They muddled my book stacks and disrupted every neuron, synapse and desire for reading. What is it about shade on a summer day that over-rides the right to privacy and personal space? Perhaps it is the nature of public places that transmits a sense of entitlement to the masses, inviting them to destroy the little joy to be found under the canvas umbrella. I knew they weren’t drawn in by my demeanor as I did everything I could short of verbally cursing their very existence  or throwing my feces at them to drive them off. A smarter man would have done so.

I hadn’t shaved and my hair was a messy love affair. The sunlight reflected off the ground causing me to wince and scowl. The wonderful, uninviting presentation of which was only topped by Trooper growling, snapping and  chasing off other dogs. He had the kind of growl and size to him that made parents pick up their children and complain about as they left the park. I had all of these wonderful things going for me, and the performance from Trooper and myself were delightfully cruel, simple and subtle.

The cows did not flinch. The intruders did not move. They continued to stand there unchallenged in doughy eyed stupidity.  I went out of my way to find this spot and walk in the uncomfortable inferno across the park, basking in the smell of simmering shit to the furthest point from  both gates to weed out  and inconvenience such fat grazers from trespassing upon my shade. The soccer moms and their mindless babble and screaming hell spawn came anyway. I suppose they thought I had chosen the spot because of some virtue that the 10 other shady places lacked. They  of course did not know that the virtue my spot had was of course their absence. They came. They saw. They pillaged and raped the spot of all her virtues.

With one simple command, Trooper lunged for their puppy and chased it off and would not let it come by. He barked at the whining baby and eventually drove the heard off, but not before pulling me away completely from my reading and pushing me into a foul mood for writing.

I generally enjoy working outside and in public, in the parks and well windowed cafes. They provide enough space for the imagination to grow and wander. I even enjoy the people, from a distance. I prefer to enjoy them what I can only imagine to be as a God’s arm’s length away. I am farsighted with sensitive ear and mistake close quarter crowds for boxing matches. I despise being crammed next to people in first hand ear shot of their mindless conversations about celebrity gossip and the same old boring psychological disorders. I am never made uncomfortable or curious by someone discussing their struggles with dendrophilia. Instead I am bothered by the normal, superficial, noncommittal tree lovers and huggers and lesser insects. I am always on the prowl to eavesdrop on some wonderfully serious discussion about world domination and how to go about it, or far more sophisticated personal dramas.

In the cafes, these things are drowned out by the gentle white noise of the foaming doo-dads, spoons spinning and cup -clanking and blending and brewing whatchamacallits.  In the open however, noise carries well and I prefer to be at such a distance as to have the option of opting out of distinguishing sounds into speech. At the same time, I enjoy that perfect distance where, if I wanted to, I could focus and discern what words were carried with the wind from across the pond. Perhaps today, I am just a grumpy guy at the dog park.

The move is a slow and steady flow of necessities only and trinkling of trinkets. I am careful to carry on more baggage of any kind into my new digs and expect the move will take weeks.  I am car not haunted or burdened with an addiction to novelty, consumption or ownership. I have brought with me principles of simplicity, mobility, independence and control- packed neatly in my backpack, next to an old Bokowski novel.  I disguise the personal implications with crisp language and sneak them to work, so they never escape my thoughts.  I came into this new home as light in hand, empty in pocket, and full in mind as I could.

The belly of thoughts I have saved is now wisely dispensed on works, community and meditation.  I have become leaner with the expense and my stomach grumbles of real hunger.  The bare shelves and matching stomach will not stay for long as I will redecorate and fill them both with only the finest of fuels.

My other appetites are playfully neglected and compensated with constant physical activity, conversation, community and friendship. I have 3 roommates to torment and am comitted to the cause. They keep me entertained with their drunken displays and cheap laughter.  All in the house are pleasant and easy going…so far.  I, however being the youngest in the house have already been called out to be measured on wit and prowess, challenges I gladly take and asses handed over quickly, quietly and without gloating.

Trooper, my ironically named, slightly timid dog is happy to live with me in such a large home with a playmate and fellow rescue dog Bailey. Trooper has discovered the art of rolling in the dirt, a forgotten practice of childhood all youngsters his age enjoyed. His sleek smooth and shiny black coat turn gray and camoflauged which I am confident he uses to disguise himself from passing, unsuspecting squirrels and rats on the fence.  Rumors are floating of murder and decapitation of the vermen, but I have yet to witness a kill.

I began brushing the dust off of neglected projects and scribble stacks of yester year. The half songs and half hearted entries that never made it to post now sit quitely in peripheral like bean cans in a bomb shelter during hard times.  My Just in Case pile, things to sort and process- a thickly stacked journey ripe with adventure is clearly ahead for me. In the alphabet of addictions I seem to be stuck on the W’s work,  working out and writing. I can’t imagine where they will continue to take me.