bless them all

this is the difference between sad and pathetic. the tragic aftermath of katrina is wearing me down. i haven't felt this sad and distracted since 9|11. for anyone who's followed my saga for the past months -- this feeling makes more clear what i was experiencing when i was dealing with the brunt of my heartbreak of last winter -- that was pathetic. a sort of weak, self-pitying, ugly state of mind. miserable, yes, but nothing like this feeling.

a feeling of overwhelming loss. of connection. of awe.



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

WGUS84 KLIX 021902
FLSLIX
LAC051-071-031845-

FLOOD STATEMENT
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE NEW ORLEANS-BATON ROUGE LA
ISSUED BY NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE MOBILE AL
200 PM CDT FRI SEP 2 2005

...WATER LEVELS IN NEW ORLEANS HAVE STABILIZED...

...UNPRECEDENTED FLOODING WILL CONTINUE IN THE NEW ORLEANS AREA FOR
THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE...

OFFICIAL REPORTS CONTINUE TO INDICATE THAT NEW ORLEANS WATER LEVELS
HAVE STABILIZED. HOWEVER...CATASTROPHIC FLOODING CONTINUES OVER A
LARGE PART OF THE GREATER NEW ORLEANS AREA.

OBVIOUSLY...THE FLOODING IS NOT LIMITED ONLY TO THE CITY OF NEW
ORLEANS. AREA RIVER FLOOD INFORMATION (INCLUDING SOUTHEASTERN
MISSISSIPPI) IS BEING PASSED ALONG IN THE PRODUCTS NEWFLWLIX AND
BHMFLWMOB. THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE OFFICE IN MOBILE ALABAMA IS
ALSO UPDATING THE NEW ORLEANS AREA FLOOD SITUATION VIA THE DAILY
HAZARDOUS WEATHER OUTLOOK PRODUCT NEWHWOLIX.

IN THE EVENT THAT A SITUATION ARISES FOR A CIVIL EMERGENCY MESSAGE
...PLEASE SEE THE PRODUCT NEWCEMLIX.

THIS PRODUCT WILL BE UPDATED APPROXIMATELY EVERY 12 TO 24 HOURS...OR
IMMEDIATELY ...IF LATE BREAKING FLOOD INFORMATION BECOMES AVAILABLE.


MEDLIN
$$

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

it's all so awful. i was on this page, and i was clicking on the various links to parish information. they're frozen -- if you can get to a page at all, it's stopped in time -- the last updates happened before katrina struck.

calendars still show events scheduled for the rest of the year.

no one alive ever expects life to change immeasurably, to be transformed so completely, so terribly, in so little time.



it reminds me too much of the days and weeks immediately following 9|11. you click on a link to a site you used to visit, and you get that error message, which you typically can ignore. if you didn't know any better, you'd just think the server was down.

but now, you get it. and you can see images. the server's down, alright. it's gone. the building it was in is gone. everything's wet, or crushed, or covered in water, completely submerged. it's awful. destroyed. uprooted.

schools are closed "until further notice."

it's all too awful.

katrina, correspondences

On 8/31/05, someone wrote:

"Some of you may have seen this, but for those of you that haven't, here is a tale of two pictures. This really pisses me off. Read the captions.

black

white

Regardless of the fact that much of the "looting" going on in New Orleans is purely just to, you know, SURVIVE, to me, this just adds to the problem. It implies, if you're white, it's "finding bread in a grocery store", but if you're black, it's "looting". Words are powerful weapons, and in a tragedy of such proportions, the problem of "looting" should be low on the priority list. People, of all races, and all creeds, etc., are in a "liquid hell" right now, as water keeps pouring into an overflowing bowl called New Orleans. There is no drinkable water, food is very scarce, and thousands of people are trapped, just trying to survive. That's the story here. Not trying to draw up racial stereotyping through journalism.

I watched on CNN today as a (white) reporter was asking someone (who was African-American) why they were taking food from a store. At first they didn't answer. Then the reporter self-righteously asked, "Don't you know that stealing is wrong?" Then the person answered, "I'm just trying to survive. I have eaten in two days, and I'm hungry."

Yes, taking appliances in a disaster like this could be defined as looting. But it seems to me that people taking food, bottled water, and clothes from stores, are trying to SURVIVE. The realities and niceties of "modern society" and "civilization" are on temporary hiatus, as the city of New Orleans slowly sinks underwater, and any hope of help or rescue is uncertain at best. Are there members the media really holier-than-thou, that they would on principle, starve to death, rather than take a food from an abandoned grocery store, to live, because stealing is 'wrong'?"

someone else wrote:

"'....the Mayor has now pulled 1500 police off of search and rescue and ordered them to restore order. Whatever that means.

