Berlin… You are so Wonderful!

Sunday
September 13, 2008

Day Tripping: Brussels

My Heart Wants Apple Pie
Tart au pommes is how it is spoken and served at this little diner in Brussels, Belgium. French is a narcotic language, like sugar on the tongue the sound to the ear. I want more. The experience of drinking it in has been intoxicating thus far. “Excuser moi, je vousdrai savoir ou sont les train,” was taught to me by my beautiful little Belgium friend Audrey. The 16-year old schoolgirl spelled out the sentence for me on my new iPhone on the train from Brugelette to Brussels. I hope I see her again when she is older and I am younger

Thank you, Audrey…

Note to self…

Next time I find a quaint little dinner on the corner of a little side street in Brussels, order the pie. Diner food has diner quality the wide world over – November 8, 2009

How I’d Like to Live

I’d like to feel connected
I would like to live free, free from the expectations and intentions of others. I’d like to have a group of friends who like to see me, who I like to see, but don’t feel obligated to spend time with.

I’d like to work.
I like to have opportunity to be with interesting people, talk about subjects of interests, create projects and hold each other to completion. I’d like to be a part of a creative team, where I don’t have to question my role, where I feel like integral part no less than any other member. I’d like to feel like I a part of something that has a real impact on the betterment of the participants and the world in general. I’d like my individual experience and attributed to be recognized and highly prized, highly valued. I’d like to be valued for just being me. I’d like to be able to participate in this group at any time or place that I choose. I’d like to have the time to decide what I want and realized my preferences.

I’d like to be in a loving relationship.
I’d like to share authority without feeling like I’m losing my sense of self, my intuitive sense of what is right and wrong for me. I’d like to feel strong and in charge. I’d like to know that things are exactly the way I’ve planned. I’d like a feeling of satisfaction. I’d like to know that it has all been worth it.

Funny how life works out.
I found this file this morning. I’m living like this more and more everyday. Funny how dreams come true when you stay focused on them. Reading this was a good reminder and a way to stay on course.

I’d like to be highly compensated for my work. Probably why I’m pursuing my masters degree… I forgot to write that. I’d like to be highly compensated for my work soon.

How would you like to live? Leave a comment…

in this time…

“I think the combination of age and the greater coming together is responsible for the speed of the passing time. it’s six months now and i can tell you truthfully few periods in my life have passed so quickly. i am in excellent physical and emotional health. there are doubtless subtle surprises ahead but i feel secure and ready.

As lovers will contrast their emotions in times of crisis, so am i dealing with my environment. in the indifferent brutality, incessant noise, the experimental chemistry of food, the ravings of lost hysterical men, i can act with clarity and meaning. i am deliberate–sometimes even calculating–seldom employing histrionics except as a test of the reactions of others. i read much, exercise, talk to guards and inmates, feeling for the inevitable direction of my life.”

On August 28, 2000, a Federal judge awarded $8 million to the survivors of the Attica riots. The son of Sam Melville, Josh Melville, was awarded $25,000.

Eat a Peach.

We could write for years (and perhaps we have) about the taste of honey on the tongue or the feeling of biting into a juicy ripe orange on a hot summer day, but reading words about honey on the tip of ones tongue and the squirt of the first bite of an orange are not the same as the experience. Those who feel love know love. But the love we speak and hear so much about masquerades as love when it is really the absence of love. Love need not be pain, but the journey through our suffering often leads us to a love we might have never recognized before the journey.

Tweeter Crib Notes

Tina

She is such a beauty sometimes…

I really love her. I’m enjoying exploring my love for her. It has depth and variety, this love. At times I love her like the good daughter. At times she is my sister playmate. At times she ravages relentlessly, a lover who will not be denied. At times she mothers, coos and frets, “Is that shirt too warm? Did you get enough to eat?” I love my Tina. She’s a gem.

Tina is a natural lover. It’s like she’s been looking for someone to love her entire life and I’m the luck guy she get to ply her tricks on. She’s amazing. I can’t say enough about her. Top marks for love for Tina.

