fad blog of phoneliness

after more than two years, here i am again. in the blog.
thanks to the many millions (i.e., scott) who brought me out of hiding (i.e., diligence in my studies) with your tireless (i.e., infrequent and indifferent) requests for more stereolympicalities (i.e., brainscramble). your wishes are granted and your fishes are slanted.

probably overly cryptic thoughts:
in the last little while, i've uprooted, overturned, and otherwise disrupted my own existence. the beforemath found me OCD-d in two, hurting someone i dearly loved, fighting a horrible feeling of being outside myself, clamboring to get back in, overwhelmed and at the end of a reckless road where i rolled through a stop sign and got my second-ever ticket. like an octagonal cherry on topple. things gave because they had to, but it muchsucked. and i'm the "where were you when i was burned and broken." what gilmour can i say? i hate that i own it, but i own it and that helps. anyway, i was offered a sort of floydian olive branch today. feeling crayola blue-green.
calm and sad and hopeful and more settled and hoping for exceptions to seemingly cosmic rules.

tribute: on October 17th, the world lost an all-star: Emerson Parkin. you know how time stops when you get news like this? crazy. here's what i wrote with the clocks stopped:
growing up in the bountiful 3rd ward, i was a scrawny wee lad, nowhere near cool enough to hang with the older Parkin boys. but Emerson either didn't have his Cool-O-Meter turned on, or he was just a good guy, because he always treated me like one of the gang. he imparted words of protective wisdom (e.g., "if a car circles the block more than 3 times, it's a kidnapper. let's go inside..."), showed me how to dress (and climb trees) like tarzan, kept me apprised of noteworthy neighborhood happenings (e.g., "there's a rat in the thomas's driveway!"), and generally helped me create the sort of imaginitive, adventurous, magical, and wonderful childhood every kid should have. i really looked up to him, and he never looked down on me. a lot like an older brother. when I ran into him years later, i was almost star-struck to be conversing with someone who'd achieved such legendary status in my mind. but Emerson put me right at ease, the way he always could.
Love to the Parkins.

dedications: "coming back to life" by the gilmour-led floyd goes out to Gina, so she can hold up a mirror and reflect it back at me like the shining sun.
"comeback" by prince breezes out to Emerson. you will be missed.