Things might just be starting to open up. Taking stock of where things have been at for the past two months, I've been far too tight and narrow in my focus. I've got a lot of work on my plate, and my tendency to place that above everything else has lead to bizzarrely atlas-like delusions of overarching responsibility on my part. The weight of the world is on my shoulders, yeah, but it's not on me alone. There are millions of people out there who are helping to bear the burdin. We just gotta get ourselves organized, and we can get some shit done.

But I'm not here to talk about work. It creeps into everything I do, I know, but I want to get past it for a little while. I went out and surfed the net tonight. It's been ages since I did this. I went to re-visit some old faces and have a ball nerding out. Just clicking around, seeing what's up. When you're not reading a politics site and every click doesn't leave you dead-ended at a news-source, you can go on some interesting journeys. In contrast with channel surfing on cable TV -- something that rarely fails to give me the fear -- this felt interesting and natural.

It's spring. I can feel parts of myself coming a live that have been sleeping for far too long. I'm a little cramped, a little soft and saggy, but it's nothing a little yoga can't cure. I'm going to start going, and I've got to find some art to take in too. The world may or may not be at a watershed moment, only time will tell, but if I don't improve my cultural and social diet, I'll be no good to anyone.

It's odd, living this life. In olden days I'd be more apt to spill guts, to tell a lot of lurid soaring tales. These days I don't brag or boast much; my meditations are about things outside my window, and not the inner workings of me. In a perfect world I'll start uncurling my experience, revealing each twist and turn and kink and whirl with a flourish of intention. I strongly intend to turn this period of my life into great art. I strongly intend to return soon to performance.

And in the meantime I'll remember to make time to dance, and keep the zen of everything wrapped around me like invisible armor. We must be smiling buddha warriors, for in our conquest the future is a bright one and we work on the side of the good... But I'm not going to talk about work.

I'm sleepy, so this is where I'll leave it. Suffice to say that there's movement. There's a movement too, but that's been there all along, building in the background. What I'm stoked about today is the sense that my personal situation is on the thaw.

Did some spring cleaning yesterday, which left me feeling pretty decent. I need a desk. Everything is a little overwhelming and I feel creatively blocked. There's almost too much to deal with, and my analysis paralysis is costing me time and opportunity. Gotta get uncorked here.

The appocalypse is coming. Midgets are selling a real estate scheme on late night television.

It's the year annevarsary of war, and so I was reading back blog archives. At its best, this is pleasently like reading an old journal; you get new insight into your present situation and discover wonderful language to lift for future applications. Witness this stuff from about 20 months ago. There's a hint of prophesy in the frist bit, the the old ring of poetry in the August 12th entry. Those were good days, even as they were full of struggle, and I miss their winsome flavor.

Mature content; spring equinox and all. Here's a non-hypothetical hypothetical question for you. If you were the first American a woman slept with, and you fell victim to premature ejaculation (let's be honest, shit happens), would that qualify as unfortunate, hillariously ironic, or both? I think both.

I'm back in the bay, back to regular working. Back to probably blogging a little less here. I'm going to start trying to write a lot more on MfA, and I'll pretty much only use this spot for personal stuff. Maybe something interesting will happen in my personal life, but with the way resources are allocated I kind of doubt it.

Happy St. Patrick's day to ya cheers. Strange to think back at where I was just a year ago.

I attempted to learn to snowboard yesterday in pretty icy conditions. I fell a lot, and now I'm sore. Falling on icy snow is a a lot like falling on gravel; a few choice strawberries and a lot of bruses too. It also uses a whole set of muscles that I don't often exercise. I'm sore in ways I can only compare to the circle of pain -- an infamous quasi-transcendent group warmup and conditioning exercise -- from my freshman year in the Experimental Theater Wing.

It's been a heavy weekend. Lots more to do going forward.

Walking to the BART this morning with Zack, we coincidentally fell in behind this woman. I'd noticed her the day before working in the coffee shop -- not the one I mentioned in the blog, but one I noticed. She was tallish and willowy, with a slow long stride. Reminded me of this British woman that worked with Jeremy a couple years ago (fall 2002; an interesting time) who'd I'd been all into. Victoria. At the time Jeremy shut me down. "Bad Josh," he said when I asked if she had a boyfriend.

Anyway, it took me a while to remember that this is the girl I was being reminded of; all the while walking and talking behind her, feeling the vibe. She went to the BART also, and there was seemingly significant eye contact on the platform... but also good discussion with Zack and early morning blearyness so I wasn't about to make a move. Still, the vibe was there, sure as its ever been. Who knows what might have happened? I was legitimately attracted. How often do I piss and moan about how that never happens? Hope opportunity knocks again.

Thinking about that Victoria girl on a plane ride to Colorado -- where I blog from now on MfA retreat -- stirred up an interesting other memory. That little crush was all around the first anneversary of September 11th. Real tense time. I remember on the actual anneversary I was biking over the Queensboro bridge. It was a beautiful day, and there was this businessman walking toward me carrying a flag on a stick, just holding it up, smiling, kind of giving strength to people. That was one of the last times I remember being actively happy to see the flag in action. Strange confluence of springtime thoughts, but it's late and I'm dealing with a high altitude environment.

After three consecutive days of temperatures above 60 and no fog, rain or grey days, my tired cranky blood is starting to stir. Spring is in the air; good old Spring Awakening.

I find myself craining my head more often on my bicycle. I find myself delightfully preoccupied with the mystery of precisely what moves under a woman from Oklahoma's shirt at a bar, with the space defined between the lower cuffs of a backpack toting girl's khaki shorts at the coffee shop, with the swirl of hair, flash of teeth, curve, flex or sparkle. Whatever it is, I find myself noticing.

At the moment it's kind of maddening. I simply don't have the human resources to pursue anything resembling a conventional relationship, and it seems I lack the savvy to slide into an easy coupling. The rules of engagement are mysterious and unknown here in San Francisco. Frank confirms this; New York women are different. In the parlance of our times, I have no game.

That said, it feels good to feel. The buzz is back in a lot of ways, and I'm glad that my glands are all in order. I'd begun to worry a bit about the creeping must of an extremely overworked winter. Hopefully this spring and summer I can improve my physical condition, find more creative outlets, and maybe even make out a tad, weather permitting of course.

Just heard that Spalding Grey died. The NYT (my favorite local paper) has the details, as well as a pretty decent account of his career. He was an amazing artist. I got to meet and talk with him once back in High School, and his body of work was pretty inspiring to me as a performer. Sorry to see him go.

I've gone campin'. Have a good weekend.