Home is where the...er...your stuff is?

Muse of the day: Pabst, Lost locations, babies


For years now I have been riddled by the meaning of the word home. On one end this word may represent the place that you grew up, yet on the other end, I know many who have grown accustomed to refering to the place which they currently reside as home. When I'm not thinking about it too hard, I am of the later catagory.Though, at times like the present, I am once again begging the question: Where is home?

Today is day 2 of my first sojourn of the year--if you can call it that--to the place of my birth and schooling, etc...Little Rock, Arkansas. While on previous occasions this has always been a celebration of sorts, this time around something is very different. Well, many things. To begin with: in previous visits back "home" I was always careful to give my old friends the 'heads up', and in turn have someone waiting for me at the airport, and from that point on the following days were filled with friends and drinks and picking up where I had left off...This is not so this time around. This time around, I arrived at the airport and sat outside for half of an hour waiting for my father to pick me up and drop me off at my mother's house, where I was to wait until she got done with church. Needless to say, this Tuesday proper, I spoke with only my father in person. Not that it's a bad thing...just strange.
At around 10:30 my mother arrived at the house and we chit-chatted for about an hour, until she went to bed. This was my homecoming, and also the cause for a confusing bout of self-reflection.

Now while the above is certainly nothing to 'write home about' (haha) I feel that it was indeed the very essence of lackluster, and therefore worth noting. Today, was especially more of the same, only with many more twists of oddness...In the interest of keeping readers I will just hit a few highlights and leave the rest to the imagination...Curtain up at 7:50 a.m. at which time I was awakened by my mother for the first time in several years. This was actually pleasent, and as a reward for the early rousing I was granted access to her car for the day. After driving her to work and coming back home, coffee and smokes in posession, I proceeded to bask in the satelite television for serveral hours. While it was relaxing enough, I found myself dropping all of the cycnicysm that I had accumulated over the past few months (i.e.-"How can one glue themselves to the tube and watch advertisement after advertisement and feel good about it?" and so on...). This lengthy stint prompted the consumption of breakfast and a couple of beers before I was finally ready to take a nap, which was already on the agenda. This was no problem; eventually I was awake, showered, and ready to make use of the borrowed wheels before it was time to go back downtown to pick up mom. Over the course of my relaxing drive I decided that the best thing to do was to visit the old spots. But...Saver's Thrift Store; closed. University Mall; a freshly demolished hole. Lorenzen's Bookshop; available for lease...The list continues. Though one good thing did come of the excursion: a phone call from an old friend with a new baby. Granted, I have know about the baby and been meaning to come down to see her, this was to be the first formal opportunity to do so, and thus the invitation was gladly accepted.
I returned home, mildly dejected, and killed the rest of the afternoon with popsicles and tv shows about ghost-hunters, before it was time to get back behind the wheel and pick up ma.
I did so, dropped her off, and then set back out--at this point nearly two hours late--for my friend's home where there was promise of fresh empenadas.
Alas, the baby was asleep, so I was shown the crib and pictures, fed, entertained by my friend and his new wife, and sent on my way by 9 p.m. It was a great visit, and gave a me a new perspective on what it means to be 'domesticated', as it were, and I got to play wii bowling for the first time. But, through the course of our visit I learned about a party going on up the street. A party where people I know/knew would be en masse. I thought about going. And I though about how for the first time in many years, I had not told anyone that I was coming into town. And I thought about what it might be like to just show up, and smile and catch-up, and drink beers, and then try to drive the twenty-minutes home without incident...just like the old times. It seems however that all of that thinking just landed me back at mom's place and once again in-front of the television. Something was wrong perhaps...but then again maybe it wasn't. The party would have been the chance to just pop in out of the blue and kill many birds with one stone of visitation. But, here it is 11:39p.m. and I have no intention of going.

