Monday, July 31, 2006

272 fish in the bathroom

dear jennsee,

i finally found a picture of you looking at the camera that doesn't bug me out... well much anyway:

jennsee and mysfit (um... I have no concept of time - 2001 maybe...)

yep, that's my girl... the funny thing is you'd probably be able to tell me what year this is just by my hair. :)


p.s. i shaved my head last night. what has it been? three years? more? sometimes when things change you have to keep changing things just to keep up or to prove that you have at least that much control - well that and it's so damn hot here...

Saturday, July 22, 2006

saturday rain fish

i've got two essays here that jenn wrote for governor's school when she was 17/18 and i'm going to share them. maybe they'll help you get to know jenn better or just to remember how much you do know her already. I think this first one is missing a third page, but incomplete tho it may be, the point comes across (the closing lines have been given to me and they have been added. also have been told to note that this essay was written the day before it had to be postmarked for acceptance, which is typical of jenn - ed). it also helps my heart, knowing that i'll be making the same keystrokes that she did at one time. so here's the first one....typos and all.

          Foreign culture has played as large a role in shaping my identity as any aspect of American culture. While there is an undeniable beatuy of a sort in this country, I think that, as in any situation, it can't be understood or appreciated without a glimpse from another persepective. I've been granted this opportunity on more than one occasion, and I will never forget those experiences that have changed the way that I view life.
          There was my first trip to Europe, to France; I lived countryside lifestyle and walked the streets of Paris when I was only eight. I saw the steps of the Madeleine where my grandfather and grandmother were married when he swept her away in 1945 as a war bride. I saw the lights of Paris at night from the top of the Eiffel Tower, saw the river Seine in all its slow beauty, walked the streets of Montmartre and the steps of the majestic white Sacre Coeur. I spent long October evenings in old parks and sprawled alongside a creek bridge crumbling from the eighteenth century.
          I returned when I was twelve, tagging along with my older cousins and tasting French adolescent life, which fortunately altered my perspectives on American adolescence enough to keep me relatively sane. After that I flew back again, fifteen years old and able to glory in the beauty of the city in a new light. On that trip I hit France with eleven students my age and a marvelously open-minded teacher who gave us free rein. The squares of Paris, with their street artists, cafes, dark antique shops and wrought iron balconies, the cemetery at Pere-Lachaise with all its twisted paths and ancient trees, even the pastry shop across the cobblestone road from our hotel, are images I'll carry with me always. On this trip, as well, we hit Italy and Monaco. The sea off Monte Carlo at the foot of plunging rockfaced cliffs, the flowered grave of Princess Grace, the yachts in the harbor--strikingly clear and poetic. Italy too, was gorgeous, though perhaps dirty and crowded at times with its people and massive history, its multitudes of cathedrals and sudden charming alleys, its restaurant districts and its murderous crossroads. Yet nothing compares to the view over valleys from the highways outside Assissi, the power of Coliseum ruins, the truly tilted tower of Pisa. Rome had its metropolitan grime and old streets. Florence had its red roofs and domed cathedrals, its statue of David. Then there was the night train ride over the Italy-France border. The whole trip was like a novel, a movie, a lovely dream, and I remember thinking, although that was a particularly rough time in my life, that there would always be something out there to see, somewhere else to go.
          Last summer I cavorted through Greece, touring the whitewashed Mediterranean island at my leisure on a cruise ship and spending three nights on the roof of our Athens hotel watching the moon rise over the electric-lit Acropolis. I remember thinking that even with Athens' stench of city and open markets, the Golden Age was never too far away. In Athens you can be picking up food or the like at a tiny convenience stand, turn a corner you've never noticed, and be confronted with a marble ruin or elegant imposing statue. It's incredible.
          In an entirely different atmosphere, I've been able to cruise the Bahamas on two occasions, basking in the aquamarine Caribbean and playing like a child in the white sand. There's a certain pungent air over the port at Nassau that makes one understand the allure the islands have for so many people. I'd hardly call it paradise, but it was definitely a hot vivid feast for all senses.
          Being exposed to foreign cultures has molded me as much as life within my own culture. American culture is easy to absorb; it's everywhere, and though it takes intense pride in itself, it's not complicated. The rest of the world, I've learned, is different. Here in an area where people tend to spend their whole lives, I've been able to look past the suburbia and make plans on a much broader scale. I'd love to live in Paris for awhile; only the streets fo the city itself brought me to this daydream. I have a clearer idea of where I'd like to go in my life because I've tasted so many different lifestyles. I know more of what I like, and naturally more of what I don't. These are lessons that I doubt I would have learned without the chances for experience that I've had. As I said, these are images I will carry with me always, and I am perpetually seeking new insights into the world. I am grateful for any opportunity to enrich my ideas and perception with the new perspectives that only a multi-cultural environment can bring.

