so much to write

so little time.

aero

why is it that every time matches attempts to fly somewhere, something goes amiss along the way and he ends up twiddling his thumbs at the airport? at least in the portland variety they have a classy little cafe sector, complete with phenomenal piano player (he may not actually be phenomenal, but he certainly commits to the music with his motions and facial expressions...a rare and enjoyable sight). he has a synth atop his grand piano, which is despite its 'grand' qualifier is somehow hidden within the buckets upon buckets of poinsettias that they have strewn the area with. anyway he plays them masterfully in a simultaneous fashion.

what is one supposed to do at the airport in this situation? this is a strange little nook of life, with no priorities. it seems like a movie script should erupt out of nowhere. does matches tide in and out of these tiny little shops, brookstones and the like? does he sit like he is now and play around on the internet (thank god for laptop)? does he crack a book, and try to imagine a world apart from the 'port? everyone is currently sitting around, sipping their chromatic drinks and trying to gleam a twenty-dollar buzz off of them (matches thinks his coffee much more efficient to that end, and meritorious) while glancing sheepishly at everyone else. the waitress cannot find who ordered '#79' for the life of her. this guy is really going nuts on the synth...it feels like brian eno just tried to walk through the metal detector with all of his gear, tripped, and it somehow created an electro-magnetic reaction that forced all of his instruments into a very chaotic chord. it's a little awkward for all of us, as he is trying to play something light and holidaisical. he must be upset that his electronica band fell through.

on the plus side, portland's airport is nice. in a futuristic sort of way, but not a bad, dirty, total-recall future...a happy, efficient, sleek one. it definitely feels a little out of place, considering the holiday vibe that is supposed to be prevalent. matches is looking forward to cozy quilts, fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies, fireside movies and chats, frosted wintry windows, and the dizzying lightshow that a tree corded in bubbling lights and ornaments casts upon the ceiling.
and the flight has just been delayed a little longer. le sigh.

airports are interesting in that you get about as broad a sampling of the populous as you possibly can. everyone needs to fly. you would think that this happens in more arenas...grocery shopping, for example; but it's not true. everyone buys groceries, but they all remain loyal to their favorite or most convenient stores (so many options, especially in portland...don't get m started)...some people don't go to markets at all. some eat out every meal. jobs? forget about it...they are all ridiculously case-specific as to the sort of person who might apply. festivals, movies, activities in general? there are still enough assumptions about the sorts of people you might find at all these things to conclude that each has its own specific configuration, a personality type or tick that would mesh smoothly with some angle or perspective within the matter. we can make broad statements about these people. but airports? everybody travels at some point, especially around the holidays.
there are so many screens that are engaged, depending upon how you live your life; what your schedules and rhythms are, what you like to spend your free time doing / thinking, what you can / cannot afford. one of these factors is who, precisely you already know, because your tempos and scenery will blend (for the most part, cooperatively) with theirs...you tear the fabric of the world for each other, exposing things that had been hidden (or simply unknown, without reason to know) previously. think about a person who has affected your life in some significant way...and now think of how it was that you met them. there was some coinciding, some degree of connection by way of people or perspectives upon what to do with life that brought you into orbit initially. grab that initial connection; pin it to the floor and look at it for what it is (just one of the many facets that compose your sparkle). chances are, you can imagine yourself without this one, moderately-significant trait. how much of your world would have been altered if you hadn't found that one singular point of expression; if the whirling chaos of your life up to that point had not fostered this one, orphan-like thought within you? it erases so much; it removes that person from your life...it shaves off years, and memories (which are immeasurable). it alters an incredibly significant portion of your experience.