Order in the midst of starvation and crisis. This is a disaster and pretty poor reflection on all of this Homeland Security junk that billions have been spent on. These plans don't have evacuation procedures, or don't the procedures include the poor?...

...What can we do about this? Do we just have to sit here and be angry and cry (like me). How do we make a difference and be heard."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
my response:

We're all feeling the impact of this tragedy. It's an awful, awful thing.

If I may say something: One of the many lessons I learned when our nation went through its last tragedy was that it does no good to add to the outrage, regardless of one's intentions. When people are suffering, they need help and support. Everything else is irrelevant.

Do what you can do and what you need to do. In the weeks and months after 9|11, I remember my own absolute -- I don't know what to call it -- confusion, disbelief, shock -- at how many people I met and talked to at the time really didn't seem to feel anything at all. Their experience appeared to me to be limited to understanding that our nation had been attacked, that many people had died, and that it was a shame -- but that it was over, so let's get on with life. To this day, I don't know if this behavior was some form of denial -- an emotional shield instinctively erected by their subconscious to protect them from the sheer pain and sorrow of the event -- or whether they were too caught up in their own lives at the time, or whether they just didn't know how to talk about it, or whether they'd never dealt personally with any kind of emotional trauma, or whether I lack some normal set of filters that would otherwise have given me the tools to process it differently, some might say "normally" -- I don't know.

What I know: About a month after the attacks, I went to New York. I walked the streets. I saw the signs. I breathed the air, which still smelled like wet, burnt newspaper. It helped me to see the people of the city, bravely moving on, facing the days after, carrying on despite knowing that their city, and their lives, had been changed irreparably forever. I saw the sorrow and the loss in the faces of the police who were guarding the perimeters, trying to keep order so workers and volunteers could do their critical and terrible jobs, and to protect a massive crime scene. I saw the site from blocks away, and I cried. I left flowers, and I paid my respects. It didn't help anything, but it helped me.

When I got back, some of the people I told about my experience couldn't understand why anyone would go to the site. I didn't understand them then, and I still don't understand them now. Theirs was not my experience; it took me months to stop feeling the pain, to stop obsessively following the news, and about two years to stop actively grieving. But I still feel it. And I like to think that I carry some pieces of some of those lost souls with me, that by being there, by paying witness and breathing the air, that I helped them to move on.

As for the media: remember who we're dealing with, and what their objective is. Sure, they deserve criticism -- but no more today than any other day. Remember that they don't really care if they offend you, or piss you off -- as long as they have your eyes, they have achieved their objective. No amount of reporters and cameras can come close to conveying the extent of what is happening. There is simply too much. There are too many people, there are too many stories. If you're truly interested, fortunately, there are lots of alternative sources of information available (search Google for blogs related to Katrina, for starters). I merely wish to suggest that you try -- hard as it is -- *not* to have your true feelings influenced by the words and images you see and hear in the media -- because it is only a part of the story. A small, small, detached and diluted part.

Hang in there. We're Americans. God bless our brothers and sisters as they face this mess.

Namaste.

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

a response to me from the initial correspondent:

"Very well said. Very well said, indeed. Yes, as many of you know, it doesn't take much to set my outrage alarm off. And yesterday, as with 9/11, I was in full outrage mode, at the media, which as you rightly point out, is only bits and pieces of the full picture. The full picture is a catastrophe of literally "unbelievable" proportions. Even now, whatever picture I have in mind, is probably only half as terrifying, half as harrowing, and half as horrible as the real-life struggles of thousands of people going on in the Gulf States as we speak.

As to what can be done, you are right. Do what you can. I don't know what I can do personally to help all the people affected, (Realistically I know I can't help everyone), but I can only concentrate on what I can do to help. I donated some money to the Red Cross. I will probably do so next week, or in a few weeks. If the call comes for canned food and water, I will send what I can. That's all I can do in the end.

Despite my Don-Quixote-like proclamations, there are times I can see reality staring at me in the face. This is one of those times. I'm not Superman, I'm just [me]. It's tough enough being me, so all I can do is help out the best I can with the talents and resources available to me. My heart and my soul weeps for the thousands of people who lost their lives, who are hurt, and who are struggling through what seems like something out a post-apocalyptic movie. I am with them in spirit, and I know that's not enough, but it's what I can do. So that's what I'll try to do.

