reimpacting by surprise

reimpacting (a surprise) and further clarity

spent the past two days at a regional conference. it happens every year. when i took my current assignment, i attended one. it sucked. spent more time in transit than in actual conference sessions, and the sessions were mostly crap, and the ones that weren't covered stuff i already knew, and in some cases even stuff that i originated in past programs that i've managed. (stayed actually in the same place where you, 2+ years later, planned to meet your married lover while in town to attend a show. i wonder if you stayed in the same room that i did, when i was there, doing what i said i was doing, not cheating. missing you, even. all i remember was that the room i stayed in smelled like pipe tobacco and had some luminary's name on a plaque outside the door. you went to the concert, but i ruined your fuck plans.)

i've blown off this conference the past two years. for a couple of reasons: the last one i went to sucked (was a waste of time and limited resources); i know most of this shit already, and have grown tired of listening to people present things as if they're breaking new ground when they're not doing anything more than i've ever done and -- as i said above -- a lot of it is stuff that *i* broke ground on (if there were royalties in this business, or if intellectual property could be reasonably patented, i'd be a rich fuck); i've lost my patience with the high number of absolute hacks in my field who do nothing but embarrass me with how disproportionate their actual knowledge is to their titles; and i didn't want to see the fucker who you had an affair with.

you "met" him through a fucking professional email discussion list back before we even moved out here. attracted, as you are, to men in positions of authority. that's the only reason you were initially attracted to me, too. now i know. not that i've ever considered my job to be anything more than that. a job. authority? god. can't even keep your fucking pants on online. what's funny is that it bothers me as much that you actually on some level considered him to have as much so-called "authority" as me. i've known him longer than you, and he's a fucking a hack. fake-assed poser. how many of *my* ideas, which you internalized so well that i was proud of you, did you pass on to him, doll? you threw away more than yourself -- you threw away my hard work, too. (i even remember once, during dinner, commenting on him, and his bullshit, and remember being surprised when your response indicated that you thought he was "ok." uh-huh.)

so, i remember another similar, bigger, annual conference in chicago. thought it would be cool to come with me. spend some time together. get out of town. share costs for the room and maybe even learn a few things. i remember, after a day of sessions, turning to see you smiling at this asshole, and him smiling at you, your hands attached in what appeared to my innocent, blind eyes at the time to be a simple professional handshake. a greeting between colleagues who had corresponded on the discussion list. i remember too, afterwards, us returning to our room to chill. there was an hour or so before evening social activities. i remember us lying together on the bed, i remember wanting to make love with you, wanting you, trying to seduce you, showing my desire. and you telling me that you had a headache. maybe you did, but you also had guilt, i know now, because you didn't come to chicago with me because you wanted to be with me, or because you wanted to go to the conference. you went because you wanted to see this person. you fucking freeloaded on me to flirt with some asshole. who i knew, through the grapevine. married. 5 kids. what the fuck.

and i remember the next morning. you asking me if i would mind if you met some people for breakfast. of course i didn't mind. why would i mind? now, of course, i also remember how, that morning, you were up and ready way before me. because you wanted to increase the odds that you could go to breakfast without me, could escape, because i wouldn't be ready when you said you were going to meet your colleagues. you asked me if i would mind, because you had no intention of inviting me to join you. they were my colleagues, too. but, you weren't meeting colleagues. now i understand. you were meeting him. or did you just go off on your own, and write your little letter to him? letting him know how much you wanted to spend time with him, getting to know him, how you envisioned spending time with him. bitch. or did you have breakfast with him? did you have each other for breakfast, honey? did you kiss him, honey? did you blow him, honey? whatever you did, fuck you, honey.

so, that's what happened in chicago. then, the next time you and this asshole were at a conference together (did he even plan to go to the cherry valley conference for professional reasons? or was it all a scheme to have your disgusting little tryst?) you were expected to go, and he would meet you there. fuckers. both of you. him married, and you wearing my ring, the diamond i put on your finger the christmas before. did you even take it off your finger while you fucked him, honey?

i remember another time. you'd heard from someone, somewhere, about some possibility to take a job. would involve a lot of time on the road. but you were frustrated with what you were doing, and you thought it sounded like an opportunity. told me about it. took me by surprise, because you couldn't ever stand to be away from me for a second. you are needy that way, dependent. remember what i told you? that if that's what you wanted to do, of course i'd support you -- but i wanted you to really think it through, and not be impulsive about it, because it would mean that we'd be apart a lot of the time, and that was something that made you unhappy. it always had up to that point, anyway. now i get it -- what you wanted was to be able to have a job so that you could have ready reasons to be away from me, to be out of town, so you could pursue your little fuck fantasies. and keep me both in the dark and in your life. fuck you, honey. so, why'd you end up dropping that plan? maybe you thought, shit -- he'll get sick of this real quick, and break up with me. maybe i would have. who knows. we'll never know. but i do know that we are different that way. because, if i didn't think things could work out, as i know now, or if i wanted something else, as i do now, or if i were just tired of us, or sick of you, which i never was -- yes, i would have broken up with you. unlike you who, for whatever twisted reason, changed the rules, changed the reality, broke promises and commitments, and still waited for me to kick you out of my life. fuck you for that, baby. get a spine.

how hard it was for me to comprehend the extent of your deception, your betrayal -- now i get it. you've become so good at lying to yourself that lying to everyone else is second nature. now i understand why, despite how fucking outraged you could be at the world, your family (your father, your brother, your sister), your friends (all of them -- well, wait, besides me, you only really have one), your coworkers (everywhere you worked), me, my son -- everyone -- despite that, you couldn't handle anyone's anger when it was directed at you. how that double-standard drove me crazy. remembering that helps me not miss you.

you can't handle anyone being angry with you because everything you fucking do is an act. nothing's real. it's all conjured up to create some scene you've got playing in your head. it's control freak shit. when those scenes that you so carefully composed didn't work out exactly the way you envisioned, and your behavior actually pissed someone off -- because the rest of us ARE living in the real world, honeybitch -- you couldn't comprehend it. how could anyone be angry at you? because you KNEW that it was all bullshit, all an act, all a lie. and your intention wasn't always to piss people off, because you knew you didn't like that feeling. that sense of being under a dark cloud. the same sense so many of us -- your family, your friends, the people who really care about you -- could feel, the burden of your pain that was tangible when you were feeling it. it leaked, poured out of you. you subjected us all to it. because the only way you know how to connect with people when you're angry is to make them to feel the same shit as you.

pretty republican of you, actually. give everyone what they want -- tell them anything to get them on your side, to win them over, get what you want from them, and then screw them over in the end. you really oughtta think about switching parties. you'd fit right in.

it's all a game for you, babe. everything is made up. your personality, your life, your face. it's all fucking fake. that's why you douse yourself in baby powder every morning. you're afraid of your own scent. i hated that. i love how women smell. they don't smell like babies. you're 29 for chrissakes. take it from me (i've had other lovers before you, baby -- remember?) -- the baby powder? it's not sexy. nothing sexy about having to get through a thin coating of baby powder every time i went down on you, before i could actually lick you, taste you.

all i wanted was you. the real you. the you i thought i knew. the you i was in love with. the you i gave my heart to. maybe she existed. once. but she's gone now. and because of her, you're fading.

so i went to the conference this year. i went because i could, because i felt like it. because i called the asshole-who-you-had-an-affair-with's wife, and told her the whole deal. sent her all of your fucking fantasy love emails. all those words. still seared in my memory. just fucking think about this: how would you feel if you had no clue and then had to read the words you wrote to him? if you found me writing to someone the words you wrote to him? "i want this man -- physically, spiritually, passionately, completely -- i want all of him. i want to be your wife, kevin." you wrote that shit, honeybitch. not to me. yet you lived under my roof, slept in my bed -- i thought it was ours. now i know. it was just mine. you were never really here. it was my home, but it was just your stage.

so i went to the conference. i wondered if he'd be there, after the confessional. wondered how i'd deal with it, with him. i still wonder. would i attack him? would i ignore him? would he try to confront me? would he steer clear? i still want to strangle him and break his balls, yes. i'm ok with him knowing that. knowing even that i'd enjoy it. but it's different now. it's all different now. so i went to the conference. and you didn't.

but it's clear now, at least. so clear that you lied to me and lied to me and lied to me. now i understand. a few things. distance does give clarity, and time does all the formatting. in the end, the story becomes clear, and the presentation is perfect.

can't tell if this is good news or not....

my horoscope for today:

You're about to shock and amaze your family, friends or anyone else who's
never seen this side of you before. Sure, you're usually eerily objective,
compassionate without getting too emotionally attached -- and you're good
at it, too. But lately? Well, you'll be hard-pressed to keep the tears from
your eyes at a good baby-food commercial. Don't panic. This, too, shall
pass.

