I now have a camera. I'll take some shots tomorrow and fiddle around with it. I plan on taking a trip back to my ANCESTRAL HOMELAND (Ojai) and scoping out all the places I used to go when I was younger. Old homes, old schools, and what have you. I have not been there in years, not even in passing. Its a fairly secluded place, all things considered. Its plenty populated and has money invested, but if you need anything beyond touristy shit and groceries, you drive out to Ventura (About 45 minutes, if I'm remembering right). The aforementioned money likes to keep out the majority of big businesses, the only large chain store out there I can remember being a Vons grocery. Great place to raise a kid, in retrospect.
I remember oak trees, mostly. Oak trees and hilariously hot days with equally miserable nights, leading up to constantly freezing mornings. I'm not sure how that works, but it keeps you on your toes (or in a constant state of misery). Waking up covered in sweat is not a terribly enjoyable experience. Nightly. I also recall the trolley system, ferrying my ass all over the place for the cost of a quarter (or fifty cents, not sure) because, even as a high school freshman, I had manifested snobbery about taking the school bus home. I blame my Mother (This will be on my tombstone, if only for sheer amusement factor).
I also remember all the excursions into the surrounding nature. Lots of mountains, woods, and creaks. Spent many days lurking around shallow riverbeds, packed with sun bleached rocks, learning new ways to catch the local wildlife. I've caught absurd amounts of lizards, frogs, toads, snakes, bugs, and whatever else that didn't immediately bite/sting me or elude the relatively malicious curiosity of youth.
One fond memory is some time after my Mother and I scooped up a batch of local frog eggs (We had done this a few times, I believe), allowing them to grow into little frogs in a large glass tank (with proper decor for their new interest in land life). I had gone out with my Father and Uncle one day, catching two garter snakes and bringing them home. Digging out a wildlife book, I was curious to find out what these things ate. They seemed far too small to be eating mice, so I was confused.
They apparently ate tad poles. "Small frogs would work, right?" Excellent way to learn the cycle of life and that the "cooler" animals were allowed to feed on the "less cool" animals. This is the cycle of life, right here. Not to say amphibians are not cool (I love them to bits), but at the time I had little experience with snakes, so sacrifices had to be made to sate my previously mentioned "relatively malicious curiosity."
Probably says something about my development from then to now that I get twinges of guilt about feeding those little frogs to the snakes, when I could have just as easily left the snakes in the wild to merrily care for themselves and the frogs could have been fed by me (and eventually released where I first got them, massively destabilizing the local ecosystem!)
Releasing pets reminds me of something that my Mother has done a few times, under differing circumstances and reasoning. My Father had been intrigued by a new creature at the local pet store (Run by a little old asian lady). She had just recently gained a batch of twenty or so baby savannah monitor lizards, selling each for... 36 dollars, if I remember right. We bought one and brought it home, much to my Mothers chagrin (and eventual horror).
This... thing, was a fantasy creature for a young boy. Not only did it eat small critters, but it did so in the most violent way possible. It would snatch the mouse with its jaws (Packed with hooked teeth that extend when biting, making sure prey does not squirm away) and then beat the ever living crap out of it against stone, glass, and fake grass floor. Like it was trying to appease some greater power through its sheer brutality. Showing Caesar that it was worthy entertainment. Once the mouse was disoriented, beaten, and bits of its fur and blood strewn about, it would be consumed.
Magical.
This went on until the lizard got to be about a foot long. It did not cease to be cool and seemed to be doing rather well, despite the fact that holding it involved thick leather gardening gloves and enough sense not to let it near any form of uncovered flesh. I was already imagining us having to set up a large cage outside to contain it, upgrading its feed to small rabbits or hens. These are the dreams of a boy before they are supplanted with eroticism through puberty.
My Mother had enough. Too many little creatures lives had been lost in her home. Not having the nads to outright murder the thing, she decided to set the beast free. To let it grow endlessly in the local mountains and feed on hippies trekking out to their secret marijuana gardens.
Honestly, I think it died overnight. Frozen. Or eaten by a hawk. Or bobcat. Or anything hungry and bigger than it, period.
Still magical. Reminds me of the time when we were moving out of one home, one of our iguanas escaped. It was found by, I believe, someone attempting to sell the house. Dead and bloated, hanging up in the skeletal branches of a winter tree. I want to believe that impacted the property value in some miniscule way, or drove off a possible buyer.
I'm trying to remember why we had iguanas. They reminded me of ornery cats that noisily secreted some monstrous mixture of feces and urine while not being very cuddly. To be fair, when they weren't "in a mood" they were decent lap props. I think my Mother had more affection for them than could be considered normal, attributing them too closely to cats and thus budding some sort of spirit animal bond.
Thinking. I want to write, I want to put down information. I want to remain free form. I don't want to get caught in attempting to "complete" a thought. I stared at the previous paragraph, thinking about that topic, for longer than I am realizing was necessary. I ran out of juice, so move on, right?
Oh, actually, another thing I remember was creak fishing all over. For a time, the waters were populated with farm raised trout with the intent of being caught. I was all over the place with my Dad and Uncle. Doritos, beer, soda, and jerky being the only thing sustaining any of us. I recall many great swimming holes, some with very clear (and freezing) water. I remember occasions where they would point out "native" trout and how you could tell (Usually smaller, with more vibrant colors). Illegal to catch those, I think. We never cast water with natives in them.
Was also taken out to go "shooting." Gotta give some justification to owning weaponry by shooting bottles and other assorted crap left behind by the previous people that had the same idea. Good memories.
A lot of memories from them. Too many to jam into one post. Hopefully I'll reach those, at other times.
I am currently listening to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liYcrNTGaaE
I want to experience one of my favorite groups in person, someday. The energy is... concentrated, that I can feel it oozing out of the sounds. Something about the people cheering and roaring only adds to the music, simply syncing with the music and amplifying the intensity. You even have a guy trying to cause the audience to surge. Bottle that shit, someone.
Another example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKRx6V7bqQI
A potential for a form of transcendence, I believe. Something to be experienced. Give your imagination enough juice and it will start churning out the best it can. That's the good stuff. The fresh stuff. Primal elements shattered off the mind, ready to be set into your best visions.
The music has a certain... electricity to it. Scintillating energy. Music all has a sort of energy to it, something that you can imagine. The flow, I suppose. How it makes you feel, combined with how it makes you want to move, meshed with what it makes you imagine.
Hum. In spite of this I feel funked out. Likely just tired. I don't... feel right. Feel like I'm not being a good enough friend to people I know. A good enough person. Like, occasions where I will think of something elaborate and contextually sound, but usually lose the vigor due to work or other factors. Feel like I could say more, do more, or something more. Wish I had no responsibilities, sometimes, just so I could dedicate some time on being better for the people in my life. Weird thing to say, honestly, since I don't consider myself drawn to selflessness as a motivation for happiness.
I don't have much to give, except myself. I hope that is enough, for now, because I'm not sure if I'm becoming a better friend/family member or not.
Ohhhoohoo, how delightfully morose of me. Simply delicious.
I have no doubt in success. I just hope people will be around when that comes about. :V
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