I can carry my outrage at certain things with me, but what this boils down to is a human tragedy, and a trial of the human spirit in general. Humanity can be a great and terrible thing. Let's hope that out of this tragedy, ultimately, the greatness of the human spirit, and love, and generosity will rule the day over the terribleness and destructiveness part of the human spirit.

Despite what's going on in our country today, I still believe in the fundamental belief that humanity, despite all its flaws, it at its core an agent for justice and love. So I'll do what I can, and keep that fire of belief in my heart that the goodness of humanity will shine through, and ultimately help everyone recover and rebuild from this terrible tragedy.

Peace."

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

would that all dialogues ended this way.

a letter from my unconscious

Cypriot!

*where are you?!?!* i don't even know why we are together, but we are, on a train to moscow. we arrive, and have tickets to see the opera. as soon as we get off the train, you disappear, with your camera. it is foggy and damp. i find my ticket in my pocket, and worry because the stub is already torn off. but i have both parts and they let me in. it's not the opera, though -- it's tori amos, playing with someone else, to a young crowd. in the middle of a song, people start joining the band onstage, two at a time, and vomiting. it is the strangest thing i have ever seen, and i leave. outside the auditorium, people are wandering around in puke-splashed clothes. the smell is awful. i don't know where our room is, but some guy tells me and i go there. your things are there, but you are gone. i pick up your phone, and see that it is full of txt msgs to men i don't know, telling them how you love them, describing some location where you say you will "make it my base, and i will soul and mate from here." what is wrong with you, i wonder? why are you so callous towards me? why did you come here with me if you didn't want to be with me?

i don't know what to do. i think that i will take your phone, throw it into the cold river, and when you return looking for it, i will tell you i don't know anything about it. we were supposed to see the onion-shaped rooftops together. and now you are gone again.

more horsocopic visions....

ya know, this shit rings true enough -- but it doesn't make my existence any easier.

8/23/05
Thank goodness for types like you -- you've never been afraid to be different, and it's just that quality that will help you get your radical ideas implemented. Others might be afraid to change, but you're something of a visionary and you can see which way the tide is turning before just about anyone else. You stand apart from the pack in your ability to think ahead and think about what will make things better in the long run.

8/22/05
You're rebellious, you're quirky, you're eccentric, and one of the things you're most eccentric about is your unwavering commitment on how to make this world a better place. To you it's not a corny or impractical sentiment at all, but an endlessly fascinating puzzle to be tackled over and over again. Right now you've got innovative ideas aplenty on how to improve things for everyone here on this tiny blue marble.

so, yeah -- yee-ha for people like me.

being single

i don't think i ask for much. at 43, i know what i want, and what i don't want. it's the downside to being experienced, i suppose. a confession: i've never slept with anyone who i wasn't attracted to; i've only slept with a few women who i didn't care deeply for. and i've apparently never experienced that anything-on-two-legs level of horniness. i do care what you look like. i don't do the bag over the head thing. call me superficial, but i'm only being honest. and i want the same.

i want honesty in a nice package. seems a fair request: a pretty woman with a brain. (some fine examples here and here. - ed.)

but let's define pretty, because it's apparently a more subjective term than i thought. pretty is: nice hair, nice feet, interesting eyes, nice body, nice voice. good limbs. intelligent. good teeth. honest smile.

pretty is not: a sweet face on a super-sized body. an obnoxious laugh. bad teeth. bad hair. bad shoes. dressing like a mom. not dressing your age. an annoying voice. a nice personality in a road-weary package. sorry, but it just doesn't work for me.

so -- i'll continue playing with online dating sites. but i want pics before dates. and if you really really don't have one -- shame on you! -- you still might be able to coax me out to meet you, but don't be surprised if i want really specific answers to questions about your appearance beforehand. i'm just meeting too many nice people who i'm not attracted to. not that there's anything wrong with that, but i'm not made of money, and if i'm gonna take the time to come out and buy you dinner or a few upscale beverages, i'd at least like to enjoy watching you enjoy it. it's only fair.

eeh. i can hear the whining already. cut it out. i'm not hiding anything. i like pretty women. it's a preference. we all have them. clickage results from a mutually pleasurable interaction of respective preferences.

weekend notes

worked the county fair from 5-8 friday and saturday. i kinda look forward to fair season, though i may have outgrown it. it is what it is, i suppose. the busty babes still turn out, though it turns out they're mostly of mid-puberty age, and those of a more appropriate vintage tend to fall in three categories: coupled; single, but kid-laden; or white trash. oh well.

dancer notes

hung out with R. and D. a bit on saturday after the fair. place was kinda dead, but was nice to see them. the new barmaid t. seems to be warming up. R. was taking it easy, and D. wasn't drinking at all, but they were in good spirits. some guy who goes by "moon" dropped in -- a hardcore biker making his saturday night rounds of the watering holes.