hmmmmm...

we are never alone

have you visited Breakup Babe?

welcome back (to me)

dear readers,

sorry for my delayed absence. it's been awhile. it's been almost 4 months. one could argue, almost 3 years. one could argue, almost seven years. anyways, i'm back.

how back am i? hard to tell. what is clear is that it's a feeling. kind of like finally feeling better after a really bad illness. like waking up from a coma, maybe. like returning from war, maybe. like, wow, here i am again, and i'm ok, and the world is ok, and no one's shooting at me. kind of like that. i feel better.

how better? hard to tell, but getting less so, less hard to tell, that is. feeling more normal. more baseline. you know -- water on the stove for tea and laundry in the dryer normal. not the spinning out of control, grasping, gasping, clinging-for-dear-life abnormal.

feeling done. better, but done.

moving on is odd. interesting, intriguing, bizarre. here's one indication: i spent a portion of last night lending my ear and support to a stripper who's having relationship problems. and another portion chatting with some mid-30's woman who was raised by a stripper/hooker (well, not-raised would be more accurate, based on her pretty straightforward description of her mother as "not mother material -- it's like she never matured." she pretty much has spent most of her life mothering her mother.) i was attracted to her hair, so sat down next to her and said hi. she had strong rough hands, and a rough face semi-hidden by make-up in that way that makes a woman look about 5-10 yrs younger than she is from across the room, but up close you can tell. can see the lines. can see the rough spots. she talked pretty much non-stop, and i listened. talked about her kids, and her on-again-off-again boyfriend, and her ex-husband ("he's 42, but he's old -- and he wants to be -- he wants to be an old man").

about how she likes to dance and is a very good dancer, as is her 9 year old daughter, about her mom, who danced for larry flint, about how she quit drinking for 10 years but started again recently, about her brother, who she loves but is tired of enabling, how he's in jail now, for burglary, but before, when he was living with her, was stealing her food and giving it to junkies, and how he punched her and she slashed his forehead.

about the job she lost making $50K/yr because of a drug habit that her mother created, how she's looking for work, because she got laid off from her last job and she's thinking of waitressing because she's worked with the public since she was 19, was on her own at 13, about how her uncle died recently from a drug problem, and she inherited the leather couch that he died on because no one else wanted it, and all his clothes, and how she was close to him, so was glad that, though they'd been fighting, they'd reconciled about two months before he died, about how badly in debt he was and no one knew.

interesting. pretty hair. not quite my type. finished my beer while a vietnam vet fondled a beautiful young woman who was i would say 3X younger than him. she took it in stride. a complete professional.

they say when you can begin to help others, you must be on the mend.

i've been stabbed

that's what it feels like, anyway. for the past two months, since the break-up, i've had a burning sensation over my left shoulder blade which ranges from a concentrated spot of pain, like a knot in a muscle, to a burning that covers my entire shoulder blade and spreads to my tricep, kind of tingly and numb around the edges.

i know it's nothing muscular. it started with the break up, and it has intensified as things got worse. or, rather, more final. i've tried stretching, i've tried heat, i've tried alleve. no effect. it's in my head. or, rather, my heart. this is a clear physical manifestation of my emotional and spiritual pain.

here's what i think. if our bodies are the vessels of our souls, and we love another person so deeply that we feel connected to their soul -- if you love them so that they are in your blood, in your skin, your breath -- so that when they are gone, you remind yourself of them -- then, when they leave you, your soul has to disentangle from theirs.

my soul, for the past two months, found this spot on my shoulder blade. i don't know why. it's near enough my heart. maybe my heart's too strong, or maybe it isn't "my time" yet. maybe i was mortally wounded by an ax blow to my left shoulder in some past lifetime, or in many, in some past war, and this particular spot on my body is weak. or maybe not weak, but predetermined by my soul's past history to be kind of a portal, an entry point, an exit route.

to disentangle itself from alison's soul, my soul used this spot on my shoulder blade to do its work. it's still doing it. it still hurts like hell. it had to leave me, and i think a lot of the pain has been the result of me unconsciously trying not to let it go, trying desperately to hold on, to my soul, to her soul, to what we had, to what she ruined. but the soul knows no boundaries, and when it needs to go, it goes.

and in its leaving, and in my desperate grasping, i have felt the fierce power of my own soul leaving my body to do what it needs to do, burning my flesh, tearing my skin, pulling itself out of me to disperse in the universe, to do the reverse dance, to disentangle itself from her so that i can survive.

i think what i'm feeling now is it coming back into me. my soul is returning. my wound is still fresh, it still aches, is still sensitive to the touch. but i'm hoping that just as the leaving caused this metaphysical rupture, this spiritual laceration, that the returning will be eventually like a soothing balm, like a slow gradual repairing of the damage.

that's what i think. that's where i am. peace.

yowsa



yum. want it, need it. hook me up. i'm lonesome and my heart is broken.

alive and well

guess who I saw on Sunday night? uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-huh-ooooooooooo!



yup. the Pixies, ladies and gentlemen. happy to report that all are well. Charles (Black Francis/Frank Black) Thompson can still scream, Kim Deal is still totally cool, Joey Santiago still throws feedback around like nobody's business, and David Lovering still channels Keith Moon.

go see 'em.

fuck

i'm single again.

why is love not enough?

i hate this.

authentic happiness

took this survey today. here's what it said, based on 9 pages of self-scoring questions:

Signature Strengths ("The ranking of the strengths reflects your overall ratings of yourself on the 24 strengths in the survey, how much of each strength you possess. Your top five, especially those marked as Signature Strengths, are the ones to pay attention to and find ways to use more often.")

Top Strength

Creativity, ingenuity, and originality Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.

Second Strength

Honesty, authenticity, and genuineness You are an honest person, not only by speaking the truth but by living your life in a genuine and authentic way. You are down to earth and without pretense; you are a "real" person.

Third Strength

Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.

Fourth Strength

Love of learning You love learning new things, whether in a class or on your own. You have always loved school, reading, and museums-anywhere and everywhere there is an opportunity to learn.

Fifth Strength

Bravery and valor You are a courageous person who does not shrink from threat, challenge, difficulty, or pain. You speak up for what is right even if there is opposition. You act on your convictions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

well ain't i just special.

enuff to go around

well, shit. just when it looked like i was getting back into a groove of regular posting (well, it felt that way to me, anyway), some latest MS upgrade made posting to blgger from Internet Explorer at first a big pain in the ass (see reference to lost post, below) and then completely impossible. hence, the hiatus.

so, a tip from a techie led me to download and install the free version of Mozilla's Firefox. and now everything works better than it ever has. fancy that. kinda makes ya wonder if maybe MS is working on its own version of blogger........

of course, now that it works again, i'm not much feel like writing. since you've been kind enough to check up on me, though, here's what i've been up to:

finished reading:

• Broken Music: A Memoir, by Sting. Interesting, on a number of levels, but nothing like I anticipated it would be. Turns out the Stingster is just a normal guy, the son of working class people, who struggled and worked hard to make it big, and who cites that and sheer determination more than any brilliant talent as the reason for his success. Perhaps he's just humble. When I finished the book, I was sad.
  
  
• Jarhead, by Anthony Swofford. A much better read, as books go. Swofford has the way, that's for damned sure. I intended to leave you an excerpt here, to get a taste of his style and the tone of the memoir, but I had returned the book before I was able to start posting again. Choppy at times, but only in that way that people who know how to write will notice, and only in a way that makes them (read: us) jealous that Swofford was able to either get past any worries he had that the style would prevent the book from being accepted by a publisher, or he's brilliant enough to have worked in the choppiness intentionally to reinforce that sense of the soldier waiting for combat -- who said it? -- "long periods of boredom alternating with tedium, with occasional side trips to ennui." Anyway, read it. Well worth it.

and yesterday, laid up with some undiagnosed sickness, I watched Tod Browning's Freaks, a dark and bizarre morality tale filmed over 36 days in 1931 and released for only a few months in 1932 before being pulled from distribution. The fillm is set behind the scenes at a turn-of-the-century traveling European circus and revolves around the lives of the side show performers, or "freaks" as they proudly refer to themselves. Strange and sad, along the lines The Blue Angel, the Greta Garbo classic filmed just a year earlier. Oddly enough, parts of the Freaks set were recycled from Garbo’s Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise; perhaps bits of her ambience carried over. One can easily make some parallels between the relationship of Cleopatra with the little person Hans (in Freaks) and that between the whore Lola and the Professor, in Angel. Each flick takes a look at star-crossed love through distorted lenses, and each in its own way documents the fast-wilting flower of forbidden love, and the sickly sweet and deadly fruit of betrayal. The sentiment appears today to be dated, over-romanticized, and idealized, but each film remains heartrending and poignant.