As I said before, this visit is much unlike the others, and I am still trying to figure out why. Why part of me keeps saying that "this is supposed to be down-time; just take it easy" and another part says "you're young bro-bro get out there and embrace the spring lovliness", I can not help but feel like I have consciously done something to allienate myself from these people and this scene. I'm not sure why, but I've certainly noticed myself doing it before back home...Home in Brooklyn. Where I have spent the last five years sorting through everything and establishing a happy, albeit often solitary, life.

If you're still with me at this point and are wondering what all of this is supposed to mean, know that I am questioning this too. There are things that need to be sorted out. Whether or not this happens in the next few days, whose to say? But in any case, I am in awe of the perplexity of what one actually means when they say they are "going home". It irks me and makes me long for someplace else no matter where I am when I say it...Above all else it makes me want to go there, to find that place where everything is just as it was, and where there's nothing to prove to anyone, myself included.

No country for young men

Muse of the day: Mounting face stubble; Alone time; Hard copy first draft

I'm pleased to report that the road to recovery is slowly showing itself. Despite the occasional un-scratchable itch, and some weird tingling if antibiotics are not taken without food, I'm looking forward to having my forehead back by Wednesday. Although this may mean that I will have to find some other way to look mean/tough; this incident has definitely has if nothing else taught me many lessons about responsibility and vanity.
For instance: until two days ago, I was completely unaware of the myriad perks of candor and a broken face. (I am fairly sure that just as many jokes have been made on my behalf, but I really only give half a shit.) It has served as a conversation piece on everything from bicycle safety to responsible alcohol consumption, and from many fun injury stories to that self-realization of just how lucky we all are to be alive...So in short--and I will try to promise to speak no more of this--it has ironically been an eye-opening experience, despite the reality of my eye being quite swollen.

I wish that there were some other news to report, but then again since I'm not really "reporting" to anyone through this in the first place, at least it's off my mind. Right now the plan is one of my old favorites... laying low for a while and figuring out that all important next move.

Busted face...Prophecies fufilled

We've all had bad weekends. You know it as well as I do...But then again perhaps you don't. This one might just take the proverbial cake. When it comes to figuring out just how cruddy things can get I think that a proper vent is in order for this weekend's shenanigans. Or to put it more simply, If I don't say something about this right now I may very well break down and have that 'good cry' that I've been meaning to have for the past year...So here's the re-cap, in an abridged as possible form:

In the previous post I identified myself as a career writer. However; as I failed to mention that my day job, in a bookstore,currently grants me a Wednesday/Thursday weekend, I think that is important to include this tidbit now.
Among the activities on the docket for this weekend (finish a short story, socialize, cook food, clean myself and the apartment) I had nor prior intention of ending up in an emergency room. Who does? Yet, nonetheless, this was the ultimate end of my mid-week-weekend.

It all started simply enough on Wednesday. For me this is a day for chilling-out, taking stock of life, and lately, watching either grade-A or grade-F movies. This particular day I was destined to borrow a copy of 'Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle' from a good friend from work who happens to live down the street. This was no problem, as I had never seen the film and had nothing else to do, and seemed like a capital way to waste an evening. Yet, while borrowing the dvd from this friend I was informed about a punk rock show in which two of her roommates would be performing. With the promise of an open bar and friends from work, I could easily mark socializing off of my list. Great. No Problem. Good people, good time; and all at the expense of picking up a crap movie. Awesome...or so one might think.
After picking up the movie, I stopped off at the local grocer, got some tea and supplies to make dinner (hence marking off another item on my list) and came home for a quiet evening of mindless 'enjoyment'. -- I forgot to mention that by this point the house was clean, and in turn marked off of the list as well. -- Minni-pizzas were made(deluxe: with fresh tomatoes, grated cheese& american, chopped garlic, ground oregano, ect...) a stoner movie was watched (apropos) and I was in bed before 2 a.m.
The following morning brought a good call for coffee, a big breakfast (as I am waaay broke yet left with a surplus of potatoes, eggs, and roommate bread) and contemplation of what to do before the big night out. This included a trip to the park, the previous blog post, a little light writing, and the mulling over of some submission opportunities for some of my other work. Once again good stuff, and a seemingly healthy way to spend a day...But then I had to push it too far.
Long and short: I invited a roomie to the show; she asked if I'd be in to riding bikes there; I (feeling vital) said yes; we had a great ride all the way. All the way there, that is.
Upon leaving the Trash Bar though, things seemed to take a decidedly different course.
Not 5 minutes away from the place was I bleeding, profusely, from the face.

