sunday, every week of the year, every year, the long succession of Catholic sundays stretched out before me almost endlessley, as far as I could see - it was the deep structure of the church, the way the liturgy was planned out every day, every Sunday, the same readings, repeated according to the seasons, the same responses to the ritual of transubstiantiation, that felt to me like a trap, a straight jacket on a slow moving freight train toward anihilation, nothingness, black eternity - muerte, death. I remember fighting to stay awake during the narcotic drone of the Catholic Mass: Sit, Stand Kneel, Sit, Amen. The sad, melancholy, deathly cadence of all the faceless parishioners as they all spoke in sync, that lugubrious rhythm like some melodic requiem for the death of my own soul, that sound of the waking dead intimated my own death, the impossibility of my own immortality, for even as a child I did not believe, could not believe that the little wafer was the body of Christ, could not believe the powerful sip of port was indeed the Holy One's blood, and that all this fine planning of the mass was really just an ornate, elaborate, labyrinthine pacifier to keep one from losing one's mind. Every once in a while I'd see something human, outside the lattice work of Church ritual: the look of my mothers face as she prayed after holy communion - her eyes closed, serious, sad, and I, a little boy, wondering where my mother went during those times, what she saw behind her eyelids in the expanses of her mind and soul. Sad, older than me, deep in prayer. Where did my own mother go? Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. My mother's eyes would open and she would look forward, away from me, straight ahead, serious. Looking at exactly what, I don't know.

I Ain't Your Duck: Surrogate Mother Love and Workplace Leadership

Most of us know the story of famed ethologist (studier of animal behavor) Konrad Lorenz and his theory of "imprinting." Lorenz studied animals and their behavior and became particulary interested in how young animals form attachements to their mothers. He found that there was a crucial early stage of animal development in ducks where the young duckling would learn who its mother was, mainly by seeing the mother duck. Due to a genetic predisposition, he posited, the image of the mother would be imprinted in the ducks vision and brain center and thus the young duck would know who its mother was. This imprinting was a one time deal.

Lorenz then got a little sneaky and subsititued other things for the mother image, such as duck shaped objects and eventually even himself, to see if the unsuspecting little baby duck and its imprinting mechanism would still work in the absence of a real mother. Lo and behold, when Lorenz took the baby duck and showed it his (Lorenz's) own face, and Lorenz did his best momma duck quacking imitation, the baby duck acted as though Lorenz was his mother, and even followed him around.

At my work, we have just hired an intern full time. She's a damn good worker and deserved to be hired on as a permanent employee. She adds value to our team and is a very pleasant person. But, since I was the person in charge of soliticiting and hiring the intern, I do believe she feels as if I am her manager. Our manager was not involved in her work here at the beginning, and so I ended up mentoring and working with her. Granted, she did great work, even for a beginner.

It seems as though I've become somewhat of a mother duck now. She comes to cubical every morning and tells me every single thing she's doing and working on. Sometimes she is at my cube as I arrive. She visits me 3 to 4 (sometimes more) times a day and recites a long detailed list of every thing she has done, is doing, and will be doing. She does, as she's said, feel endebted to me for helping her get hired, as I did champion her cause. I just am not sure how to ween her from the imprint of me as her mother duck, and move her on into her own full fledged duck adulthood.

Another strange phenomenon is that this young Mexican janitor/facilities worker whom I have befriended is displaying the same behavior. I practice speaking with him because it gives me a chance to keep my spanish going. But, after we made a connection, I started getting trapped, pidgeon holed, duck holed, into listening to long stories of his troubles with his girlfriend, how her parents hate him, how he goes to church and prays. Lately, he has even started telling me abotu his work, as if I am his boss. We told me this morning that he wouldn't be in until later tomorrow because he is having eye trouble, and thus the fridge full of water and soda's won't be stocked until later. He tells me before he throws away old food from company dinners. I somehow have become his mother duck, too.

Human Proximity

One thing I can't figure out is the human need for us to be so close to each other. Not that I don't get the very real and human need/desire to rouch, to be touched, to hold another human and to be held. This is normal, natural, primordial.

What I don't get is when there is much space in a room, in a parking lot, in a theatre, in a restaurant, in a line people congregate together, complete strangers, closely. I am not saying I don't like people - oh sure people in general are just fine - but I like space, room, the ability to be incognito, apart from and able to observe.

But if I walk into a movie theatre and it's nearly empty. I choose a seat far from others, alone, with room to breath and be away from the rank and average. Yet, if this theatre has a 100 seats, 95 of which are empty, someone will sit walk in and sit within 3 seats of me. Others will come in, sit by us, to the point eventually there's a clump of anonymous humanity. Is it 'herd mentality'? Is this the way we're wired? At work, for a meeting, I choose a chair that is by itself, away from others, and someone will walk in and sit directly next to me, when there's 10 other chairs. In a line, the person behind me will stand very close to me; I move away, he steps closer; I move again, and he moves again.

The problem is, I like space. Is there some animal pull that tries to link humans together, strangers, and why the hell do I not feel it?

Full License to Write Something Stupid - Every Syllable Counts!

Creative Rule # 1 - when you get the vision, you by all means necessary must follow it, explain it, produce it, develop and express it. Write it down and create it. Why this is so hard, it's not fully clear. But the energy and confidence required to do so at times might seem almost ludicrous, impossible. It's as if, for whatever reason, the safety of life and your own personal status quo, your GD quotidian tells you to not shake the boat, to leave it all alone, that it's ok to let it go and just relax and fall back and just succumb. Watch some cable. Have a baby. Order a pizza. Start a family. Buy a large screen TV and a home theatre system. Hence, the automatic entropy that life pretends to demand, though, like Medusa writes, it's all quite a self-induced saftey sham. But what if I were like DP? Could I be? (He was a poet from day 1, I have learned - yet he breathes poetic language, as naturally from breath.) What if I had the unholy gumption, the superannuated cajones and righteous temerity to simply assume that all my words, every single fucking goddamn mofo syllable, were pure art, pure glory, pure relgion? How could it not be otherwise? Is this not what it takes to be a poet, to sing the praises of heaven inside the smallest, cheapest, most squalid of phrases? Why the fuck not? Does not this require a full on hardcore revolution with every sentence? Am I alone in my own revolution of poetic language? Or, is this egoism the province of every writer?

Seacliff Beach 50K - Oct 23rd YO!

Decided, while having a quart sized Tecate beer the other night, to run the Seacliff Beach 50K. Again, this race and course is put on by the friendly folks at Pacific Coast Trail Runs, whose motto is "Runs that aren't' races in beautiful places." What's great about the race organizers and the people who run these races is that they pick the most beautiful locations in the Bay Area, they always have gnarly hilly courses, and the races are meant for enjoyment rather than the typical "I must PR" road marathon mentality. Sure, some people rush and race, but this racing/running crowd is laid back, friendly, and almost always, when you are out there on a monster, mile long hill that only goes up up up, the person coming down says, "good job."

I believe I'm ready for this race. 31 miles and ~4500 elevation gain is no little stroll in the proverbial park, but I will run smart, slow, walk periodically on the hills, and save most of my punch and vigor for the last 10 miles. Wait till mile 20 to start pushing. It will be an awesome race, since the 50K course starts at Seacliff Beach, runs up into Nisene Marks, loops up and down through that park 3 times, hitting almost every trail in the park, then back down for the victory lane down at the beach. Sea-Tree-Sea, baby!

Nice picture of a hill on the Pacifica race I ran last month. Now THERE's a hill. YO!