and, last night, like all of you, watched the debates. thought our boy John did pretty well for himself. let's hope that helps realign the momentum.

have a weekend.

more catch-up

Tried to donate blood last night. Apparently, there's some health requirement that students can fulfill by donating blood, because the place was crowded as hell with an inordinately high number of freshman. Talk about feeling old! I signed in and sat down to wait to be called. The girls, in jeans, flip-flops and cute t-shirts ("Everybody loves an Irish girl" said one). Their faces are so young, still carrying a little baby fat, trying to sit up straight to look worldly or something. The guys sat together in packs, non-stop verbal banter -- attempting to make witty comments about every situation they're in and every topic that comes up. So wanting to be cool, yet doing everything that confirms how far they have to go to get there. Really gives me a better idea of why so many girls are attracted to older guys -- these young dudes reminded me much more of my 14-yr-old son than of the swaggering image of the carefree and available young college buck. Many of them were sporting those silly attempts at full beards that you see on young guys. Like their efforts to look cool, their baby-beards have the same effect -- instead of highlighting their masculinity and perhaps reinforcing their virtility, they look more like kittens. Just as I couldn't envision any of these young women taking a romantic interest in my eight-grade son, I couldn't imagine any of them taking an interest in these fuzzy babyfaced boys, either. How long do guys efforts to achieve one effect result in the opposite?? When's that stop? -- when you're in your mid-20's? Later?

So there's a positive thing about being older -- I'm past that shit. Now, when I'm cool, I'm cool. If I appear to be displaying cool detachment, I'm either not paying attention, or tired. When I convey an air of indifference, it's generally a pretty good sign that I really don't give a flying rat's ass. (Though pretty girls typically can draw me out.)

Damn. I had a pretty lengthy post about self-image here, but beloved f-in Blogger ate the whole damned thing. Sucks. Not feeling like recreating it either, at the moment. I'll leave you with this link to American Soldier -- amazing firsthand accounts of what our young enlisted men and women are dealing with.

And this sad, sad fact: Over 1,000 American soldiers have been killed in the Iraq conflict, and over 7,000 have been injured (with 1,000 of the injuries taking place in the past month alone). Over 10,000 Iraquis have been killed in the conflict so far. It's a true and awful mess.

Time for a change, kids. Time for a change.

catching up

Howdy, dear readers. Hope you had a pleasant and relaxing Labor Day weekend. Mixed it up a little here -- nothing wildly exciting, but kept busy. Saturday morning went to a John Kerry rally -- sad to say it was terribly boring. Stood with the masses for an ungodly length of time listening to a string of local politicos do their best to rev up said masses -- leading me to conclude that, if I plan to get serious about showing my face at such events, I may need to make some kind of donation so that I can at least sit when the show sucks. I don't mind standing, if the act is worth it -- but -- ~sheesh!~ this was tedious. And hot. And people were annoying. And ugly.

Kerry needs to do something. Seems like a nice guy, really. But, what is his plan? Says he's gonna make it so that Medicaire can get a bulk rate on drugs so senior citizens can afford their meds. Says he's gonna stop the hemorrhaging of American jobs -- how? Says he's gonna make taxes fair for the middle class -- how?? The whole platform at present seems to revolve around "Bush lied to us, so elect me." And, while that is, imo, enough of a reason not to re-elect Dubya, I think it may still be a little too abstract for your typical American. Like, they still want a plan. Trust me -- I was surrounded by these yokels at the rally. So many of them are broke-ass poor, if not unemployed and, if they are working, they're slogging away at some grueling soulless $7/hour factory stint, showing up for work each day paranoid that it may be their last, looking forward only to their lunch breaks so they can engage in the bonding ritual of the proletariat -- dissing management (still know to them as "The Man") for taking advantage of them, for screwing them, for getting fat off the sweat of their labor, blah, blah, blah.

Forgive my insensitivity. But, really -- wake up. Wake the fuck up. Ya know what, folks? -- the only way to ever really start resolving the true problems of our nation -- inequality, bigotry, poverty, hopelessness -- is education. I'm tired of hearing people talk about unions, and tired of hearing unions talk. Unions are on the way out. They've served their purpose (I mean, hell yeah, Workers of the World Unite!), but it's played out. All it is now is a sad, empty shell -- the Fat Cats haven't gotten any thinner, and Joe Six Pack hasn't gotten any more financially independent. It's just one more tool of The Establishment to keep the class system in place, and to keep the working class in its place. Which is, of course, at the bottom, doing the shit work for the owners. None of that has changed, and anyone who thinks it has is shortsighted. I stood there listening to all the pro-union talk, listened to the union reps make all the pro-American worker proclamations -- man, it makes me sad. Unions are a crutch -- they don't help anyone anymore, they just make people think that their intolerable situations are better than they are. It f'in blows.

So, union people, listen up: You want improvements? Get educated. Support education. Build education opportunities into your labor contracts so that your members can free themselves from this archaic form of oppression. You wanna help the working class? -- you oughtta be advising them to get out of the fucking union, not trying to convince them to join one. You oughtta be getting them pumped up to take some personal responsibility for improving themselves, and their own existence -- instead of conning them into thinking that if they are loyal, if they pay their dues, if they work hard enough that you're gonna take care of them. Because you aren't, and you won't. Unions are institutions, and institutions in our capitalist democracy exist to take care of themselves, not their members.

Cynical? Perhaps. But, hell -- I've never been in a union in my life, and I've done alright for myself. Not as well as I'd like to, but better than just about every single person I've ever met or known who is part of a union. I know you hate to hear this -- sounds like one more elitist voice from some privileged rich kid. Makes you wanna tell me the way it is and maybe kick in my face for emphasis. I'm sorry about that, and I wish you didn't feel that way -- and not simply because your assumption is wrong (I've worked hard to get where I am, and the only people who ever gave me anything were my parents, god bless them). I'm afraid that on this point, I'm stone-cold right. You're living in denial if you think otherwise. If it's too late for you to do anything about your own situation, then at least for crying out loud emphasize the importance of getting an education to your children and your grandchildren. Get over yourselves and your blue collar pride and at least make sure your kids won't be sentenced to the same sorry-assed existence that was passed on to you.

[~exhales~]

Saturday evening, went to a county fair with my seester. Was fun to spend some time with her.

Sunday, spent the bulk of the afternoon in the woods, hiking around a bridle trail. It's been a good summer that way -- I've spent quite a bit of it outdoors, mostly in the woods, hiking, largely by myself. This I enjoy. Communing with nature -- giving my regards to the trees and the streams, the turtles and the deer, the ducks and the hawks, the chipmunks and the squirrels. It's also why I so love the summer, and so do not enjoy the winter. Daylight's already fading, which means that if I don't pretty much fly out the office door by five, the window of opportunity for my daily three-mile hike is already closing. I like to get out there for at least two hours, I like to work up a sweat, I like to feel it in my legs and in my knees when I'm done, like to feel like I've actually managed to do something after having spent yet another eight hours mostly sitting on my ass in front of a PC (at my safe professional non-union solidly middle-class job).

Yeah, in many ways, I've got the dream job. You know -- nobody breathing down my neck, having more people reporting to me than I have to report to, pretty standard hours, safe office, no dangerous work, and a staff of basically-good-if-boring/annoying-in-that-conservative-traditional-midwestern-family-values-kinda-way. And -- you've heard this before -- it mostly drives me nuts. Very often has me questioning what I'm doing with my life, even though I'm confortable knowing that I am helping to make a difference (I raise money for higher-education) in our little part of the world, in our society, in the lives and experiences of current and future students. But -- g-a-w-d! I so wasn't born to spend this much time indoors, let alone sitting in an office, let alone sitting in an office in the friggin' midwest! But here I am, making the most of it, as I have been doing for close to twenty years now.

Damn. "Close to twenty years" -- now, there's a statement that makes me feel old. At 42, I really don't consider myself to be "old," though I'm certainly no spring chicken (am i?).

More to add here, but I'm gonna go try to donate blood. We'll try to pick up this thread soon, using the metaphor of time passing like sand through the hourglass, except the sides of the hourglass are actually lenses, with the perception of the Self changing over time, depending on which area of the hourglass you happen to be looking through as you examine your own life at different points in time...

-- and more on this, too, because I was watching this. plus some recent shows I've seen but neglected to tell you about.

betcha didn't even apply.....