a novel, a movie, a lovely dream. that's jenn. she knew and experienced more at 17 than i do and have at 27. she's brought me much further down the road of self-discovery and experience than i would have gotten by now without her help. because of her i will continue to travel.

my beautiful, perfect, wonderful love.

timeless space love

Monday, July 17, 2006

undead monkey fish

10 points to mysfit for mentioning her ellipses. i enjoy them as well.

your words are true. grief is selfish at times. the depression i feel right now is shaped like jenn and has flavors of self-pity and loneliness, and them two are most certainly selfish things to feel, but they are springing from a common loss and i think that takes away a little bit from the selfishness. we're all shouldering a different part of the same grief as well as the emotions that come along with.

shared selfishness maybe?

all i know is that this would be too intense to go thru alone. i'm truly thankful for everyone right now. i've been avoiding the little breakdowns by trying to smile my way through them, but it builds up. i cracked hard and it took three days to pick the pieces back up. it's a constant ache and i have to fight tears so often. it sneaks up on me at work. it hits me like waves. coming home is hardest. i still say hello and goodbye. i'll keep looking at the empty seat beside me for a long time.

how do you continue when your reason is gone?

ok melodrama.

the new cd is coming along well. proxy is doing well. i found a new house to live in and she has two flights of stairs she can play on. i hope joe and yuhei can learn to live with her and that their injuries are few. i saw pirates with my sister and penny yesterday (they both say hi) and we three agree that it really kicked ass. i don't know what anyone who was disappointed is talking about. the next one can't come out soon enough.

i've brought you an undead monkey.

best line ever. go see it. let me know, i'll come with. proxy has decided i can't blog anymore, so good evening.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

read the warning first, dear fishies

dear jenn see,

i'm warning you now so that if you want to duck out the back door or exit stage left, you have the chance. i have had a shitty week. this is not a happy fish.

sometimes i think we, in America, are so paralyzed by loss that the subject is almost taboo. death is so distanced from us, either by over saturation on TV, movies, video games or we suffer from the "over-there syndrome"... i'm sure you've felt it too in all of this; the "this kinda stuff happens to other people" feeling. but it doesn't always. this time we are the other people and you know what - it fucking hurts.

but i don't feel the loss of jenn less today than yesterday, than two weeks ago. sure i'm not bursting into tears every few minutes and i can talk to people without losing it - sometimes... but that doesn't mean i've gone numb to the sense of her not being here any more, i just lose in private ways or at least more private places.

perhaps the shock has worn off, leaving behind the dreaded realization that no matter how much i want to dwell within the fact that she is gone, i have to live, if only because she's not. life moves and so must i.

i feel the loss more today and expect to feel it more tomorrow. each little thing that i can't tell her -- not just the things that i forgot to mention or never got the chance when... but the new things, the now things. some times the stupidest things are the worst - like she'll never look at me and ask where i got my watch or if that 's the ring i stole from her... she never...

she'll never, what? what will she never? she did. she was... amazing. she was and that is enough for me, until i reach for my phone to call... until i want to take a picture and can't figure out who to show it to. it's not just she that will never, you know? i'll never get to ask her opinion again. i'll never get to hear her voice again, hear her laugh. i'll never.

mourning is always selfish, no matter how it feels at first.

this is not a bad thing.

so thanks, jenn for making my thoughts come to a point. thank you for building conversations with me, like skyscrapers that only tumbled when we woke up the next day and couldn't remember what we were talking about. thank you for getting mad at me when i was being stupid, narrow-minded or just too much. thank you for pointing out when i was being super-cool or melodramatic or just plain weird. thank you for caring. thank you. i could probably go on and so i will... at some point, but not now. now just... thank you. i love you. good night.