one of the bouncers had to carry a. out and take her home. a's a gorgeous 18-yr-old dancer -- been there a few months. so full of energy that the other girls call her "spunky." spunky's all energy and muscle -- but for the past week or so, she's really looked like hell (for her, that is -- your average girl would still look drop-dead gorgeous if she looked anything like a.). i asked her how she was feeling, and she said she knew her sugar was low -- apparently she's diabetic. said she hasn't been sleeping well, or eating right -- no time to buy groceries, she said, so she sleeps half the day and when she wakes up, eats junk food. it's sad. she's apparently taking care of her whole family, because mom's a lost cause, or something. not that a's without her own challenges; D. mentioned that his kids are so bad about doing dishes that they only have paper plates and styrofoam cups in the house, and a. told a story about how she won't do dishes -- as a kid, her mom tried to make her do them, and she chose instead to smash plates and glasses at the wall to get rid of them instead of washing them. anyway, she stopped by to say hi, and i told her she looked tired, and she told me she felt like she was gonna pass out, and i told her i hoped she felt better, and she gave me a nice hug, kissed me on the cheek and said "thanks." about an hour later, she passed out in the dressing room. i hope she's ok.

heard that another dancer's mom's house burned down, apparently. like most of them, c's hot as hell, but a complete train wreck -- numerous kids without daddies, substance abuse, irresponsible -- the whole nine yards. i don't know how these girls are going to make it out of their 20's, let alone their 30's.

conversations with strippers, part 2

l. is getting married on saturday. sweet girl, i've missed her. she's been away for a few months -- had a baby, and then spent a few months in jail. for traffic violations. *shakes head* crazy girls.

nice to have her back. she used to have tightly cropped, short dark hair, which gave her a kind of hot, punky slutgirl look. now her hair's longer and streaked. looks pretty. she said she had to let it grow because she couldn't use a blow dryer in prison.

new barmaid, t. jury's still out on this one. seems ok, but we all still miss tr., though she still comes in pretty regularly. apparently she's working at two other places in town now.

the continuing adventure

she was referred to me by a colleague in my office, Melody, a dominatrix, in the least, i suspect. nice, interesting, but....no heat. so many of them have this, or rather lack this -- this heat, this to me essential trait, which makes the difference, really, in the end, as to whether or not i want to see you again.

and, earlier -- before the five or 6 odd bud lights, before the dancers, the girls, those sweet, young strong girls, the dancers, those dolls -- before them there was the second -- a social worker at a hospital. a nice girl. but -- no heat.

is there a possible unified theory of the universe? would it resemble this:

1) given -- once, we had any manner of substance produced of or from the earth, our mother, at our disposal, and

2) through the millenia, more and more of our god-given rights have been restricted and/or prohibited by our fellow man, frequently in the form of our so-called elected government, then

3) now, we crave what we once had, what once was ours, unquestionably -- be that beers at eight pm, or martinis at nine-thirty, or dancers, or tapas, or good conversation and laughter, or pain killers, or aspirin, or exercise or heroin or sex or wine or (very) pretty (!) girls, nearly naked, smiling and dancing......

of course we crave these things. of course we do.

they stand in a line, fluid, single file, moving, each to the rhythm of their own precious soul, misguided perhaps, but no less precious, united only by the driving beat offered by the annoying dj, swaying, pumping, the beat and their legs, and hips, all hydraulic beauty, sculpted faces and silken hair, smooth brown skin taught over their abdomens, the lights flickering, flashing, lasers piercing the night floor.

the dance goes on.

cute

courtesy of AngelBrat....

Copy this entire list into your blog/journal.
BOLD everything about you that is true.
Leave plain anything that is false about you.
Put an asterisk (*) at the end of false statements you would LIKE to be true.

