The ol' Cottonball express
Started Jul 28th, 2005
I’m not sure who I'll be writing to but my hope is in a few faithfuls who still believe in my blogging life.
The lack of blogging is by no means of lack of desire or ideas. However, more due to my lapse about the North American machine. Gallivanting amidst the British Columbia’s southern lands in attempts to reconnect with lost social hours along with some new ambitious goals have left few moments for writing. Goals, eh?
No -- this has nothing to do with puppy dogs and pick-up trucks. But alas, I have started work on a new musical album. I have two and a half years of music to peel off my fingers and project out of my mouth. I'm attempting to capture it and craft it into something palatable for the human ear. A daunting task to say the least.
Well, I suppose I should go back and change goals to goal. But…meh, I’ll just come up with another…
When we shift our lives outside of our normal, a new normal is formed and if you step far enough away you realized just how un-normal normal can be. Basically, warning: venturing too far outside of your traditional bounds will mess up life as you knew it.
Gambia, for the record, has mess me up. Thought I have returned to the same house, same job and same friends, (all of which I am absolutely grateful for) nothing is perfectly familiar, it is seen from a new vantage all now emit different impression. There are new rocks in my minds many of which grind up against the old bearings of the ol’ Cottonball Express (the Canadian Model). The friction brings about wear on the system and eventually you’ll need some maintenance.
Popping off the cover you check out the damage. Some is obvious the extra friction wore out the timing belt that will need replacing. Many of the weaker stones have broken down into sand and are too small to throw around anymore. Although difficult to fully remove, these will cause only minor problems down the road and if my mind is like an oyster I might pop out a pearl in a year or two.
Others, more stubborn ones, have inhabited the gearbox and drive train explaining the sloppy shifting and why I periodically can’t get out of first in the mornings. Overall it has weakened the strength of the system and its physical wear takes a toll on the rest of the unit’s performance ambitions. Dehabitualising these obvious rocks is relatively easy, however, restoring the gears to their former glory is a formidable task. The simple reality is that the current physical system does the job so its rehab program remains low of the priority list.
A quick glance at the tire reveals the cause of the bumpy ride over the last couple of months. Thousands of foreign objects from the adventure have been picked up and hide the character of the tire from its interaction with the road. In a few grooves a piece of glass juts out to slice at the world posing a greater threat to the tire itself. Other harmless pebbles make for periodic awkward moments of miss connection reminding you aren’t quite as smooth as you recalled. Not all is a negative. It appears some tiny diamonds have melted into the studs adding grip, resistance and a brilliant shine the tires that others have taken note of.
Closing the hood I could help but acknowledge the dints in the outside appearance. Not really looking like the pride of the town. Is there a point in fixing the old machine back to North American standards if you will be heading down the road again sometime soon? How long would it take? Will the old form and shine ever really return? Or maybe I just think too much and it is time to grow a new brain.
To think I just saw William Shatner on a box of all bran.
Finished Aug 24th, 2005
I’m not sure who I'll be writing to but my hope is in a few faithfuls who still believe in my blogging life.
The lack of blogging is by no means of lack of desire or ideas. However, more due to my lapse about the North American machine. Gallivanting amidst the British Columbia’s southern lands in attempts to reconnect with lost social hours along with some new ambitious goals have left few moments for writing. Goals, eh?
No -- this has nothing to do with puppy dogs and pick-up trucks. But alas, I have started work on a new musical album. I have two and a half years of music to peel off my fingers and project out of my mouth. I'm attempting to capture it and craft it into something palatable for the human ear. A daunting task to say the least.
Well, I suppose I should go back and change goals to goal. But…meh, I’ll just come up with another…
When we shift our lives outside of our normal, a new normal is formed and if you step far enough away you realized just how un-normal normal can be. Basically, warning: venturing too far outside of your traditional bounds will mess up life as you knew it.
Gambia, for the record, has mess me up. Thought I have returned to the same house, same job and same friends, (all of which I am absolutely grateful for) nothing is perfectly familiar, it is seen from a new vantage all now emit different impression. There are new rocks in my minds many of which grind up against the old bearings of the ol’ Cottonball Express (the Canadian Model). The friction brings about wear on the system and eventually you’ll need some maintenance.
Popping off the cover you check out the damage. Some is obvious the extra friction wore out the timing belt that will need replacing. Many of the weaker stones have broken down into sand and are too small to throw around anymore. Although difficult to fully remove, these will cause only minor problems down the road and if my mind is like an oyster I might pop out a pearl in a year or two.
Others, more stubborn ones, have inhabited the gearbox and drive train explaining the sloppy shifting and why I periodically can’t get out of first in the mornings. Overall it has weakened the strength of the system and its physical wear takes a toll on the rest of the unit’s performance ambitions. Dehabitualising these obvious rocks is relatively easy, however, restoring the gears to their former glory is a formidable task. The simple reality is that the current physical system does the job so its rehab program remains low of the priority list.
A quick glance at the tire reveals the cause of the bumpy ride over the last couple of months. Thousands of foreign objects from the adventure have been picked up and hide the character of the tire from its interaction with the road. In a few grooves a piece of glass juts out to slice at the world posing a greater threat to the tire itself. Other harmless pebbles make for periodic awkward moments of miss connection reminding you aren’t quite as smooth as you recalled. Not all is a negative. It appears some tiny diamonds have melted into the studs adding grip, resistance and a brilliant shine the tires that others have taken note of.
Closing the hood I could help but acknowledge the dints in the outside appearance. Not really looking like the pride of the town. Is there a point in fixing the old machine back to North American standards if you will be heading down the road again sometime soon? How long would it take? Will the old form and shine ever really return? Or maybe I just think too much and it is time to grow a new brain.
To think I just saw William Shatner on a box of all bran.
Finished Aug 24th, 2005
posted by neseirf ekim at 12:23 AM
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