what does lebron mean to me? is he the future man. the uber mensch and zarathustra? what does that stupid book mean to me? i remember eating a big peice of carrot cake and reading that book on a sunny day alone in a cafe while in college. i felt very grown up and alone in that moment. not lonely. i hardly ever remember being lonely in a moment. i remember eras of my life that were lonely. but it's hard to pinpoint one single moment with that feeling. maybe some feelings only reveal themselves in accumulation.
here is a vein of thought that has been coming into my mind with some regularity. i don't know what it means but i think its connected to the heartbeat of my interest in sports. i mean 'vein' in the sense of mining for gold, not in the physical sense of a vein in my body. but the heartbeat thing. look, i don't know. i am trying to choose my words carefully and not complicate things more than they need to be. there must always be a best word for what you are trying to describe. enough dicking around, here goes;
lebron is a national celebrity, a worldwide celebrity. he belongs to everybody. he can go from cleveland to miami but i dont know if he can go back home. and russell is that other celebrity. he is my waking celebrity, the celebrity of home. russell represents me to the rest of the world. if lebron represents me at all it is a very generic part of me. my americanness, my superiority maybe? i saw russ in the airport and shook. in my dream i saw the back of lebrons head. i saw him go into a futuristic tanning booth.
i guess its better to fix your vacuum cleaner than follow some boring line of thought about sports celebrities. but i really need to note how real the seahawks are to me. the truth of my feelings. the mystery of their depths. the rug that i sit on while i write is much cleaner now.
in the corner of this page there is a field that says 'complain to google'. that must be why that company is worth so much money. this little bullshit blog is saving me a fortune in therapist fees. and maybe its the thrill of being discovered that makes me write. it does take some sort of spark or spur to write. i mean, we could all write a thousand pages a day, that's how many thoughts race through our mind on one level of consciousness or another. if we just tapped into that unending brook of thought and our fingers could move fast enough and we had enough different pages open. yes i think we could record it all, all day and all night, all the thoughts. and there would be some gems among the muck.
i think i want to hide myself at work. i must drive people away at work. i want to be a robot at work. i don't want to be known there. or perhaps, i don't want to be known as that. perhaps in my hubris i think i must be what i am doing. that i must disassociate from what i think i must do. i have less success that way. i know myself worse. maybe its okay if you are my boss and you are reading this right now. though i would be shocked. in the world of work there is always so much to read. and most of it is just as poorly written as this, but at least its about money. i dont really know what this is about. its like playing my guitar kind of. but more personal. or maybe just more developed.
seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks. i guess that's how i'll bide my time. how i'll demarcate how i feel when i look up and see buds on the trees. when i think about how long the summer is going to be. when i think about which time is real, when the trees have leaves or when they have not. which season is the one where life happens and which one is the one where we digest and recuperate. when is it okay to watch tv while the sun shines.
here is the quote that makes me feel the best about the terrible feeling of watching us, the seahawks us, lose the superbowl XLIV;