January, viente nueve

Hello.

My name is still tim. When i drink scotch, sometimes i will pretend to name the brand simply by taking a sip and stalling for several seconds. Other times, i willn't.

Today i was on the receiving end of an impromptu interview, which i was not expecting. But even if i had been expecting the interview, i would not have designated any time to preparation, so i figure i was better off, for the lack of time devoted to fretting about it.

The interview was for an open MARKETING ENGINEER position, which has lots more clouts than what i do now, and maybe even a clout or two more than what i was doing when i lived in Orlando, which was very important to the company, and to turbine society in general. I was eager about the prospect, because i would like to do a job that requires less script, if we know what i mean.

Anyways, i think maybe i will get it?

The insinuation was that eventually, i can live wherever i want to, as long as it makes sense. Sense means not Botswana. I can become a Canadian citizenry, if'n i have the gall. I can move to Rockchester. I could settle in Calgary. I could rampage in Richmond. I could secretly sojourn to Scranton. Did you notice that i eventually began a tendency do start my verbs and places with the same letter?

But for now i will hospitate near Hamilton, and maybe i will even rent out a rundown house in Hamilton, because where i am now my jacuzzi no longer functions, and my dishwasher makes bad noises, like an apocalypse of cogs. And it would be wiser to devote less moneys to snooty apartments, and more money to charitable organizations, meaning my vacations fund. Oh, i used to have a librarian's heart.

Dewar's!!

Lately, i have lots of unkempt stubble, small-lensed glasses, and a tendency to wear a scarf. Yes, i have become one of THOSE dudes...

In my defense, i only own Decemberists cd's, i do not actually listen to them.

Your friend,
-Tim.

Cloud dinners

Oh, all fleshe is grasse, i suppose. Such is a gravity of pestilence. Thanks Lords there be no more pestilences.

My grasse is somewhat sproutable from my facial regions. For four weeks from Christmas, i remained spiteful towards the shaver. I was not returned to North American soil for thirty minutes, and i was being told, basically, that my beard did not look like a very good beard, but it looked better than the face fleshe underneath. OK.

I acquiesce. I refer myself to the picture below, which is the only picture in existence which lends me the subtle vibe of looking as if i had the chance of kicking someone else's ass. This is also called 'masculinity'. It seems that my bare facial skins, nerd glasses, and baffling hair have shrouded this barely-there trait. Somehow, the cheekbones are more prominent, giving a bit of mobster flair. How poetic.



The constant sunglasses and kiddie-tuque-with-tieable-earflaps are kind of getting to the locals, though. I admit.

Work has been taking up all of my time, just like it will for today, until 5 o'clock. Oh! If only i were euro-peeing.

(I would have a lot more of vacations.)

Cold places and things and stuff.

I am still back from Patagonia. I don't think that i like that fact at all.

I told Tom about Explosions in the Sky and their connotations with Nine-Eleven. It was all too much for Tom, he had to go home. We are all fed up with doominess, except for most of us, who are only pretending to be fed up with doominess. Those are the ones who will devote more time to the soundtracks.

Despite my likings for exotic places, i do not want to move anywhere next, and especially i do not want to stay here either. It is the debaclest of debacles.

Lately i am feeling very old, older than even thirty, which is already very old. Even when i was in my little tent at the other side of the world, i was feeling very old, older than a few decades.

I have been reading Cloud Atlas, finally. I am up to the last chapter. Heather recommended Cloud Atlas. It is my favourite book in decades. I can't wait to finish it, except that there will be nothing to read after it, maybe. In one part, it is far far far into the future, on Hawaii, and everyone is talking in the brokenest redneck dialects. There is no God.

I read Robinson Crusoe during lunches in the fifth grade. It was complicated.

It was about being all alone on an island, until Friday showed up.

But even Friday is a savage. Savages are only half-good company.

I like sleeping.

Maybe someday i will not like to write into my blog anymore.

From Patagonia

Looking southly, the first of january 2007, seven in the morning.



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Cerro Chaltén, the smoking mountain. My favorite mountain from now on.



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Cerro Chaltén, with terribly small human being.



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Cerro Paine Grande & the Torres del Paine.



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Faro del fin del mundo, the lighthouse at the end of the world.




Now do you see? I do not want to be one of you, anymore. Someday i will be the one to run off of a cliff, and flyy. We are only trapped by the sky, and that is all.

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I have returned from Patagonia, even though maybe i should have not. I have decided that someday i will look best in a beard, when i have become enough of a man to fill one out. I have slept many nights in the wilderness, beneath a completely different bevy of stars, i have seen the Southern Cross. We stared at each other and said nothing for a long time, and then left. We are both too old now, and we are strangers.

I became a tally of three decades. I wished for a warm tent through the night.

Grandiose wishes are for twenty-nine-year-olds.