I am bi-sexual.
My spouse or lover is aware of my orientation.
My spouse or lover has watched me have sex with someone of my gender.
I have had sex while wearing a blindfold.
I have blindfolded someone else during sex.
I have had sex while watching porn.
I have had sex while surfing porn on the Internet.
I sleep better after sex.
There are some nights I cannot sleep without sex or masturbating.
The bed is NOT my most favorite place to have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me masturbate.
I have masturbated for my spouse or lover while on the phone.
I have masturbated for someone over a web cam.
I have had sex over a web cam.
I will have sex with someone I just met if they turn me on. (once upon a time)
I have been tied up during sex.
I have had sex with someone who was tied up.
I have dripped wax onto a lover's body.
I have had a lover drip wax onto my body.
I have a foot fetish.
I have a leather fetish.
I have a tickle fetish.
I like being choked during sex.
I have had sex in a burning building.
I like having my nipples squeezed during sex.
I have erotic art on display somewhere in my residence.*
I enjoy nudie magazines.
Erotic toys are a regular part of my budget.
I think PLAYBOY is tame, maybe even boring.
I have clicked on porn links in my email.
I know the difference between girl/girl and lesbian sex in porn.*
I have watched more than one gay/lesbian porn video.
Much of what I know about sex comes from porn.
Interracial sex turns me on.
I have had interracial sex with someone of my gender.
I want my spouse or lover to have an interracial sex experience.
I want to watch my spouse or lover have an interracial sex experience.
I think we should do more to understand the cultures of sex.
I would participate in sex research given the opportunity.
My current lover does not sufficiently meet my sexual needs.
I currently have a "crush" on someone of the same sex.
I have had sex at my place of employment.
I have had sex with someone from [a former] place of employment.
I have had sex with a former co-worker of my gender.
I am often disappointed in my sexual relationships. (have been in the past)
Some people might describe me as a nymphomaniac.
I am difficult to live with if I'm not having sex on a regular basis.
I sleep better with someone snuggled up next to me.*
I have had sex under water.
I have had sex in the snow.*
I am in a polyamorous relationship.
I have to have music playing while having sex.
I have had more than ten orgasms in one night.
I have flashed strangers.
I have given sex as a gift.
I have set-up a three-way for my lover.
I stopped during this list to have sex.*

these feelings

"You know it ain't easy
For these thoughts here to leave me
There's no words to describe it
In French or in English
Well, diamonds they fade
And flowers they bloom
And I'm telling you

These feelings won't go away
They've been knockin' me sideways
They've been knockin' me out lately
Whenever you come around me
These feelings won't go away
They've been knockin' me sideways
I keep thinking in a moment that
Time will take them away
But these feelings won't go away"

- citizen cope, "The Clarence Greenwood Recordings"

and our story continues...

the story continues, the story of the boy, i am lost, he thought, i am lost. returning from the old streets, having seen my dear longtime friends c. and m., radio tuned to the show called echoes, [reminds me that i gotta track something down from tonight's playlist. - ed.] which reminded me of another show called hearts of space, both of which i used to listen to on sunday evenings on the local non-profit radio station when i lived back in the city. it was nostalgic and somewhat bittersweet, reminding me of you, our times there together, as a couple. we had some good times there, you and i. you were usually happy when we went there. most of the times we went.

"i know you've moved on. don't ask me how, doll -- i just know. trust me. our spirits haven't been separated for long enough that i can't still feel these things. it's ok.

"really. try not to look surprised. i mean it. it's all ok. i hope you're well."

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

and the horoscope says........(*drum roll*) --

Every now and then, the universe steps in, makes an executive decision, and forces us to take a right when we were absolutely sure we'd be taking a left. This is one of those times, and as sensitive as you are, you'll realize it as soon as you open your eyes this morning. So when you end up someplace you weren't supposed to be anywhere near, chatting with someone you feel an immediate affinity towards, you'll get it. You were supposed to meet.

sounds scary, and yet......that's SO what i want!

come out, come out wherever you are

Aquarius Horoscope

You're not cold and impersonal, and you're probably quite tired of reading that astrological description of your sign. The truth is, you're just picky, and there's certainly nothing wrong with that. Once you find someone who measures up to your standards -- that is, someone who's entertaining, independent and intelligent -- you can be quite devoted. Someone who answers just that description may be along shortly. If you're already attached, prepare for a brand new best friend.

please show up soon. i am unattached, and not in need of a new best friend, though i wouldn't turn one away. patience is not my strong suit as these things go.

You're the kind of person who just can't settle for anything less than the whole shebang. That's the way you are on a daily basis, but the way you're feeling now ... well, let's just say that you won't even be able to convincingly fake being satisfied if you're not. And that will be true for just about any department of life. When it comes down to the issue of love, you really won't be up for pretending.

yeah, that pretending thing. wonder if it is connected to the patience thing.

jeff tweedy keeps talking to me

There's a whisper
I would like to breathe into your ear but
I'm too scared to
Get that close to you right now...