Job Opening: Surely You Jest...
Thu Aug 5, 2004 12:20 PM ET

LONDON (Reuters) - WANTED - A court jester to fill a post vacant for 350 years since England executed its king.

English Heritage said in an advertisement in the Times on Thursday applicants for the competition at the weekend should bring their own costumes with bells, but said it would provide a bladder on a stick -- a traditional jester's prop.

Contrary to the image of a buffoon, court jesters had to be highly astute, able to lift the spirits of their monarchs and risked death if they failed -- as many did. The duties of the last court jester, whose job ended in 1649 when Charles I lost his head, included making him laugh and providing a distraction from politics.

This time, however, English Heritage said the winner would not risk decapitation but would still have to provide trenchant wit. Would-be fools should attend a public audition Saturday at Stoneleigh Park in central England, wearing their costumes.

UPDATE:
England Gets First National Jester for 350 Years
Mon Aug 9, 2004 07:55 AM ET

STONELEIGH, England (Reuters) - Nigel Roder beat six rivals by public acclaim on Saturday to become England's first official jester for more than 350 years, succeeding Muckle John who lost his job when King Charles 1 was beheaded in 1649.

"This is a real job. He will have to amuse and provoke -- although failure to do so will no longer risk beheading," Tracy Borman, events director of English Heritage, told Reuters.

Unlike court jesters of old, Roder will be able to negotiate his salary, and his initial contract with English Heritage -- to divert the public from the tedious daily grind -- will run from March to October 2005.

Roder -- professional name Kester the Jester -- juggled and diaboloed his way to victory over a diverse field that included a poetry-reading Frenchwoman in the contest near Warwick in central England.

"It feels good. I am a national fool now. It is the best thing a man can be," he said after his victory.

Jesters of the past, though figures of fun at the royal court, were often highly intelligent men whose quick wit and sharp tongue both diverted the monarch and reminded him of his mortality.

Success could bring fame and fortune, but failure could result in shame, pain and even death. Two jesters, Will Somers under the quick-tempered King Henry VIII, and Tarlton under his younger daughter Elizabeth I, were household names in England during their lifetimes.

Many of William Shakespeare's plays feature fools both as buffoons and as rapier-tongued deflators of bombast -- notably in Twelfth Night and King Lear.

The role of court jester died out in Europe in the 18th century, though their roles were taken up by comedians and satirists. "It is about time we had a jester again. We could do with one," Borman said.

- 30 -

-

alternative visions



Sihstrin as Pinup | Copywright © Beth Bajema & bajema.com



The Angel Balm | Copywright © Beth Bajema & bajema.com
Brings to mind the images of Gustav Klimt:



Hygieia | Gustav Klimt

Future Plans

One of these years, I'm going to this:



...I think I like last year's poster better, though:



And I just think this one's cute:

Life in Mosul

As seen through the eyes of a soldier in the U.S. Army: My War - Fear And Loathing In Iraq.

something's gotta give

~sigh~

The Band thinks everyone must agree -- this site is so much better with visuals. Your Humble Chronicler can't help but wonder -- if I'd've had this funtionality from the start of this blog, would I today be one of the Net Stars?

wonder what carl's up to these days

surely you remember:
pop-tarts

poptarts.bmp

"children should be supervised"

pop-tarts, doritos, cheez-its, they weren't allowed - we were on a budget, and the budget did not call for the likes of pop-tarts, or doritos, or cheez-its. in the breakfast foods aisle, andra looked at the rows of pop-tarts - frosted and unfrosted, chocolate and fruit-flavored - then hesitantly placed a box of generic artificially flavored strawberry toaster pastries in our cart. she glanced back at the shelves. "go ahead, get the pop-tarts," i said. -- from placing, by Carl Steadman

- from suck, 02/06/98:

on a lighter note....



you just gotta love the la perla site.

what you once were / isn't what you wanna be / anymore

an intriguing collection of pix, ranging from battle sketches to the holocaust to x-files to 90210 (??).

the trajectory of life, the incredible lightness of being -- variations on where are they now??

fascinating -- rented the weather underground last night. another review here. you should do the same.

''Like Bonnie and Clyde, many of them were attractive personally. They were into youth, exuberance, sex, drugs. They wanted action.'' - Todd Gitlin, former president of Students for a Democratic Society

here's what some of the sexy lefties are up to now:

• bernadine dohrn is an attorney and activist
  
• brian flanagan owns the night cafe, an upper westside bar
  
• todd gitlin teaches journalism and sociology at columbia
  
• bill ayers is a professor of education at the university of illinois
  
• mark rudd teaches math
  
• naomi jaffe promotes progressive causes
  
• laura whitehorn is free
  
  
• fred hampton was assassinated

fascinating stuff.

''Sometimes when you try to oppose something, instead of becoming the opposite, you become the other side of the coin." - David Gilbert, political prisoner.

Making Art History on the Edge of Culture

Pulled an all-nighter Friday night. Started things out by catching the opening of Michael Moore's Farenheit 9/11, then stayed up reading On Top of the World. Jumped in the car at three a.m., picked up a Red Bull for me and a diet Coke for The Muse, and headed in to Cleveland to the East 9th Street pier for a pre-dawn gathering. Spencer Tunick was in town.

We gathered. Men and women. The black and the white. The short and the tall. The thick and the thin. The bearded and the clean-shaven. Blonde and brunette, long hair and short hair, curly hair and straight hair, pony-tailed and bald. Old and young. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, cousins and co-workers. Tatted and pristine. Pierced and not. Couples and groups and all alones. All shapes, sizes and colors.

And, shortly after dawn, with the wind coming in off the lake and the temperature a cool 57 degrees, 2,758 brave souls stripped bare in the name of art. Here's a nice shot of our sea of bodies, covering the pier and pouring up onto East 9th street in the heart of downtown Cleveland:


"Lie down and look serious."
Media coverage:

TV: CBS | NBC | ABC | Fox (lame)

Cleveland Plain Dealer: Slideshow | Tunick Interview | Journalist's Account

Akron Beacon Journal: 1 | 2 | 3

The host: MOCA Cleveland.

We'd do it again in a heartbeat.

happy bicycle day!

More brainfood (Mo' Fodduh fo' da Greymattuh)

Shizzle fo' da brizzle, if you wizzle. Listening to:

• Lee Morgan -- The Cooker. Cool-hot import i was turned on to by good old public radio. Pricey as hell through the usual channels, but found an indie vendor and got it for a normal price. As I said -- cool. Hot. Interesting -- knew he was kind of a wildman, as many jazzers were, but had no idea until just now that he was shot!
  
• Tupac Shakur -- Greatest Hits. Ok, what's a 42-year-old white guy doing blasting 2Pac out his dayum car windowZ? Jes' representin' fo' sho' yo'. Ain't got nuthin' but luV 4 yA.
  
• Eroica Trio -- Beethoven Triple Concerto Op. 56 and Piano Trio Op. 11 (w/ Prague Chamber Orchestra. Classical's version of babes with guitars. Could easily cross over if they changed their name to the "Erotica Trio." (gurlz with instruments are hot, and a lady with a cello just does it for me) Subtle, emotional, yet still rocking.
  
• The Cambridge Singers -- The Cambridge Singers Collection. Lotsa good stuff -- "sacred and secular, historic and contemporary, a capella and accompanied" say the notes. A little Debussy, some Verdi, a bunch of folk songs, a Gregorian chant -- I grabbed it for their treatment of Bruckner's Ave Maria.

That's it for now. What are U listening 2? There's a sadly underutilized message board over there on the left, ya know.

R.I.P.



Humphrey Osmond, who coined the word psychedelic in 1956 in correspondence with his friend Aldous Huxley.

The two men were looking for a word to describe this new class of drugs, and they were doing so in rhyme. Huxley wrote:

To make this trivial world sublime,
Take half a Gramme of phanerothyme.

To which Osmond responded:

To fathom hell or soar angelic
Just take a pinch of psychedelic.

Psychological Exercise

This is an effective way to determine how to get your needs met, when you're experiencing negative emotions.

1) Feelings. Label the feelings that you are having. Think of a few different words that you feel describe the emotions.

2) Needs. Using the labesl you came up with for the emotions, now think of words that would be the opposite of those. Often, the opposite of the emotion is the need that is going unmet.

3) Action. Focussing now on the words that you came up with for the needs, think of a couple ways that you could do something that would allow you to get the needs met.

So, practice that for awhile. Btw -- street value? $120. But, for you, dear reader? -- gratis.

Feeding my Head

Reading:

• Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs -- John (Johnny Rotten) Lydon
  
• Dude, Where's my Country? -- Michael Moore

Listening to:

• Jeff Buckley -- Live @ Sin-e. Tremendous and touching.
  
