sketchbookpageandclassnotes

sketchbookpageandclassnotes, a photo by considersomething on Flickr.

Sketchbook page and what my class notes/scrawls look like.

a dream: I met up with Basil to do some parkour practice (parkour opportunities in old neighborhoods with narrow alleys and ornamental stone fences, crossing a creek on a chain link fence that bent and swayed, old rusted barbed wire and how it stayed sharp even though it had been rusted as long as I could remember). On the way back, walking through a college campus, we ran into Brandon, walked along and talked with him in his suit. He took off his jacket and I was surprised to see he had a revolver in a belt holster. Then we shortly drew the negative institutional attention from the campus office people that parkour normally attracts, compounded by the presence of a gun, had to explain and leave.

As we made our way to the surface, I asked to see Brandon's gun, and after looking at it had a conversation with him that grew increasingly uncomfortable. I was just trying to ask about how he practiced with it, and how he worked with drawing, handling misfires, the problems of reloading a revolver, maybe working towards asking him if he wanted to practice close combat usage with me. He seemed upset and dismissive about talking about it, and there was a long silence as we made our way along the ropewalk. When we met up again in the elevator, I tried explaining to him that hey, he was my friend, and if he was carrying while we we hung out I felt more comfortable knowing his training methodologies, rules of engagement, and target selection protocols, just so I'd know how he'd react if things went down. You know, just like how you always note where the exits and lines of sight are. as I put this all together in my head to say, I had a feeling that I had wandered way off the track of social norms and didn't know how to make normal conversation anymore.