In the beginning we closed our eyes
Whenever we kissed
We were surprised to
Find so much inside

- Wilco, Pieholden Suite, on Summerteeth

my mind is filled with silvery stars

you'll never read this. you never read it before -- always mystified me. how could you know that your lover kept a blog and yet not want to know what he was writing about? i mean, it's almost like an open invitation to read someone's diary. you just weren't interested.

don't think for a minute that i'm enjoying myself over this. i hate it. i hate feeling empty, and i hate the cycle -- interrupted grieving, i guess. the sadness is real, and it's heavy, and it's inescapable. so i get angry about it to avoind feeling the sadness. this much you taught me -- anger feels better than sadness. i get that about depression now.

Cheer up, honey I hope you can
There is something wrong with me...

that's how it feels. feels like something's wrong with me. like i can't grow up, or i can't pay attention. like i have limited short-term memory. i intend to do something, and then i forget about it, do something else, remember the first thing i meant to do, forget what i was doing, then do something else entirely.

usually nothing.

Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable

Cheer up, honey I hope you can

sometimes, i don't want to try anymore. i just want to cry, and stop.

All my lies are always wishes
I know I would die if I could come back new

it doesn't mean that coming back new would kill you -- no. it means that if you knew you could come back new, you'd be willing to die for the chance.

that's how i feel.

Someone ties a bow
In my backyard to show me love
My voice is climbing walls
Smoking and I want love

My jaw's been broken
My heart is wrapped in ice
My fangs have been pulled
And I really want to see you tonight

and that's how i feel. i'm not the ranting, spurned, hurt lover anymore. i'm just sad, and i miss what we had. i know it's over. i know you're gone. i know you aren't coming back, and i know neither one of us has it in us to even think about trying again. i know that would be insane.

i forgot how long it would take me to heal.

i honestly thought going through 9|11 together had sealed our fate. had taught us the real meaning of love. it did for me, i thought. it was what finally kicked me in the ass to quit putting off proposing to you. confirmed for me once and for all how short life is, and how easily we can lose who we most love.

Our love
Our love
Our love is all we have

Our love
Our love is all of God's money
Everyone is a burning sun

Tall buildings shake
Voices escape singing sad sad songs
Tuned to chords strung down your cheeks
Bitter melodies turning your orbit around

i still feel like i lost you and i don't know why.

so, that's how i feel.

hope you're well,

a.

re-impacting

ok. this is real. still real. all bullshit aside.

do you know -- do you have the slightest clue? -- how much you've hurt me?

pathetic, i am, to even post this. but it's true. this is real. this is true.

I am an American aquarium drinker
I assassin down the avenue
I'm hiding out in the big city blinking
What was I thinking when I let go of you?

i saw this. i had to look. because the reasons, the specifics of why you left me are so etched in my memory. i had to look. i don't know why i torture myself like this.

Let's forget about the tongue-tied lightning
Let's undress just like cross-eyed strangers
This is not a joke, so please stop smiling
What was I thinking when I said it didn't hurt?

i never said it didn't hurt. i've been tru to myself on that point. it hurt. it hurt so bad. it still hurts. and there you are, kissing some stranger. and looking good. great. beautiful. what the fuck happened to you, alison? god! what the fuck!?!??! we had so much, so special -- it was like nothing i've ever experienced.

I want to glide through those brown eyes dreaming
Take it from the inside, baby hold on tight
You were so right when you said that I've been drinking
What was I thinking when I said good night?

I want to hold you in the Bible-black predawn
You're quite a quiet domino, bury me now
Take off your Band-Aid because I don't believe in touchdowns
What was I thinking when I said hello?

I'd always thought that if I held you tightly
You'd always love me like you did back then
Then I fell asleep and the city kept blinking
What was I thinking when I let you back in?

i had to look. had to check back in. to see if what you left me for (ostensibly, for you, the fan of big-assed words) was actually real. and it wasn't. you dumbass. what happened? all of that intensity -- ? -- all for nothing. you aren't going to any damned dave shows. no pp05. nothing. you just left me. for nothing.

what, goddammit, do you have to show for it? what?!? and why am i so hung up on that?

I am trying to break your heart
I am trying to break your heart
But still I'd be lying if I said it wasn't easy
I am trying to break your heart

i do think that. my heart broke. twice. your heart didn't -- you wouldn't let it. that's what happened. that's the only explanation for how/why you could do this. your heart won't break because you're already broken, damn it.

i saw those pics and fell in love with you again. like falling in love with some unattainable person....like an actress, or some woman i'll never meet, yet who i've known in some dream, in a dream full of love. damn it. all of it. god damn it.

i loved you so much, alison.

i just loved you.

my heart still breaks. it still breaks.