• Joe Firstman -- The War of Women. Ok. Kinda poppy. Made by a friend. Like the last tune a lot.
  
• And miscellaneous streaming punk, just 'cuz I'm in the mood.

Something in my Veins, Bloodier than Blood

You can't tell what it is. Not exactly, anyway. Did you hear something? A vibration in your stomach, something not quite unhinged, but on the verge of coming loose. Somewhere between nausea and panic. Did you forget something? A snippet of a conversation, something someone said, something that sounded innocuous in context, transparent, yet, taken out of context in and of itself, holds foreboding. Something coming loose -- what? A moral? some priniciple? some fine line wavering between right and wrong? A bill you forgot to pay? a phone call you forgot to make? a day you forgot to take off? did you remember to turn in that sick day you took last week? how much will your tax return be this year? will it be enough to get a new car? put a downpayment on a house? or to escape? Did you remember some obscure personal anniversary? Did you forget another sibling's birthday? Will this cough ever go away? Are your lungs damaged forever? why do you wake up with the cold sweats almost every night, every winter? why was I born here? why now? Paranoia.

Stuff I Gotta Do

• Get my vision checked and get a new script for glasses.
  
• Trade in my car.
  
• Get back to the gym every day after work.
  
• Find a way to make this job interesting again, or find another one.
  
• Move south.

Every Moment is a Little Bit Later

Read my previous post and laugh along with me. At the absurdity of my current reality. Here. In the Midwest. Where it's currently 13 degrees. I won't even bother calculating the wind chill factor. It's too boring, too atrocious -- too absurd that it has again become the lead story on the local news. Just as it does every year. Every year. Every year. Does enyone in the Midwest ever get tired of enything??!?! ~sheesh~

(Suffice it to say that one of the highlights of 2003 for Yours Truly was experiencing Hilton Head Island. And I made a promise to go back. So, The Muse and I will be returning this summer. Prolly gonna take Haze along with us, which will change the dynamic a little.)

Also realized that in all of 2003 I blogged a total of 12 posts. That's an average of one post a month, and a fairly atrocious record for a veteran of the medium like me. I fear I can't hold a candle to my pal lola........much as I'd like to........*smile*.........

[Aside: Listening to some tune by a band/artist named Genovese -- called "Swinging on Poles" -- a fairly nondescript hip-hop jam -- with the marked exception of these wonderful little female sex grunts mixed into the rhythm track. Not enough to make me buy it, but *yum* for that.]

So, fans -- what's been going on? For our part, we present, in brief:

The been-there-done-that list for 2003:

• we -- that's the US, which is us, for better or worse, folks -- went to war, again. For the second time - ? - in as many years, that we're aware of.
  
• we "won" the war, but remain in foreign lands, with a status of Foreign Invader & Tormented Victor.
  
• we "went orange" twice, but hung tight through it.
  
• we had a big East Coast electrical power grid fiasco -- remember that?
  
• the ever-sexy Madonna smooched her de facto wannabe proteges Britney and Christina on TV, initiating waves of hope and nausea, respectively, among the sexually enlightened and the homophobic. I, for one, would kiss any and all of them, in any combination -- and can't understand anyone who wouldn't, but, hell, to each their own. I've more than learned that. (Check out the divine M's site, btw -- pretty neat.)
  
• perhaps even more scandalous, Dubya remained president.
  
• "we" caught Saddam Hussein, former leader of the vanquished nation of Iraq, after killing half his family and reducing his already decimated country to further rubble. The other bearded nemesis remains at large. And gas prices in the old US-of-A remain no more or less better.
  
• my own primary love r-ship hit a bump, causing me to initiate a separation, but we humanly and miraculously found ways of coming to terms with the break-up, each other and our differences, and, while we remain living apart at present, we remain very much together, and are shooting for a spring re-synching of physical space.
  
• your pal Runey saw the fair city of San Francisco for the first time, liked it much, and hopes to return.
  
• and, somehow, in the waning days of 2003, I discovered a penchant for hip-hop, which I never had even the slightest interest in or understanding of before.

And that's the news that was, gang. So, an eventful year or not?? -- you be the judge. Please. We even fixed the message board for you (click on "Comments" below).

Write and let us know how the hell you are, how you were in 2003, and how you plan to be in 2004. Much love to you, always.

Stay tuned......

we remember



"The Rock," on the main campus of Kent State University, as painted by students the week of 9/11/01.

...missing...

All of it. Watching shooting stars in the crystalline sky every night. The nervous clack-clack-clack of the hermit crabs scurrying across the sand. The smell of the sea. The sound of the sea. Late-afternoon frolics after a sun-filled day and collapsing into heavy sleep. Making sun tea with our bottled water. Drinking coffee on the balcony, listening to the ocean and reading The Packet.

The decisions. My, what decisions. Will we walk today? Or bike? Should we try to go see dolphins? Do you feel like trying this place for lunch? Feel like getting in the water? Hungry? Let's stop at the tiki hut again after our ride! (click on the "LiveCam" button.........had a few very enjoyable beers there.)

Man, it's hard to be back here. I need to move.

Back from Paradise

Well, it's the third day back from a truly wonderful week spent on Hilton Head Island, SC. Been delaying this blog, I think, because putting it into words will truly mark it as a memory. A lovely memory. A collection of beautiful memories. But a sign that it is something that has happened, versus happening. Being there. A lovely magical special place, this island.

So, The Muse and I embarked on our first real vacation together, my first in over ten years, her first ever as an adult. We left on Thursday, July 27th, and took our time getting to the island, where our check-in was scheduled for Saturday. So many lovely memories, and just wanted to get some of them down before too much time passes. Here's a start.......

Stopped on the way and visited Jefferson's Monticello on 5,000 acres of sweet, red Virginia soil at the top of a hill at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Stopped in Belmont, NC, And stayed in the charming Homeleigh Estate B&B, where we stayed in the Barcelona Room. Very romantic.

Stopped off in Harleyville, SC, before getting to the island to visit the Francis Beidler Forest to see and touch some 1,000-yr-old trees in a living swamp.

Once on the island, we stayed here, just a few feet behind the breakers from the gorgeous beach.

And here are some of the great places that we dined:

- the truly charming Signe's Heaven Bound Bakery Cafe, for breakfast
- equally charming and seriously delicious Kenny B's French Quarter Cafe
- a couple of totally yummy local seafood places pointed out to us by Sandy, our kayaking guide -- the Sea Shack and Captain Woody's

Also took a trip on Captain Sonny's Island Queen to see some dolphins and get a guided tour of the island from the Broad Creek perspective.

We played in the sand. The Muse bonded with hermit crabs. We played in the water. We walked the sands. We biked the sands. We drank in the sun, and washed our sandy feet in warm pools of 90-degree seawater. We saw shooting stars every night.

We cried when the week ended. This time meant so much to both of us, for so many reasons. We cried as much out of gratitude, for having had this time together, for having shared it in this wonderful place, as we did out of sorrow to see its time winding down. This island is in our blood now. Let it be. Let it live in us like a parasite, quiet but insistent, clamoring for us to return....return.....return to its home. Let it drag us back to the sea.

Can't wait to go back!

What's in there anyway.......?


From Mind Media:

Your Brain Usage Profile

Auditory : 50%
Visual : 50%
Left : 57%
Right : 42%

Rune, you are somewhat left-hemisphere dominant with a balanced preference for auditory and visual inputs. Because of your "centrist" tendencies, the distinctions between various types of brain usage are somewhat blurred.

Your tendency to be organized and logical and attend to details is reasonably well-established which should afford you success regardless of your chosen field of endeavor, unless it requires total spontaneity and ability to improvise, your weaker traits. However, you are far from rigid or overcontrolled. You possess a degree of individuality, perceptiveness, and trust in your intuition to function at much more sophisticated levels than most.

Having given sufficient attention to detail, you can readily perceive the larger aspects and implications of a situation or of learning. You are functional and practical, but can blend abstraction and theory into your framework readily.

The equivalence of your auditory and visual learning orientation gives you two equally effective sensory input systems, each with distinctive features. You can process both unidimensionally and multidimen- sionally with equal facility. When needed, you sequence material while at other times you "intake it all" and store it for processing later.

Your natural ability to use your senses is also synthesized in your way of learning. You can be reflective in your approach, absorbing material in a non-aggressive manner, and at other times voracious in seeking out stimulation and experience.

Overall you tend to be somewhat more critical of yourself than is necessary and avoid enjoying life too much because of a sense of duty. You feel somewhat constrained and tend to sometimes restrict your expressiveness. In any given situation, you will opt for the rational, and learning of almost any type should be easy for you. You might need certain ideas explained to you in order to fit them into your scheme of things, but you're at least open to that!

