AUSTIN, Texas, July 31, 2004 —
The calendar doesn't change a day.
Not really.
And yet the first and the last of our arbitrary segments.
Infect our minds.
The anniversaries of things.
Make us remember.
The numbers we've assigned to years and days.
Trumping reality.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 30, 2004 —
Mustard, mayo, salad dressing.
Marinade, olives, pickles.
Relish it all.
Add some capers, a jar of horseradish.
Maybe some ketchup or chocolate syrup.
Top it off with salsa, bitters, lemon juice and lime.
We haven't any fresh food at all.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 29, 2004 —
Seeing the smashed metal and glass.
The pieces of plastic scattered.
Even hearing the crunk and the screech of tires.
Is different.
Than being in an accident.
When the crumpled vehicle is your problem.
And phone calls with insurance agents, adjusters, body shops.
And rent cars and inconvenience.
And maybe a rise in rates.
Are your lot.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 28, 2004 —
Pull on a shirt.
Make yourself a signpost.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 27, 2004 —
Snack. Drive.
Snack. Watch.
Sip. Talk.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 26, 2004 —
A thing has value beyond what would be bid.
A value of the moment and the giver.
A memory made concrete.
In piles at the thrift store.
Stripped and naked.
At a loss among other forgotten things.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 25, 2004 —
More time, more slouth.
There is always tomorrow, also off the clock.
When limits are ticking, you might get something done.
How do you take a vacation from fun?

AUSTIN, Texas, July 24, 2004 —
Clean and neat.
My surroundings are not.
Only as tidy as my mind.
Chaos therein.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 23, 2004 —
Free time.
Calendars with no meetings, dinners, lunches, agendas.
Yawning choices.
Glorious.
Scary.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 22, 2004 —
Type the word.
Grab it.
Out of the dictionary.
Use it.
Make it your own.
So the combination of letters doesn't slip slide away.
So the very meaning doesn't come loose from the word.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 21, 2004 —
Choose when you get up.
Choose what you wear.
Choose what you watch. And read.
And whether you get a haircut or a workout or both.
Choose what you eat and where and when and with whom.
Choose how you spend your money.
Time, money and attention are limited.
For a limited time only.
Your choice.
You choose.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 20, 2004 —
Your parents are your refuge.
Often.
Long after you should be independent.
Then one day you realize.
That while you still take solace in them.
That they are your charges.
That they look to you for some sort of support.
An arm, some help with a gadget, even some advise.
And you realize.
That you are looking straight into your fate.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 19, 2004 —
It increases your range.
And changes the view
While you get there.
Without a car you might stay home.
Save the ozone.
Not have cheese in every form.
Dig around in the pantry for canned goods.
It's good to observe yourself without occasionally.
Without a car or electricity or other assumed supporting infrastructure.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 18, 2004 —
It was useful.
You had high hopes.
Now it's broken.
It taunts you.
Not doing its duty.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 17, 2004 —
Fit as a fiddle.
You feel yourself using your body.
You bend without much effort and lift easily.
You recover from a dash or a few stairs.
You play tennis without finding a lost muscle.
Easy to take for granted.
And quickly lost.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 16, 2004 —
We are interested in people.
Because, really, there is nothing else.
Nature requires interpretation.
Manmade things a man. Or woman.
But we can't seem to escape.
The one person.
We are.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 15, 2004 —
Time.
Slips from your grasp.
Whether you are hanging out.
Hangoing on.
Or doing ten things at once.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 14, 2004 —
Typing.
To Read Later.
To remember.
Or jog the memory.
Typing.
To remember how.
To keep the chops up.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 13, 2004 —
Keeping up.
Contacts.
There are so many ways now.
Phone 'em.
E-mail 'em.
Instant message 'em.
Even...could we? write a letter?
Or, gulp, go out for a meal or a drink or...
is it possible?
Invite live human beings into our home and entertain them?

AUSTIN, Texas, July 12, 2004 —
And they lived happily ever after.
More likely they only had.
A moment or two, a few days.
Maybe they were euphoric, sure.
But then they came down.
How far?
We are sure.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 11, 2004 —
You use it.
Or admire it.
Or merely store it.
Hoping to get something for it.
Or thinking...one day I'll need it.
You dust it.
Move it.
Catalog it.
Store it.
And then one day.
It is gone. Or you.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 10, 2004 —
It would be a dream. To live where you could walk.
To shop, to work, to eat, to be entertained.
It would be a dream to have public transportation.
That took you where you wanted to go.
Quickly.
Is light rail the answer for Austin?
Only a fool would think so.
The problem with the buses is the chicken and egg: need riders for routes, no routes or too infrequent so no riders except the desperate.
For a rail system, you need feeders.
That would be buses.
But if the buses have no riders?
Hey, Cap Metro...show me you can fix the bus thing!
And, by the way, I'm glad to see the bus ads.
Because, years ago, you said ads were unseamly.
As if taking our tax money to run buses infrequently on inconvenient routes was seamly.
And I pointed out that the great cities have ads on and in public transportation.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 9, 2004 —
I am here.
Maybe you are, too.
But my movie is different.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 8, 2004 —
Economics.
Drives everything.
Put another way: greed.
Sadly, we consume what we can.
Refining our tastes up the pyramid.
Don't just get calories, dine.
Don't just dress, be fashionable.
Don't just have a roof, have a mansion.
Don't just work, play.
It can be good, driving jobs down to artists and masons, chefs and bus boys, mechanics and maids.
Unless.
We figure out that we can blow things up and replace them.
And it makes financial sense.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 7, 2004 —
Edit yourself.
Your writing.
Your life.
Include what defines.
Cross out what isn't really.
You.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 6, 2004 —
Vote.
You don't have that many choices.
And many others will overwhelme your little punch or pull or electronic dial.
But vote all the same.
You must.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 5, 2004 —
Feeling low.
Depressed.
Heat induced?
Cycles?
Hormones?
A lack of?
Real reasons?
No.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 4, 2004 —
Flag?
What's it mean?
A nation?
A mission?
A cover for a coffin.
Dipped halfway.
Thirty days for a president.
Is protocol.

AUSTIN, Texas, July 3, 2004 —
Until when?
Until death?
Or something else?
What have we agreed to?
Can you have a pre-nup and still say 'until death?'
I guess.
Weddings make me wonder.
About many things.
Not just ill-fitting tuxedo trousers
And feisty ring bearers
And who is who and belongs to who.
But how did it come to this ceremony?

AUSTIN, Texas, July 2, 2004 —
We feel happy, we say.
And what do we mean?
That worry is pushed aside?
That we are satisfied?
With where we've been and what we've done?
With those we have saved, with those we've undone?
What does it mean that we've dismissed regret,
driven out rue and forgotten deaths
and disease and war and tumult?
That we can be happy to take a few stairs
Two at a time?

AUSTIN, Texas, July 1, 2004 —
We finish the chore.
Empty what will become full.
Fill what will become empty.
We move on, doing, doing.
Cleaning the same surface to spatter it again.
We do the daily, the weekly, the monthly.
And then there is another day, another week, another month.
Our years are full of finishing.
And starting again.