Before leaving the house Corey ( another one of my roommates) told me plainly not to "do anything stupid". But alas, tonight saw New York City's most significant snow fall, and I saw a belly-full of tater-tots, pavement (not the band), an ER, and stitches in my forehead.

It is precisely 5 a.m. and George Washington's birthday. I Have already called out of work, and so begins a much unwelcome third day to my weekend.One thing keeps ringing in my mind though, and that's the "don't do anything stupid".

Maybe tomorrow I can finish that short story. And at least I'm getting to see the sunrise in a snow storm. But then again, perhaps it is time after all for that 'good cry'.

Another (not so) Wild Ride!

So here are my muses for today: A Fake mustache, Prospect Park, Ionesco's The Hermit

Yes, the day has finally come...I, Dylan Jackson, have given in and decided to take up a blog.
"Oh No! Not Him too!" You might be saying to yourself. But it's true, and so now begins another banal glimpse into the mind of another young American. With that being said though; I think that is important to disclose that this page is exactly that and little more. "But what can we learn from that and why should I care?" you may be asking yourself. Well, the answer is simple: this page will serve to inform you about just what level I'm stooping to for inspiration in life (i.e.- cockamamie schemes, dreams, plans, and so forth), new situations and/or developments that --who knows-- may end up effecting you in some way too!

But let me back up a bit, after all this is a first blog, and requires a brief introduction to who I am, what I'm doing, and why I feel that this platform is the least bit pertinent to positive development. So here's that in a paragraph.

I am a twenty-four year old from Little Rock, Arkansas who lives in Brooklyn and writes plays. For as long as I can remember, this has always seemed to me to be what I wanted to do. Now, if one doesn't know all the details, the above statement may carry a tone of triumph; but once again that's only if you don't know all the details. The facts are these: I am passionate about the work that I have chosen-- erg 'been called'-- to do; I have no intention of giving up on my life's-work; I try not to complain much because I do realize that very few people can make those statements at this age; sometimes the ridiculousness of having made up your mind early can wear on you. It's this frustration which eats at me lately. The frustration of constantly repeating to people that you know who you are, and what you're doing, all for the purpose of trying to sell yourself and your work. I have for many years prided myself with the notion that writers and artists must remain true to the notions of self-awareness and maintain a high level of integrity, but then comes the sad truth that here (in New York) in my chosen profession (playwright) it doesn't matter what you have to say or how you shape it. It's about whether or not people can make money off of your work...But then again, we all have bills to pay, so there's no use in getting bent out of shape about it. I am who I am, and hope to be as lucky in ten years as I am now.

My intention for this blog is ultimately tinged with undertones of self-help and discovery (hopefully with lots of jokes). A 'Chicken Soup For My Soul' kind of thing. Don't get me wrong, I would like to stress that I have no intention of using this as a forum for bitching about how hard life is or anything like that, rather this is a distraction. A much needed distraction for friends and family that I wish I was better about making time for, for myself, and any unwitting reader who happened to google the term 'musefinder' because they are trying to find something.

And so now begs the question of what to do with this window of opportunity to the world. Well we'll just have to see if this is going to be something that's worth doing. If it is then I hope to do it well and make somebody think about something that they might not have thought about before. It is a work for the humanities, and oh yes, the thing that your life has been missing for so long.

Feedback is always welcome.