(Thanks to Kev for the link.)

Working Through

An update, for all of you true fans (at last count, one...): The Muse and I have found a doorway to a new path, for our relationship and our future together. It's been pretty amazing. In short, we seem to have found a way to recapture that growth phase in an intimate relationship that typically lies between the wild infatuation and the settling down. We missed that part. We've gotten it back.

It's tremendous.

Life is a wonderful gift.

Rune does San Francisco

So, after years of longing to do this, I finally did. Went to MindStates IV, a little annual gathering of The Tribe. Highlights, besides the general conference sessions, included meeting: Ann and Sasha Shulgin; Myron Stolaroff; Ralph Metzner; Larry Hagerty; David Nichols; Zoe Seven; Nicholas Sand; John Gilmore and Earth and Fire Erowid. Also, while I didn't have the opportunity to meet them, I heard the following folks present: Stan Grof, Richard Glen Boire, R.U.Sirius and Jaron Lanier, and a host of notable artisits, including Robert Venosa and Martina Hoffman, Allyson and Alex Grey (check out the link for the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors!) and Pablo Amaringo.

The conference was in Berkeley, so I got a taste of that scene. Also spent some time in Golden Gate State Park, Haight-Ashbury and Chinatown.

A great city. One to go back to.

processing

This all began rather suddenly, you know. We met, were colleagues, became friends, then lovers, and you moved in pretty much as soon as I told you that I loved you.

You've never given yourself any time, you know. Went straight from HS to college, living with your mom, off campus, working, filling every hour you had with school or work, always driven. To be the best. You've been competing with your older sister and brother your whole life. Everyone does this to some extent, of course.

But you never took the time to develop your own life. This is the first time you've ever been on your own, really. On your own. Your own.

Maybe what should have happened was that you should have kept your options open. Kept your life open. Not poured 110% of your energy and focus into the one or two or three things that, at the time, you prioritized as being important -- to the exclusion pretty much of everything else. Definitely to the exclusion of finding yourself, which I realize sounds like pop-psychology. There is a qualitative difference between focusing and prioritizing, you know. In its broader sense, prioritizing isn't about cutting things out of your life, though it sometimes is. Sometimes has to be. But, most of the time, it's about choosing. Choosing what is important. Sorting the most important from the least important without shortening Life's "To-do List." Everything doesn't exist, can't exist, on the same plane. Shouldn't, either. Well, to be honest, maybe it just doesn't for me, and I'm cool with that.

Ask yourself, do you have a center? Of course you do, but you haven't been there. If you have, I haven't seen it. You've never talked about it. And, feeling that, I feel that I haven't been there, either. If you haven't found it, you can't share it. You've spent your time charging forward, trying to make things happen, always wrestling with the balance between maintaining the familiar, the tried and true, the situations that and people who you are comfortable with. Maybe I was a bridge, a means out of your childhood and into the adult world of work and responsibility. I certainly am safe, and would never let anything happen to you. Protective. Nurturing. Supporting. I'm the fucking poster boy. But that's my shit.

You have to remember that everything I try to tell you, when it relates to your interactions with the world, is coming from love. I see how much you suffer, how you run yourself ragged, how you struggle to be good enough, to impress people who impress you, to lead people to believe that you're the shit. The expert. The master. Fuck that shit, girl. In some areas, you are, but in some you aren't. And it's ok. It's normal. It's why people are different, if there's a why.

The only person you need to impress is yourself. Once you get there, you're almost done with the struggle. Or, maybe, once you get there, you can at least choose the battles. You won't ever impress yourself, knowing you, as long as you continue to feel that you're not the total shit. I've said it to you before, when I've felt that you've gotten hung up on some superficial thing, something easy, that you can label as "well done" and "wear" as a reflection of who you are. Some work accomplishment, or how your hair looks, or how clean the bathroom is. Yes, you're the best. Yes you're beautiful. I love you, and I love what you do, and how hard you try. Now get over yourself. All of that stuff -- the hair, the work, the bathroom -- it's pretty, it's cool, it's nice -- but it isn't you. You need to learn to separate the superficial from the real. And yourself from the world of external events. The soul from the mortal coil.

Try to stop filling your time with stuff. Try to get to know yourself. I've told you before, how I learned from Clarissa Pinkola-Estes' Women Who Run With the Wolves (can't remember the chapter) -- you gotta locate your demons inside you, where they live, have to find the very monsters that you fear the most and, when you find them, you have to face your fear and stand up to them and say, "Hi. This is me. Without me, you don't exist. So, c'mere and lemme give you a big fat hug."

You do this, and they lose all their power over you. All their potential to frighten you. I only tell you because I've been there, and it worked for me. And it works, I think, because you realize that it all comes from inside of you. Nothing is happening that isn't of your own creation. Except the weather. And other people. As far as feelings go, they live and die inside your psyche.

You need to find faith, girl. I mean faith as in a feeling of belief. A belief system. Of your own. Might be the one thing that I did take away from my whole Catholic upbringing -- the ability to believe in certain things without proof. Those things being: Love. Energy. Nature. Truth.

I don't believe in anything else. Anything else really big, I should say. Because I do believe in myself, in the energy force that is me. I believe that I am real, and that I am worthy. But I'm not a big deal. I'm certainly not the center of the universe. And that's a true relief, because I don't want the job, man. Parts of the universe are totally fucked up, right now. If I had the job, it'd be hell. The first thing I'd do is send a memo to whatever Higher Power(s) there might be (I assume I'd know if I were the Center of the Universe), the gist of which would be that we really need to revisit the whole structure.

And some long-time personnel would have to go.

all that you can't leave behind

And love
Is not the easy thing
The only baggage
That you can bring
Not the easy thing
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind

And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back
Oh no, be strong

Walk on, walk on
What you got, they can't steal it
No they can't even feel it

Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight

You're packing a suitcase for a place
None of us has been
A place that has to be believed
To be seen

You could have flown away
A singing bird
In an open cage
Who will only fly
Only fly for freedom

Walk on, walk on
What you got
You can't deny it
Can't sell it or buy it

Walk on, walk on
You stay safe tonight

And I know it aches
How your heart it breaks
You can only take so much

Walk on, walk on

Home
Hard to know what it is
If you never had one

Home
I can't say where it is
But I know I'm going

Home
That's where the hurt is

And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
You can only take so much
Walk on

Leave it behind
You've got to leave it behind

All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break

All that you measure
All that you feel
All this you can leave behind

All that you reason
All that you care

All that you sense
All that you scheme
All you dress up
And all that you see

All you create
All that you wreck
All that you hate

It's only time
And I'll never fill up all I find

- U2, "Walk On," All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000)

real love

"As the title expresses, there's a vividness to life even at the bleakest, darkest moments; those are the times when you get the most out of other people. It's as though the poignancy of the thing almost gives you a lightness, you feel free of all the stupid shit, you kind of see life and people and what they're good for." - David Gray

The dawn in all its majesty
Is stealing me away
The dawn in all its honesty
Is turning me to clay
And through the bars of iron rain
Way beyond and back again
I hear the voice of Eden cry
Lift me up I'm walking on high

It's real love
Real love

This world in all its clarity
Is glorious, is fake
This world in all its vanity
Is more than I can take
And down the road the iron wheels
Chain my heart to how it feels
I hear the voice of Eden cry
Lift me up I'm walking on high

It's real love
Real love
Real love
Real love

And something in the heart of me
Is telling me it's time
To meet the eye of destiny
And leave it all behind
And through my bones an iron rage
paints my soul upon the page

I hear the voice of Eden cry
Lift me up to walk on high
Makes me wanna lay and die

It's real love
Real love
Real love
Real love

The dawn in all its majesty
Is stealing me away

- david gray, "Real Love," A New Day at Midnight (2002)

walls up, down

Please forgive me
If I act a little strange
For I know not what I do.
Feels like lightning running through my veins
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you

Help me out here
All my words are falling short
And there's so much I want to say
Want to tell you just how good it feels
When you look at me that way
When you look at me that way

Throw a stone and watch the ripples flow
Moving out across the bay
Like a stone I fall into your eyes
Deep into some mystery
Deep into that mystery

I got half a mind to scream out loud
I got half a mind to die
So I won't ever have to lose you girl
Won't ever have to say goodbye
I won't ever have to lie
Won't ever have to say goodbye

Please forgive me
If I act a little strange
For I know not what I do
It's like my head is filled with lightning girl
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you

- david gray, "Please Forgive Me," White Ladder (1999)

jane

maybe it was to learn how to love
maybe it was to learn how to leave
maybe it was for the games we played
maybe it was to learn how to choose
maybe it was to learn how to lose
maybe it was for the love we made

love is everything they said it would be
love made sweet and sad the same
but love forgot to make me too blind to see
you're chickening out aren't you?
you're bangin' on the beach like an old tin drum
I cant wait 'til you make
the whole kingdom come
so I'm leaving

maybe it was to learn how to fight
maybe it was for the lesson in pride
maybe it was the cowboys' ways
maybe it was to learn not to lie
maybe it was to learn how to cry
maybe it was for the love we made

love is everything they said it would be
love did not hold back the reins
but love forgot to make me too blind to see
you're chickening out aren't you?
you're bangin' on the beach like an old tin drum
I cant wait 'til you make
the whole kingdom come
so I'm leaving

first he turns to you
then he turns to her
so you try to hurt him back
but it breaks your body down
so you try to love bigger
bigger still
but it...it's too late

so take a lesson from the strangeness you feel
and know you'll never be the same
and find it in your heart to kneel down and say
I gave my love didn't I?
and I gave it big...sometimes
and I gave it in my own sweet time
I'm just leaving

love is everything...

