Leepa Chai

Yes, I did watch Pootie Tang today
No, I don't know why I enjoy that movie so much
I just do.

Yes, I have been saying those silly phrases all day
No, I don't really know what they mean
But it's fun.

That being said

Lately I feel like someone out of a Murakami novel
Which is to say
Ordinary.

The thing I love about Murakami's characters is that they are mostly
completely normal.
I mean, yes they are strange in their own ways
But believable ways.
Everyone has quirks right? Of course.
But what better way to relate someone than to show those quirks?
But of course we all have chores and errands and business to take care of
Sometimes it's something more...public like paying rent
or sometimes it's something less talked about like masturbation.
The point is, we all do it, and it's a very relative thing.

In Murakami's novels, you have these very normal people
Doing semi-normal, but believable things
When something slightly less than normal turns into something far from normal.
Which I find incredibly interesting.
I love how he takes simple slight strange acts and turns them into a gripping mystery.

For example, in "Dance Dance Dance", the protagonist is just some guy
that does a lot of busy work. Nothing too specific, he just does the job he's paid for
Is it hard? Not particularly
Is it tedious? Sure, if you let it be
Could he do something else? Absolutely
But he doesn't
He does what he does because he's efficient at it
Because he's been doing it for a while
And he knows how to get it done.
See? Ordinary.
No extra riskiness, no extra catch
Just like a dude shoveling snow.

There's this woman that he lived with
For a good time he didn't know her name
Or some such thing
But one day she just up and left
No note, no goodbye, nothing.
Just left.

First a day, then a week, then a month and so forth
No words, no letters, nothing.
She was just gone.

Still alive, yes.
But not there.

Strange, but not unheard of
This then progresses into what turns out to be a sort of strange chasing game.
And with each step of the chase something new is unfolded
He finds himself in places he never thought he'd be
doing things that he wasn't sure he ever had time for
or the nuts to do
And it continues to evolve the story, and the protagonist.

Something unordinary turned into something strange
Murakami's work is...riveting to me, in case you couldn't tell.

But that's how I feel
Very...ordinary.
Which is particularly odd to me
Because I'm not particularly ordinary.
I'm normal, sure
But not ordinary.
Not extraordinary
Not some kind of special
Just not...ordinary.
I'm not mediocre, milquetoast or melancholy.
Yet I feel that's the direction of my life right now

This confuses me.

I don't know if I'm supposed to be searching for something
or if something is searching for me
I don't know if I'm supposed to express myself
or let the expression come through me.
I don't know if I'm supposed to know
Or if the knowledge will come to me
I feel...not stuck, but not moving either
There aren't very good words to describe it
Yet, I have all the words in the dictionary.

In love, in life, I don't know if I'm supposed to search
Or what it is I'm supposed to be searching for.

Lately I've been trying to understand the so called...
Spark
that comes between attracted people.
To me the sparks are different
Which is to say, i can find a woman very attractive
and desire her on that level
yet i don't feel any pull that's different than any other beautiful woman
Is that my fault?
Is it because I'm unreceptive?
Or is it because there just isn't a special spark there?
What is a special spark?
Would I know it if it were there?

It's like being in a room full of doors
How do you know which one to pick?
Intuition?
Logic?
Process of elimination?
All of the above?
None of the above?
How does anyone know?

So I find myself looking towards the "sparks" in my life that have had some kind of impact on me
I find that they aren't sparks at all
But rather some force or spacial differentiation that I have no idea of
I don't have a spark with my wife
I have a bond-thing
It's something I've never questioned
Because it doesn't need to be questioned.
It answers itself
Or rather it produces no unnecessary answers.

So I look elsewhere.
Unfortunately, diving into this elsewhere
leads me down roads I'd rather not go.
For one reason or another.

So I sit here, tired.
Thinking
Not thinking
Doing
Doing nothing
Pursuing
Waiting for nothing at all
Wondering

I can't find words
I never can
My thoughts go too fast
Like pictures without captions.
Whole worlds of thought and possiblity
passed through impulses in my brain
before I can blink

Yet, it seems like forever
Inside my head there are millions of endless strings of conscienceness
or consciencelessness
And nothing I can do to stop them
or express them in the right words

I actually find my own mouth to be a handicap
And while typing is nice
it just doesn't move fast enough.

There is a stairway
leading to a room
but the steps are hollow
each click of a heel
sends echos spiraling into the darkness below

But where does it lead?
Where did it come from?
And why am I here?