“You need space. You got it.” that’s Tina.

Tina brings love. She doesn’t need love. She appreciates love and recognizes love because she has love. I blame her family for loving her thoroughly. She has the kind of father I’d like to be. Her father (this is my imagination) let her know what it felt like to be loved by man, so she could recognized and reciprocate. Big up to the Balzer family.

I love Tina.

The Rough Times

This sucks. I smoked a cigarette. Fuck!

I was sitting in a cafe, lighting up the cigarette thinking, “Good, only a five-cigarette pack, I can manage this. And maybe if I can manage this, I’ll buy a beer next.” Shit. Have I not learn any lessons from my past? I’m obviously suffering. The cigarette hit me like reality. There is definitely a problem that I am not dealing with here. I know what it is and ready or not I have to start doing something to deal with it.

I called my sponsor. I have to admit he earned his keep. I might have done something stupid. Who knows? I still might. I losing touch with what stupid is lately. I need to stop. This kind of language fucks me up. It speaks of a astounding disconnection with God, with the God who loves me. I am not stupid. I’m pretty smart, too fucking smart actually. Maybe I’ll learn something from all this. That would be nice.

What do I do with all the torturous tumult within? I guess I’ll play some bass, because I don’t want to kill the bitch or do something stupid that will land me in jail again. I have a lot of work to do. I’ll do it, but damn I’m glad I have help.

Thank God.

Amen.

That’s me… The Bassman.

I just came off stage from my first gig. Wow! I feel great. I didn’t do too bad. It wasn’t planned. I went there with my friend (more acquaintance than friend) Sketch to meet a Mozambiqui bass player I had seen there the night before. No Mozambiquis. There was a band playing earlier, but they had left and the stage was empty. Sketch and I decided to wait around. Sketch was going to sing. I started asking around to see if there were any drummers. Sketch is a singer. He’s got a song in medium rotation on all the major stations here in Berlin. I think he knew how this was going to go down. We had been talking about sound ideas. He asked if I knew any chords with a Zero 7 feel. Soon a drummer showed up and we got on stage. Sketch started noodling on the keyboard that was there. Eventually I found a nice melody and Sketch made up some sweet soulful lyrics to go along. Soon a guitar player came on stage and joined us, and before I knew it, we had a groove. We made up another groovier tune. I looked up, and somebody was staring at my fingers the same way I stare at bassist’s finger when they are on stage. At one point I realized what a pocket was and did my best to stay there, somewhere between the click of the drummer’s stick on the side of the snare and the thump of his big bass drum. I got it. That’s the pocket. The drummer looked up and smiled. Talk about miracles of manifestations. We were groovin. Sketch eventually found somebody to cover for him on keyboards, and some female singer from Spain, who obviously had some professional training, joined us for an all out funk jam. It was groovy.  People were actually dancing! It was fantastic to look up and see people dancing to a groove I was laying down. What a wonderful night! I funked so hard, I got tired. People were taking pictures just like I was taking pictures the night before. The lights were hot. Sweat was dripping from my shirt sleeves. It was amazing though. My shoulder started to hurt. We were playing so long. It’s hard work, funk. Funk grooves are especially hard work when the drummer is on one. Man he was good. I had to make up everything on the spot. I realized the importance of the bassman. While I was overnight in the Mannheim train station, I read in this book Reggae, Rasta, Revolution a quote from from Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, producer of Bob Marley and the Godfather of dub music, which said, “The drum is the beat of the heart, right? The bass is the brain.” Bumper stickers and business cards… I’m putting that quote all over. The structure the melody the groove, much of what I think of as memorable about the music is on the bassman. That’s was me, the bassman.

Much to do…

I don’t want to get too caught up in this illusion as if it matters. This life can be anything I choose. Shaking off the illusions should be my primary concern, and awakening others should be my primary purpose. I’m grateful that I can rise and remember.