- jane siberry, "love is everything," When I Was A Boy (1993)

reckless

You won a prize for that, for telling lies
like that so well that I believed it.
I never felt cheated. You were the chosen one,
the pure eyes of Noah's dove.
Choir boys and angles stole your lips and your halo.

In your reckless mind, you act as if
you've got more lives.
In your reckless eyes,you only have time
and your love of danger,
to it you're no stranger.

In that August breeze of those forgotten trees,
your time was set for leaving, come a colder season.
In your reckless eyes, it's never too late
for a chance to seize some final breath of freedom.

Very, so very wise. Don't reveal it.
I'm tired, tired of knowing where it is you're going.

In your reckless mind, you act as if you've got more lives.
In your reckless eyes, you only have time
and your love of danger,
to it you're no stranger.

In your reckless mind, you act as if you've got more lives.
In your reckless eyes, it's never too late
for a chance to seize some final breath of freedom.

- Natalie Merchant, "Noah's Dove," Our Time in Eden (1992)

or...

Or maybe I've become a better friend to myself, finally.

seeking the ground state

The other night's words were about feeling betrayed and sad. Other feelings are happening, too.

As is The Muse's fashion, once her brain realized I wasn't bluffing, she immediately found another place and signed a lease. Almost funny, it's so like her -- once she knows something is going to, or might happen, or once a decision is made to do something, she has to do it. Immediately. I guess she's consistent. Like I said, it's all happened so fast. I've thought that it's quite possible, given her behavior, that she was dabbling in some bullshit idealized fantasy thing -- whatever -- which didn't become reality for her, maybe, until I said in essence "you need to go." (I meant, "we need to be apart to get through this.") Sucks pretty bad, but she needs to figure out some shit, and she can't figure it out living with me, regardless of what she may be thinking. Perhaps the meds evened out her moods, but made her nuts in other ways. I don't know, but I don't want to be the one to bear the burden of responsibility for dealing with it. For the first time in my life, in this kind of situation, I'm worrying about me, and taking care of myself, instead of second-guessing everything I say, and feel, and thinking "oh I want this to work so badly, and what if telling her this was the final straw ......." -- you know the shit -- not doing it. Not going there. If she wants to be with me, then fine, but she needs to know what she wants. And I can't wait around for her to figure it out, and just won't risk getting dragged through the shit so she can grow. Pardon my French, but fuck that. I've had too much of it in my life. I know it isn't my shit, and I've learned that people dealing with this crap are the only ones who can do anything about it. Sad, but they have to change, and only they can do that. Plus, I've tried, lots of times, in past r-ships and in this one, and I'm just tired of it. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. Hate to sound jaded, but it seems the likelihood of this level of change taking place in a reasonable period of time is pretty slim, and the potential for those who stick it out to be subjected to serious extended pain is too, too high. Too high for me.

Feels kind of like I'm processing the whole situation at high speed, or something. Maybe it's adrenalin, or maybe my past experiences have given me just that -- experience. Maybe my age. Maybe I've faced what feels to me to be so much of this already in my life that I don't have much patience left for it. Maybe I've finally grown up. I mean, it wasn't like this when my marriage went to hell -- that was total insanity. And when I broke up with C., I was a mess for almost a year. So, something's different. I'm different.

Or maybe, maybe, I'm actually learning how to do it better.

Anyway, there's another part of me that worries. It's just so different. Past r-ship crises have always -- always -- pretty much decimated me emotionally, and sent me into a tailspin that spit out red and black trails of doubt and anger. I've always managed to hold it together, basically -- like, I've been functionally decimated -- can go to work, get up, eat, sleep. But it's always been horribly painful, emotionally and physically for me.

This is no different, and, in fact, may be worse. I really truly love this woman. I know that what it's not is that this was some kind of lesser love. I risked a lot for this r-ship -- my former job, r-ships with colleagues, to some extent my rep. It was all worth it. But I don't feel like I'm dying, and I don't wish I were dead. I have felt that in the past, as the result of this type of heartbreak. Nothing I would ever act on -- I'm so non-suicidal -- just that feeling like, well, if I don't wake up tomorrow, ok. I've felt that, but I don't this time. My heart is broken, but it's like I'm at a point in my life where I refuse to die.

Or I know better, know myself, know I won't let my broken heart kill me. Won't let it break me, either. Won't let it break my soul.

But, it's so different, I kind of worry. Have I lost the ability to feel the pain deeply? Prior to this past weekend, a friend advised me to "get away -- get out of the house -- do something fun and totally carefree -- you deserve a break." Well-intentioned, of course. But, I know me. One, I'm not one, never have been, to work out my pain that way. I knew going into this weekend that it would be hard, and that I would be there. That I would not try to run from it. That I would face it. I need to face it. I need to look life straight in the eye. I need life to see my face, too. That's who I am.

Perhaps it's the sense of somewhat knowing what to anticipate. The forgetfulness and totally distracted spaciness. The acceptance of the fact that, when I'm upset, it takes me six tries to get out of the driveway -- get in the car, forget the keys, get the keys, forgot the wallet, get the wallet, put the keys down, forget them again, forget the CD I want to hear while I drive, fast, needing to sing, scream. It's just me. Me and U2. With or without you. And Husker Du. You left me, you left me, you left me, standing in the rain.

So, hard to tell how I'll feel much in the future, which I readily admit. Still in shock, I think. But not in denial, I'm pretty sure, I hope, not this time. And maybe I'm past the days of black loss-induced anger, past the deeply cutting doubts. I've gotten this far, after all, and I'm ok. I've recovered from everything that's ever happened to me. I have family who I can talk to, and friends, both of whom I trust, and believe in, and am comfortable being open with, with my emotions, my thoughts, my fears. I know I can turn to them, and I know it's not an embarrassing thing, that, in fact, they ache to help as much as I ache to heal.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I just ache to heal. Love isn't lost. I believe that. True love, real love -- it's never lost. It goes somewhere. I don't regret any love I've ever given to anyone in my life. Good begets good. And the fucking universe needs it. If I haven't been able to hold onto it at times, so be it -- call it my cosmic contribution.

And, life's weird. Maybe it will work out. At least we weren't married. But, either way, I know I'll come out of it ok. Just seems to be what I do.

Wanted to tell you personally.

Peace.

the nest has been blown out of the tree

A day. The Muse's father, stepmother, brother and his gf came over to help her move her remaining items from our home. I think I'm still in shock. Spent the day driving and crying, listening to Husker Du, U2 and Jane Siberry. Had to spend a bunch of cash to get a new bed and livingroom furniture. Purchases that can be, should be, fun, like rewards for working hard, acquiring tasteful things to enhance one's living environment. But there is no excitement, and only sadness, with these. Already they feel not as much new as just replacements. Whatever. It's just stuff, has no meaning.

Gotta wait a month for the couch and love seat. At least the bed will be here tomorrow.

I didn't get to say goodbye to the cat, the friendly little furball. Fuck. It's only 8:30; feels like four in the morning.

Like my friend lo, music speaks to me...