Disposable Dixie-cup drinking
I assassin down the avenue
I'm hiding out in the big city blinking
What was I thinking when I let go of you?

loves you
I'm the man who loves you...

i've gotten rid of everything. i had to. everything. everything but you. you still live on, in my head, in my memory. in my heart, my blood.

all i did was love you. damn you. all i did. was love you. i think i get hung up on the whole thing -- the for what? thing -- because i really wish there had been some point to it all. because, damn it, as much as i feel like i don't even know you anymore, like we wouldn't have anything to talk about if we tried, like you're someone completely different from the woman i loved -- i care about you. i wish this had made you happy. i wish something good had come out of it.

but i can't see anything.

motivation

Today's Horoscope for Aquarius: Don't wait for life to happen to you. Make the life you want happen. Joseph Campbell called it following your bliss. Goethe said that once a definitive commitment was made, mighty forces would come to aid you. So what are you waiting for? There's a whole life out there waiting for you -- the life that you've always wanted. All you have to do is make that first, definitive movement toward it. Isn't life too short to waste?

eh. what exactly is the life that i've always wanted? yes, life is short. yes, this all makes sense. but what is it??

pretty sure this isn't it. pretty sure about that. pretty certain, in fact, that i would not have chosen to live my life in this lousy climate. know that i wouldn't have elected to be a single parent. know that i would not have elected to take the middle-class managerial job. well, maybe at some point i would have. maybe when i was 16 it sounded sweet. i'm not 16 though. i'm 43. maybe i had too many years of struggling in underpaid positions, looking at undeserving people in managerial roles, and envying their salaries. who knows.

then again, everything is a choice. i live here, despite being able to live elsewhere. so, that's kinda choosing to live here. i've chosen to commit myself to crazy women, so i've had crazy romantic r-ships, which have all ended poorly. and i'm a single parent, because of one of those relationships. and because i fought for custody -- so, denied the option of a stable nuclear family, i chose to be a single dad. i could stop working in this job, but i keep doing it. i look around, keep my ears open, but i can't find anything i'd rather do, without going broke or having to live poor again. it's like, i don't wanna do this anymore, but i don't wanna do that anymore, either.

and i'm feeling lonely. yet, it's because i chose to end the relationships with crazy people that i've been in.

oh, to be 23 again. i'd love to, if i could do it now -- not then. when i was 23, it wasn't that much fun being 23. i was poor, and naive. reagan was president, and america was no fun. girls were no fun. it was like everyone pretending it was the 50's again. everyone was dressing in khakis and buttondown shirts, with navy crew neck sweaters. everyone was neat, presentable. and if you weren't, you were weird. what everyone always overlooks about that whole golden 50's period is all of the bad shit -- the racism, the oppression of women and minorities, the crime, the corruption of government. the homeless. same probs that we have today. maybe worse then.

i mean, the 50's, after all, caused the 60's to happen. the 60's were a direct response of the young people and the disenfranchised to the accepted status quo of the 50's, to the us vs them dynamic of our culture.

the 60's ended too soon.

it seems a helluva lot more fun now. but, now, i have money. some, at least. and chicks are hotter. society's hotter.

what is my ideal life? what is the life that i've always wanted?

maybe you can tell me.

alcohol is bad for you

mistake #1: despite all the voices telling me to lay low last night, i headed out after my workout. was feeling a little like a cold was coming on, but a barmaid i know had asked me the night before if i was going to be out, so i decided to stop by the bar she mentioned to see her. no one was there, so i headed to her bar. on the way, my son called to see where i was, and even he told me "do you really think that's a good idea if you feel like you're getting sick?" good kid. wise kid. but i told him i was fine and i'd see him later.

mistake #2: instead of the usual flow of awful bud lights, i decided to have capt morgan's and diet coke -- to avoid calories, of all things. i rarely ever drink anything other than beer when i'm out on the town, simply because beer is so much more totally manageable than booze.

mistake #3: so, like a fool, i start consuming these silly little cocktails like they are soft drinks. they are not. i'm fine for about two hours. the girls are chatty and wanting to talk more than usual, and i buy them many drinks. the regulars are amusing. we get some decent music on the new jukebox. and all of a sudden i'm trashed and everyone knows it. pretty funny. the barmaid gently but seriously tells me, "sit right here" and starts bringing me mugs of fresh coffee which i remember was pretty damned good.

after a few, i find the courage to say my goodnights. damn, everyone was so nice to me. they just took care of me like we were old friends. it was nice. i made it home and passed out.

it was fun, but i gotta stick to beer. *laughs*

oh, how true, true, true...

true, so true

Aquarius

There's usually at least a two second delay between thought and words --
for most signs, anyway. In your case, it's about a second, on slow days. At
the moment, however, there will be no delay, which makes you pretty darned
dangerous. Basically, if you were regulated by the FCC, they'd have your
license by noon. Keep that in mind before you go off on anyone who's not as
well armed in the verbal department as you happen to be.

some fairly hilarious stuff

some pretty hilarious stuff

at a fairly hilarious site.

have fun.

interesting site

interesting site

feeling sexy?