… to awaken and help other…

I was talking to a large motherly woman called NaNa last night. We spoke together about the insanity of this world. We spoke of all the meta processes involved in living in Babylon: Finding a company to work for, trying to make some money, and paying for goods and services, which allow us to have and enjoy our lives. These meta processes create meta belief systems to support them; so that we can go through this illusion of life and believe we are sane and everything is as it should be. NaNa and I spoke together about how much closer we would be to living truly and completely if we lived in nature where every day our time would be taken finding or creating just what we needed to have and enjoy our lives instead of the also supporting the system which takes so much. Living simply is sounding very rewarding right now.The Bodhisattva is in me though. My Bodhicitta heart helps me to feel the need to awaken others as I wipe the crust from my eye.

Cross-Cultural Communication

I had a cross-cultural experience this evening. After class, my car pool buddies Shane and Rebecca and my instructor Tom Hall had dinner at a little Italian place that Professor Hall suggested. The dinner was delicious, which is an unexpected surprise here in Germany. Did I mention we’re in Germany right now? I’m getting my masters degree human relations and international relations through the University of Oklahoma. I’m currently studying at the NATO base in Geilenkirchen, Germany. Germany is not a foody paradise – especially when you’ve just come from the California Bay Area.

But that is another cross-cultural tale…

The cross-cultural experience happened as I was having a conversation with two other American males. It was interesting to experience how people from the same country can have such different cultures. Professor Hall is the same age as I am. I recently read Generation Me by Jean Twenge who states that factor most likely to dictate cultural values is age. During the first part of this conversation I found this a little hard to believe. Professor Hall starts off a conversation about music with an anecdote about how he knows he has gotten old because one of his past students told him he loved country music, especially old country music. Professor Hall said he loved country music and asked the student which artist. When the student replied Garth Brooks, he knew he had gotten old.

At this point the conversation dove into what was good country music and how country music was good before it sold out. At this point I tried to ease my anxiety by mentioning my love of country musicianship. “They are some of the best musicians,” I said. That was pretty much the extend of my banter when it comes to country and western music. I like some country and western music, but culturally it is not that accessible to me. The good old boys values system is to easily linked in my mind with lynching.

So I’m at this table in a wonderful little Italian restaurant in a quaint German village have dinner with a couple of good old boys. I feeling a little out of place, but my anxiety level hasn’t risen to a level that would cause me to act out. I’m feeling really glad I’m not drinking and I’m able to manage my emotions at this point. I imagine if we were having a conversation about whatever happen to real hip hop they might feel out of place, but this time I’m the one who is once again feeling like an outsider.

The conversation turns to politics. Normally I sit it out when it comes to politics in “mixed” company. My attitude is that America never stopped being a slave colony. They just stopped acknowledging it. I don’t hear this point of view often, so I usually only let it slip when I’m feeling particularly rebellious. Fortunately for me Professor Hall has had a few hefeweizens. Hefeweizens are basically the largest beers you can order in Germany. I’m not saying that’s why he ordered them. Hefeweizens taste fantastic. I’m just saying he had drank a couple when we started talking about political economics.

Shane and Rebecca are a lovely married couple. They are having their first child together. She’s eight months pregnant and glowing. She’s just beautiful right now her eyes are so bright and alive. She seems so sweet. Well Shane and her recently took a political economics class together. And during the class the read the book The End to Poverty by Jeffery Sachs. I’ve been wanting to read this book for a while, and I’m impressed that it’s a part of the cannon in a major university. But it gets the conversation turned to politics, and Professor Hall (two beers in) starts the rant. I love the rant (see slave plantation rant above). It gets to the point where I don’t think the beers are really relevant. We are getting to what he believes. He’s talking about the documentary The Corporation. He’s talking about the movie the Matrix. “We’re in the Matrix right now,” he says. That’s a hard one to disprove as I download my memories into this computer.

“Have you seen V is for Vendetta?” I ask. When he nods and our wide-eyed soon to be parents shake their heads. I realize that I have more in common with this guy, when it comes to values and beliefs than I do with the three African-Americans in the back of the class. Well that’s hard to say without a getting a few hefeweizens in them, but at this point I’m thinking that Jean Twenge’s premise is correct: the era in which someone is born is the biggest determinant of values and beliefs.