From Bob Mould and the boys:

well, you get up every morning
and you see, it's all the same
all the floors and all the walls
and all the rest remains
nothing changes fast enough
the hurry, worry days
it makes you want to give it up
and drift into a haze

revelations seem to be another way
to make the days go faster anyways

we're all exchanging pleasantries
no matter how we feel
and no one knows the difference
'cause it all seems so unreal
you'd better grad ahold of something
simple but it's true
if you don't stop to smell the roses now
they might end up on you

expectations only mean you really think you know
what's coming next, and you don't

yearbooks with their autographs
from friends you might have had
these are your important years
you'd better make them last
falling in and out of love just like...
these are your important years, your life

once you've seen the light, you finally
realize it might end up all right
it might end up all right now

"These Important Years," Warehouse: Songs and Stories (1987)

when was the last time it was warm?
maybe october
had i known then what i know now
same old story
i could've tracked our last summer night together
was it a good one?
i remember seeing carlos santana with you and my son
a warm night, in a constant rain, we three
holding each other to stay warm
swaying to the music
was that it?
or something else
was it sad? another wasted evening
watching reruns on network tv
re-laughing at things funny once
were you thinking of leaving then?
as you laughed, lying across my lap
were your thoughts already in another place?
seeing your life in the light of autumn dusk
your shadow falling separate from mine
even then?

you should have told me
i deserved to know
instead had to find out, had to confront you
with my most vulnerable face
you didn't deny a thing, that much is true
but i had to learn it on my own
i'm the grounded one after all
so tired of it, of the facing, of the digging
of taking the initiative, of enlisting honesty,
of calling on the truth, calling it out, it is there,
it is everywhere, just waiting to be recognized
so tired of seeing it
why do i always have to be the one to see it?
to call it?

shawn colvin sang, "it's gonna be another long one tonight/jst me and my well-intentioned spite"

spite against myself.
of course, it would not have "helped" if i had known,
known that it was our last christmas, just one year after i gave you my ring,
known that it was our last thanksgiving with your mother,
our last christmas with my family,
our last appearance at a birthday party for a niece or a nephew
or my son, my guilt limited to how i keep bringing these people into his life
seeking a replacement for his mother, who lacks the maternal wiring
shit, i did that whole thing backwards
had the child, and then lived my life
when i was your age, i thought i'd have children
but not until i was forty, not until now
but now, i am done having children
i am, have become, a good father, a strong father
the one constant in my child's life
the one he can trust, can rely on
for love, nurturing, help, honesty

there is angry lightning flashing outside
looking through the doors we looked through together
in love, together, sitting outside, looking at the wetlands,
watching the lightning dance across the sky

another person, once in my son's life, gaining his trust,
and now gone
i never would have guessed in a million fucking years
that you really had no idea what commitment was
you did, of course, i believe you
but goddamn it, lover, darling -- i've heard it before
it's all true, yeah, until it changes

the truth does not change
this i know
this i can't deny
this i won't resist

so, the real question i have is this:
what the fuck is wrong with me?
what is it that prevents my lovers from keeping their ends of the commitment?
why do they not tell me what they feel?
why do they get angry with me when i tell them what i feel?
why do they leave, oh god, why do they leave me every time?

pathetic. i know.

bloggoogler

Blogger bought by Google, but, of course, you've already heard.

Separate

Merriam-Webster says:

Main Entry: 1. sep·a·rate
Pronunciation: 'se-p(&-)"rAt
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): -rat·ed; -rat·ing
Etymology: Middle English, from Latin separatus, past participle of separare, from se- apart + parare to prepare, procure -- more at SECEDE, PARE
Date: 15th century
transitive senses
1 a : to set or keep apart : DISCONNECT, SEVER b : to make a distinction between : DISCRIMINATE, DISTINGUISH <separate religion from magic> c : SORT <separate mail> d : to disperse in space or time : SCATTER separated homesteads>
2 archaic : to set aside for a special purpose : CHOOSE, DEDICATE
3 : to part by a legal separation : a : to sever conjugal ties with b : to sever contractual relations with : DISCHARGE
4 : to block off : SEGREGATE
5 a : to isolate from a mixture : EXTRACT <separate cream from milk> b : to divide into constituent parts
6 : to dislocate (as a shoulder) especially in sports
intransitive senses
1 : to become divided or detached
2 a : to sever an association : WITHDRAW b : to cease to live together as a married couple
3 : to go in different directions
4 : to become isolated from a mixture
synonyms SEPARATE, PART, DIVIDE, SEVER, SUNDER, DIVORCE mean to become or cause to become disunited or disjointed. SEPARATE may imply any of several causes such as dispersion, removal of one from others, or presence of an intervening thing <separated her personal life from her career>. PART implies the separating of things or persons in close union or association part>. DIVIDE implies separating into pieces or sections by cutting or breaking divided the nation>. SEVER implies violence especially in the removal of a part or member severed limb>. SUNDER suggests violent rending or wrenching apart sundered by racial conflict>. DIVORCE implies separating two things that commonly interact and belong together divorce scientific research from moral responsibility>.

Main Entry: 2. sep·a·rate
Pronunciation: 'se-p(&-)r&t
Function: adjective
Date: 15th century
1 a : set or kept apart : DETACHED b archaic : SOLITARY, SECLUDED c : IMMATERIAL, DISEMBODIED
2 a : not shared with another : INDIVIDUAL <separate rooms> b often capitalized : estranged from a parent body <separate churches>
3 a : existing by itself : AUTONOMOUS b : dissimilar in nature or identity
synonym see DISTINCT
- sep·a·rate·ly /-p(&-)r&t-lE, 'se-p&rt-lE/ adverb
- sep·a·rate·ness /-n&s/ noun

How do you interpret it? When you say "separate," does it come out naturally as a verb, or as an adjective?

sorted, scattered
lives separate (v), lives separate (adj)
separate (v) lives, but love
how it exists separately, separate (v) from
life, my own, ours, what's yours is/was/shall be/shall never be
mine, ours
isolated from a mixture
driving to work, your scent in my blood
a flock of geese flies to somewhere
if they're smart, they'll keep flying
never touch down, never stop
bridges, bridges to cross
the other side, we must
go, but hate it, knowing/not knowing
what we want to be, what we think we see
on the other side
transitive senses
the other side
how can the other side not be connected to this one?
there is a bridge, there was a bridge
it has not fallen
like my heart
it has not fallen apart
it has not separated
does life separate?
don't be like me, a stupid goose
never touch down, stupid geese
keep flying
fly over the bridge
and beneath you i will cross
beneath you, my love,
the wood of my bridges, of my cross

Endless Tape Loop

I'm not sure what anyone else is thinking, nor if I have any true sense of what's going on, what's happened, what's happening now, what will happen soon. I do know that people are uncertain, unsure and nagged by a steady low current of chronic anxiety. It's like a steady undercurrent, a buzz, and not the kind any of us with any sense seek.

How it looks to me: The only sensible spin, for me, is this -- The Administration has gotten philosophical. A scary thought, given the general consensus that if you give the Government anything, it'll find a way to mess it up in royal fashion. Philosophy is no exception, and this is a case of taking the long view, as they say. The long view, at present, seems to me to take this form: The Middle East is a political mine field, no pun intended, and has been for thousands of years. The Administration believes, or would like to believe, or has of late embraced the belief that there is no hope for any real peaceful resolution to the so-called Mid-East conflict, no hope for any semblance of political stability, no hope of anything ever approaching comprehensive democracy. This being said, it remains a major source of good old black gold, oil, that is, economic fuel. So, while one side of the Adminstration's mouth pays lip service to such quaint notions as environmentally friendly fuel cells, the other side of the mouth is screwed up into an expression of determination, and that determination is to take over the area, topple the evil dictator(s) and run the show. The sense that this humble citizen gets is that -- regardless of the protests of the hundreds of thousands of citizens of America and other nations against the aggressive policies currently in play -- The Administration has made a decision. That decision appears to be that America is going to the Middle East with a goal of taking control, which it believes will be best for everyone in the long run. Best for America, of course -- American economic interests, to be exact -- because it will clear the way for the US to control a major source of oil, thereby stabilizing the economy, somewhat, and appeasing, somewhat, the populace, which is burdened by unemployment, failed school levies, crumbling city infrastructures, increasingly high costs of basic needs (housing, education, healthcare), in short, the continued demise of whatever may be left of that 1940's fantasy known as "The American Dream." Not to mention that microwave ovens and VCRs and, now, cell phones are *still* not interchangeable. But I digress.

Looks to me like a decision has been made to take control of "the problem" by force. To dip back into the days of manifest destiny.

"Let's have a war / we need the space." - Fear

Deal with the hell of the short term (read: War on Iraq) to get to the relative economic and political stability of the long-term (read: US control of foreign resources).

That's what I see happening. That's what it feels like to me. You don't move tons of equipment and thousands of troops just to make a point.

My fiancee asked me the other day if I thought we were going to war, and I said yes. "Doesn't that piss you off?" she asked.

Yes, I said. Yes, it does. It really does. Equally, it saddens me.

But it does seem to be happening, regardless.

I hope I'm wrong.