holding a dry rose head

This blog is all about me

Manual labor, tired and hungry, a new kind of humility, lies in sharp contrast to the humility of sitting slumped at a desk, tired and sickly, overly full from snacking.

I wish people would take my picture more often, so I could look at myself, and wonder who the hell that guy is.

Shoveling snow, sweaty and cold, taking off and putting on jackets, wondering if my tiny muscles look strong, panting and resting with every few shovel-fulls, is a new kind of humility, stands sharply in contrast to the humility of showing up to work and sitting, drinking acrid acidic coffee-like black water, eating stale snacks, and trying to muster the focus to work at work. 

I read what I have written several times to verify that I am just as cool as I thought I was before I forgot what I wrote. 

Driving to work sometimes, I sing along with a pulsing, energetic song, and remind myself that I do not have a voice for performing, no matter what anybody may say, thus reminding myself that I am surrounded by liars. 

I listen to the songs that I write thousands of times, and still leave them up for the public to hear. 

I find myself utterly hilarious, in the moments that I have forgotten how utterly pathetic I am, and especially in the moments that I must appear utterly, hilariously pathetic.

Like right now.

Self Portrait

As I drive...

the music cuts in and out. Transfixed, hypnotized by the passing road, I exist entirely in the back of my head, staring only through these two eye holes, watching just the road, listening to nothing. The music cuts in and out, but transfixed and hypnotized I don't notice. Static slides in and out, masking words and music, but so subtly and deftly that I haven't a clue. I'm transfixed and hypnotized by the ever opening road, broadening continuously from a pinpoint in the horizon, or bending slowly around mountain corners.

Beautiful and yucky, all at once

Winter Hellscape

Went on a nice hike lately. Got some pretty pics. Cold as hell, but looked nice, and quiet... which is nice. Thus, nice hike. More pics at:  http://picasaweb.google.com/daniel.hulter/100106#

Slow, Futile Constructions

Due to the temperature outside, sometimes water will attempt great feats of collaboration, building upside down ladders to the ground, perhaps tired of merely throwing itself violently, hoping for an easier, softer and more pleasant route.
I sat and watched the icicles form for a little while. Beadlets of water, attempting to cling and freeze to the end would stretch, screaming, groping, then shuddering would fall, and break into little pieces of water on the concrete below. Then the next would try. Then the next, and on, bravely sacrificing themselves to build this city, or perhaps merely victims of a determined future who were hopeful that they would be one of the lucky ones, the ones who sit comfortably back, scaffolding and roadway for the great many who they watch plunge to their screaming, horrible deaths.

I must say, I am not entirely convinced that we are not all mere beads of water, running down the most logical path, success being merely a matter of luck and circumstance. I like to think that we are not, but I cannot say for sure.
I, for one, don't see anything wrong with this. Droplets of water forming into icicles is a perfectly beautiful thing.