perhaps now you can see why the 'sample' population of the airport is of such interest to antimatter. it crashes those walls, those barriers, and it has the potential to insert brilliantly different people into the same space and context. it is an area unlike most others. it would be a very interesting place to work; you would likely come out with volumes of stories. if you watch 'lost', this is probably one of the reasons that you like that show, even though perhaps you haven't thought about it. who are these people; how could they have been thrust together like this? they are so distinct! anyway, that is a bit of a tangent, but it makes for a good example. what is of note, is that we still have our personality filters active, even in this strange space. matches is not likely to start a discussion with the 60-something year old man sitting across from him; he looks rather brutish (not to be extraordinarily judgmental, or anything : ) and there are severe doubts crossing through m's mind as to whether or not we would find anything to talk about in the short time that we are in each other's presence. interesting, though, isn't it? if the seat adjacent were instead occupied by a cute twenty-something female with a touch of classiness to her, the receptiveness streaming through this writer's mind would be altogether different. and yes, matches is kind of being critical of himself for that, even though he understands why it this the case. this inclination (or rather, disinclination) is just another screen that he unwittingly projects into the world.
life is so funny that way~

misunderstood

matches is just plain sick of misunderstandings. what could be worse? to say one thing and be interpreted as having said another. if only one could hop inside another person's mind; could piggyback on the waves of information being beamed hither and thither and lance right through into someone's intentions and meanings. perhaps communication is much like taking a step...it's a small miracle every time we accomplish it; there are so many forces working against balance (well, matches is sure he read somewhere that it was practically a miracle....though he doesn't seem to have too much trouble with it when he is in a sober state). honestly, how can you expect information to reach its desired target or angle? two separate clouds of consciousness trying to commune with each other; miscommunication should be about as expected as delays or derailments when sending post by carrier pigeon.
all antimatter wants for christmas, really, is a carrier pigeon.

still. it appears to m that what we rely on in communication are our similarities, our common grounds...we perfume our thoughts with spritzes of words, common ones to be found and appreciated in both natively-flowered regions of memory (and flora, naturally, is shared alongside colorful experience). we scent (har!) these letters, and hope that the helix between what is spoken and what is unspoken finds its way through the noise, into the intended receptors and thereby the intelligence or the emotions, variably, rickety-carriage-ably (for those two orbital 'spoke'ns are wickered quite precariously). how frustrating when people misinterpret; when words or the thoughts that string them together fail and fall short of the mark...when people do not see what you intend but instead suppose things entirely apart. expression is stolen from your grasp. can you imagine that, in its furthest of connotations and extensions? it's like an existence without meaning. sitting, whirring, powerless to make the wave you need to.

so, you must try, must. strive for clarity. how many factors are involved, to be overcome? enough. if pure, crystalline expression is even possible (we shall assume for the time being that it is. musn't it be?), then there are numerous jungled pitfalls for it to forage through. how many times have we failed even just as individuals, to translate a thought into an action? expression is a foremost problem in the quest to be understood~ but let us assume that we get into a good, clear state of mind, and do the best with what we have. then there is static, confusion outside of us, blaring noises, crackly and dropped calls, and the pinnacle of them all - situations. situations are the principle burners of parchment, of portrayal; they twist even a whisper of breath into parody. forget about all that.

even our best expressions, our poetry, our strongest and boldest accentuations...they are endlessly subject to blessed/cursed interpretation. the expression arrives at the intention, the intended. apprehension beforehand, perception during, analysis afterward. all burnable by a mood, a sharp sliver of thought, a degree of scrutiny; a picturesque painting tinted by rose-colored glasses that surreptitiously slipped over the nose of the observer. they did not feel a thing; deftly placed poisonous perspective, plundered by pickpockets of thought, something stolen (who can say what), never speaking a word. but the words fall upon them differently. they glance off to the side, or the scintillation that was so carefully threaded into them (a necklace, offered) is dimmed by, what? what is that?

who can say? it is a funny, very human, situation. matches knows, too, that this phenomenon is widespread. how much of mistakes, and who knows what else, could be salvaged by clarity, honesty; the best effort on both parts. antimatter hopes to seed all endeavors with those things. life is too important, too...transient, to waste with words not spoken from the heart. hard thoughts still contain the proper materials for expression....they just first must be forged, chiseled; they must be committed to and worked upon with no notion of 'settling' for something less than your best.