p.s. yes, i used 8 ellipses just because i know it irritates you, my dear jenn... (oops nine)

Sunday, July 09, 2006

soul feathers and the fish

dear jenn see,

since you, my dearest muse, will only give me three or four lines of the poem you are inspiring me to write backwards, i guess it must wait. however i was going through old notebooks and stumbling over the fact that you wrote something in every one of them - (much of which i still cannot decipher because of your hieroglyphic "a's"). i found an old theory of mine - i'm sure you'll remember... and this is all true:

Legend has it that we were all angels once; with two heads, two wings, and one soul. To walk the mortal realm we had to split into two beings; each with a single wing and half a soul. As we travel through this world, we are forever searching for the other half of our souls, our other wing; so that, holding tightly to our other half, we can fly all the way back up into heaven. Thus is the creation of soulmates.

i don't believe this. oh, i believe in soulmates sure enough, i'm just not so sure about the half thing. perhaps we do have half a soul and only one wing, but as for the other half i think it was shattered - ripped apart at birth - each feather left for us to find in the hearts of many people. how many? that probably depends upon the soul. as we travel through life, we touch and are touched by people and each time a feather is exchanged, sometimes more than one. and each time, we grow a little as souls, rebuilding our wings.

draw your own conclusions.


Thursday, July 06, 2006

a scattered fishbrain

the fish has been a painful place for me lately, that's why i've been absent. not that i've been here that much at all. either way...

cynthia says hi and that she loves you.

i dreamt that i went to heaven and hell. they were the same place. kinda like a nightclub called heaven and hell, which is more or less what sonic told me tenjou tenge means.


odd thing was, everyone there was still alive. penny said that jenn wasn't there because she had gone off to be universal.

my timeless love.

it hurts like nothing else, but i've got an assortment of masks and can wear them well. it takes a lot of effort to even get up, but i managed to make it back to work today.

obvious questions, says charlie chan, but we gotta go!

i want to post the scholarship fund information. there will be a website to follow, but for now donations may be sent to

"Jan-Ai Scholarship Fund"
c/o Bob Walker
P.O Box 8068
Atlantic City, N.J. 08404

jan-ai was a nickname given to jenn by her father when she was a little girl and means lover of people. since cynthia and family will do a much better job at explaining jan-ai in depth on the website than i will here, i'll let it be at that.

i'm jerry.
this is the space i occupy and this is my immediate vicinity. i'm staring down infinity and looking upon...
rocketboy is lying on his back at that point where the water barely touches the sand before receding, howling at an empty sky, for there is no moon.
'tell me about pain, jerry.'
'look at the sea.'
'tell me about loss, jerry.'
'just look at the sea.'

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

mists of july fish

dear jenn see,

happy fourth! so no fireworks for me this fourth of july - i guess it's just that type of year. i said my fish was stuck in the clouds, but i guess it fell down with the rain and is flopping around in the grass.

we're on to plan d (all of the above). first we were going to go up to nederland, that little town where we watched them over reservoir last year - i was going to pretend it was the ocean this time. but because of the drought out here, they were cancelled. plan B was a place called lookout mountain for a tailgate where we could see all the explosions on the plains of CO, but they closed the mountain. as we left boulder, the sky behind us darkened and over the mountains rolled a torrential storm. so we're barbecuing on our back porch and toasting to being free from those imperialist bastard... um oh, well to being free - again, eventually. :P

remember when we went to the top of that parking deck to watch the fireworks over the raritan river in NB? but the new ugly yellow buildings blocked our view just enough that they looked like they were under siege. we had such good times.

and i wanted to tell you that you've set some amazing things in motion. they will be posted on the fish just as soon as i've got all the details. this week, i will figure out how i fit into it all and then let the fish swim its course.

oh and tell oldben that the fish misses him, i can't do this myself you know. also, let him know that whenever he's ready is fine by me. no worries, you know. i wish i knew what to say. he's amazing, but then you know that better than i do.

i miss you. gonna go watch tombstone now. later.


p.s. this would have been sent last night, but i got really sick and both hamlet and i spend the whole night and the next day in utter agony - we think it might have been food poisoning.

sing with me fish

the fish is currently in the clouds and who knows when it will come back down so here's something ... pretty to watch - for jenn of course