~enjoy!~

from the fine folks at Tickle

from the folks at Tickle

who obviously have too much time on their hands.

When talking to your partner, you're a Diplomat

This means that you tend to be a cooperative partner with first-rate listening and negotiation skills. Above all, you seem to try to keep the lines of communication open between you and your significant other. In your mind, it's usually far better to talk about problems as they arise rather than sweep them under the rug. For you to really feel connected to your special someone, it's important that they hear and understand you. Ordinarily, you'll return this courtesy tenfold by paying close attention to your partner's perspective.

Experts agree that for a couple to thrive, they must be able to communicate. People with compatible communication styles tend to bring out the best in one another because their approach to relationships is like-minded. But if you're with someone whose communication style clashes with yours, you're headed for more challenges than most.

Your moves are fresh when it comes to Being Creative

It's clear you're a unique individual with your own way of expressing yourself and your inner artist. Whether it's with a pen, paintbrush, play, or punk rock band, you've got a creative energy you just can't ignore. Your fresh ideas and imagination are sure to shine through wherever you go. Maybe your flair for fashion shows up in your wardrobe. Maybe you cause a stir with your latest performance piece or surprise people with your latest artistic creation. However you do it, you're sure to attract many admiring fans with your fresh perspectives and creativity!

Suave

Wow — you're quite the Casanova! You know how to play the dating game; in fact, you're damn good at it. We can tell you're a real woman-magnet and are never without an admirer or three. When combined with your significant charm, your attentive, sensitive demeanor makes you irresistible. Someone definitely made sure that you know how to treat a woman — ladies always feel special and appreciated when you're with them. You've got a knack for expressing yourself and showing your interest without looking too eager, too. That's a difficult balancing act, and you deserve a pat on the back for perfecting it. At the rate you're going you won't be dating much longer before you score your dream girl!

...bring her on....

Looks like your sex drive's in Fourth Gear!

So how's the view from the driver's seat? Your sex drive is in a very healthy Fourth Gear, and you're cruising down what Aretha Franklin called the freeway of love in a pink Cadillac! It's great that you know what you want, when you want it, and with whom. Your lusty interest is certainly piqued, but let's make sure that it's not peaking! The key to maintaining that healthy libido is maintaining a healthy lifestyle. A wholesome diet (plenty of water, a good dose of fiber every day, vitamins, minerals—the works) will keep that motor humming. And a smart exercise plan will help you stay flexible, strong, and ready for love. Healthy moves like these will help your lust for life keep up with your lust for, well, you know.

Material Upkeep
Although you definitely appreciate a first-class lifestyle, you don't feel a constant need to indulge yourself. Sure, it's fun to spoil yourself with fancy dinners or designer clothes every once in a while, but you probably don't need everything in your life to be top of the line all the time. Congratulations! You know how to indulge yourself the right way — in moderation.

Emotional Upkeep
You like being a top priority in your partner's life, but you also respect his/her independence — good for you! Sure, it's important for you to feel valued and appreciated in your relationship, but your expectations for your significant other tend to be realistic and attainable. You definitely know how you want to be treated, but you don't think the only fulfilling relationship is one filled with constant doting.

and the horoscope says......

yesterday's: If you're single, it's time to get out there and resume your hunt for the perfect partner. You'll be amazed at how many prospective admirers will want to have a shot at the title, too. All you have to do is get dressed and get yourself on the scene. You'll be the center of attention, no matter where you are -- and for only the loveliest of reasons.

today's: After days of dashing about, doing at least three things at once, you're suddenly in the mood to snuggle -- and you know exactly who to invite to help satisfy that wish. If you're single, however, don't settle for a teddy bear. Get out there and start looking around. You're definitely due to meet someone new. And this time out, they'll probably be intelligent enough to keep you interested.

....stars trying to tell me something? maybe that explains why the girl in the bar the other night decided to back between my legs as i sat on the stool at the bar, lean her ass against me and reach behind herself to fondle me.......who knows?

oh, fans???...

just wanted to tell you that i really do hope i didn't scare you away yesterday.

even Your Humble Chronicler gets pissed off sometimes.

like the X used to tell me -- i have many layers. remember that. ;)

thanks for bearing with me. you've been great.

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.