*mostly inspired by 'identity', by milan kundera. pick this book up~ it only takes a few hours.

track 5

"god, grant me the serenity
to accept the things i cannot change;
the courage to change the things i can;
and the wisdom to know the difference."

sincerest apologies to anyone whom i have dragged down into my spiral over the last year and a half. i've been trying to hold on to something, desperately, and somehow i lost track of the simplest notion in life....that things change, that they turn autumn colors. i wanted to steel my moment against change, to bind it so tightly within my notion of existence that it could not flitter away or fall to the wayside. i wanted to protect it, to keep it alive, and i couldn't understand when it became stale, when it slowly slipped away like sand squeezed too tightly in a closed hand. in essence this is one of my vices...when i pick a track on a cd to play over, and over...and over. nobody but myself can say how sweet of a melody that sound first whispered into my ears, but over time it becomes a wall, a room, inescapable, and every time i listen to it is one more missed opportunity when i could have appreciated other beautiful sounds, in some music of a different sort, or in the creak of a door, or the pendulous turn of a shadow to face the sun.

nothing good can come of forcing a moment; they happen of their own accord. you can feel it, like a glow, when they are right....and even moreso, a hollow, a nothingness, when they are wrong. living should not be about wrenching the world into a precise configuration to fit your, whatever you want to call it....ideals, desires; hopes. hopes must be different in that, hopes are a natural confluence. a streaming together of paths, like rivers bent by no hand. hopes are buried...they spring like blossoms in full splendor when they are nurtured, and the spirit lends them life. a dashed hope is a melancholy note, but sometimes the saddest melodies are also the most beautiful.

there are so many different wavelengths one can travel along the way...and they are so subterranean, so difficult to precisely match in their rhythm. we are the main source of the vibrations that touch our lives, however; our moods, our attitudes affect and disrupt every surrounding thing. we are the sun, brightening and vivifying, energizing. we are the moon, reflecting, caressing, painting. we are the rain rippling across a lake; dizzying and drumming the surface.
our minds are the stars, gateways to some higher place; but we can only reach with our thoughts and hope to effect the slightest twinkling of change. the distance is much too far.

it's time to let the past slip from my fingers. there is a whole wide world out there, struck like a tuning fork and humming with possibilities. i may not know all of who i am, but i know enough to set out on an adventure; that's kind of the point in the first place, isn't it? to pack up the picnic of my thoughts, my inspirations; to bundle them loosely in a red-and-white checkered knapsack and appreciate watching them tumble out all over the place. find something meaningful out there. or at least, enjoy the company of friends and fun along the way~

"blackbird singing in the dead of night
take these broken wings and learn to fly
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to arise

blackbird fly, blackbird fly
into the light of the dark black night.

blackbird singing in the dead of night
take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free."
~ the beatles

on manual transmissions

two second treatise:
manual transmissions are superior to automatics; you have more control over the car's maneuverability, and thus your awareness fans out in front of you with more direct meaning. with more options, you're making choices long before you get to them. more awareness; less chance of disaster.
plus, have you driven one of these things? so fun. a heightened extension of your body and mind~

daylight

let mattress walk you through a typical day, with an emphasis on just one particular feature. when he rises in the morning, after much tussling and tumbling and fumbling with the alarm clock (which happens to be his motorola, so the buttons are tiny and he feels like an enraged giant about to hurl some small annoyance against the cave wall), he sleepily surveys his surroundings. he sees the first shards of dim daylight picking their way through his piano-key blinds, which may or may not be wobbling dependent upon the presence or absence of sushi the cat. he then proceeds to crack into his routine, droning mindlessly in and out of rooms until somewhere between the kitchen and the elevator, when he manages to crank the correct gear in his head and his mind starts working. he tastes for the first time the breakfast that he ate five minutes ago, and may or may not banter with people in the elevator if the mood strikes him.

then work work work, eat work work. work coffee, work work.

and by the time he is over and done with all this 'work', and sloughs it off his shoulders, he goes outside and the last surf of sunset is rolling over the distant hills. it will be dark in two minutes. and he goes on to have a fulfilling and enjoyable, sometimes outright badass evening. but the point was made one sentence ago. between apartment and work and again apartment (or coffee shop, again as the mood strikes), there is barely any actual 'daytime' wedging itself into his day. the northwest is strange.

the funny thing is, its only mentionable because matches happens to be some strangely observant being. cats in trees and flicker-flick of birds, wing-skipping from branch to wind-brambled branch. isn't daylight supposed to supply some sort of vital nutrients? vitamin d, is it? whatever it is, it's not having a very negative effect (or at least, noticeably so). he feels, great. free to think and do and be whatever it is that strikes him as being himself, or whatever extension of that self is unfurled within the moment. better than usual. certainly he misses the sun; who wouldn't? but, it surprises him that he can go on such a bender of sunless-ness and not be feeling like absolute shit. did grow up in colorado, after all. you tend to miss things that you are used to, when they are gone~

jeff once asked matches whether he preferred the daytime or the nighttime. the addressed was inclined to reply, at that time, that he felt more at ease at night...his senses more attuned, and perhaps a bit more independent and valuable considering that the city slumbered while he observed and explored (see "the city sleeps", a guaranteed track on m's next mix cd). or something like that; it was a long time ago. that's still a buoyant answer....but he cannot say at this point which he definitively likes 'better' than the other. they each have their charms. night can light lanterns in the imagination more easily....it feels effortless to glide away on a tangent and not look back. but daytime; ah! how appealing daylight is. it brings all the color to the world along with it; it warms the soul and brings all that is natural (and conversely, unnatural) into focus. there is nothing quite like rambling through the woods on a sunny, late autumn day. night cannot capture this feeling in its cloak, and it should not be able to. the morning has its intensity, its directness of being, that flies to the mark like an arrow loosed by a keen eye. the two are incomparable...and he no longer knows one without the appeal and languid absence of the other.
all he knows is that if portland is this much fun in the darkness and rain, there is going to be one ridiculous summer ahead. let's make reckless plans, and not abandon them to forgetfulness or indifference~

"to my surprise, and my delight
i saw sunrise, i saw sunlight
i am nothing in the dark
and the clouds burst to show daylight

oh, and the sun will shine
yeah, on this heart of mine
oh, and I realize
who cannot live without
oh, come apart without
it
on a hilltop, on a sky-rise
like a first born child
at full tilt, and in full flight
defeat darkness, breaking daylight

oh, and the sun will shine
yeah, on this heart of mine
oh, and I realize
who cannot live without
oh, come apart without
daylight

slowly breaking through the daylight."
~ coldplay - daylight

fantasy

who says that TV, video games, and movies have no merit? if antimatter had not immersed himself substantially in so many mediums of engagement when he was just a little bit of dark matter, his older self would have turned out much differently. for the better? who can say. but what he knows now is that despite the fact that he rarely turns down these avenues anymore, they helped him at some points of his life; gave him a degree of exposure that he would not normally have had occasion to develop in. kiddos are like photo paper...bombard them will all sorts of lights and it does something hidden to them. it takes a longer extraction, a chemical process and fine distillery to really trace the effects of our youth. but they are there. you'll find them without the help of a psychologist if you look at your everyday thoughts. it takes age and seasonings to really bring out the vibrant flavors.

mixin mixin whiskin,
metaphors.

you can tell mattress that these things have no place in a healthy mind. but what level of experience did you gleam off of your own TV set when you were struggling to grow up? how seriously did it take your intelligence, instead of patronizing you like so many teachers and other assorted grown-ups? there was an immense learning curve there...myriad cultural phenomenons to sort through, and all while we're trying to memorize our multiplication tables! but, it stands for experience; exposure to life beyond what naievete was offered by the system. adults hide the world from children...they shelter, protect, pacify. which is not to say this is necessarily a bad thing~ the world is an intimidating place once it moves beyond slumber parties and the blissful philosophy of the sweet tooth. but for anyone that craves to be taken more seriously, it's a pleasant portal to stumble upon.

games are outright enjoyable. they let us burrow deep down from the growing shadow of reality; give us an opportunity to cultivate those fantasies, illusions. they help our minds to grow in ways that aren't presented by most facets of society. don't we owe these things a bit of respect? haven't their transmissions shaped you for the better in some way? personally, mattress relishes the opportunity to keep his imagination alive and kicking. the last thing he wants is to turn into a bearded man who cares not for ideas beyond this world~

there will always be time for both work and play.

but seriously, don't watch too much TV. you'll go blind. all things in moderation~