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Archive for April, 2001

|| April 21, 2001 || 7:52 pm || Comments (0) ||

It’s nighttime and all the blinds are open, all the lights are on. I feel like I’m in one of those movies where you can stand outside the house and watch the character go from room to room.

Except I’m not commiting adultery or murder or anything, as those characters are often known to do.

Bummer, mang. (KIDDING, before you even mail me about moral terpitude and shit)

|| April 21, 2001 || 7:42 pm || Comments (0) ||

Are you the future
Or are you the past
Have you been chosen
Or are you the last
The pictures were sent
They seem so unreal
Now I’m made of plastic wire and steel
Follow for now and follow for this
Cause everybody follows for nothing at all

Supernova your supernova…supernova goes pop
Supernova you think its over but supernova don’t stop

Can you explain
Just what you are
I’ve never been this close to a star
The message was sent you know what to do
everybody needs to be someone don’t you

Supernova your supernova…supernova goes pop
Supernova you think its over but supernova don’t stop

Powerman 5000, “SuperNOVA goes POP”

|| April 21, 2001 || 7:09 pm || Comments (0) ||

Drinking wine tonight. Lots of it. Warm. Plum. My daddy’s.

It is SO gooooood.

|| April 21, 2001 || 7:06 pm || Comments (0) ||

With it being a lovely spring evening here in the South, I have my front door open and the storm door’s screen cover is up. All that delicious night air is wrapping around me…..mmmmm. My desk is in close proximity to the door, so I heard someone’s feet scuffing up my porch steps. As I leaned around the back of the chair, two teenage girls approached my front door and I raised my eyebrows in a silent query, “What can I do for you”-style.

One of these idiotic little chippies actually reached out and rang the fucking doorbell while we were staring one another in the face.

“Oh, fuck you“, I thought to myself. Said aloud was, “You don’t have to ring the doorbell, I realized you were there when I looked right at you.” They both giggled.

If there’s anything I hate worse than a stupid female, it’s a stupid female that thinks her stupidity is charming and fetching behaviour. Don’t be coy with me, missy. I’ve got yer fuckin’-A numberrr.

I didn’t even offer perfunctory graciousness when she launched into her pitch about needing a fucking boob job. I simply belted her with a firm no.

Okay, so she wasn’t really collecting for a boob job. It was some charity.

I gave at the office.

Even if I hadn’t given at the office, then they would not receive one red cent from me. Why should they, when they put gits like this on the street representing them? FUCK, you know??

|| April 20, 2001 || 12:03 am || Comments (0) ||

I just got a great idear for a bubble bath name: [drum roll, please...]

Honeysuckle Nuisance

Or maybe it’d be a better name for a shade of lipstick.

|| April 19, 2001 || 10:52 pm || Comments (0) ||

“I have no problem with faith. It’s religion that fucks me up.”

Jett Superior, “Oh, Go On And Speak Of Controversial Topics

I went to church last Sunday for the first time in a long time. The fact that it was Easter was simple coincidence. So was the fact that I had a beautiful new, delicately embroidered getup to sport around. With gold sandals. *Later on I kept the outfit on and wore it with Timberland sandals. I was not immediately struck dead. The Fashion Powers That Be must go easy on big national holidays. And Oscars night, but that is another entry entirely.*

In all seriousness, it truly was a coincidence. I’ve been swearing to do it for months now and finally kicked it into gear this past Sunday morning. I am not one of those idiots who see fit to only go to church when a major Christian holiday comes a-knockin’. Those people leave a horrible taste in my mouth (when I eat them for breakfast, tee-hee). It makes me think of those grody relatives who show up to the reunion right before chowtime; arriving emptyhanded, they proceed to decimate a largish hunk of the potluck schlepped in by everyone else. Then they leave before cleanup. Every family has ‘em.

So does every church. That’s why I am so stridently defending myself in this respect. I am not one of those. I am there for the long haul. I carry my share of the burden. I bake as many pies as anyone; I just happen to carry them outside and share with passers-by. My fellowship is outside the norm. It encompasses my children’s friends, fellow musicians, anyone open to a frank, calm (and let’s hope intellectual) discourse, internet pals…you name it.

So I went to church, and was pleased. Some places you feel when you hit the door, some feel you. A rare few do both and the place that we went to on Sunday was one of those.

There was a real joy and heartbeat to the joint. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like there is a clear, pure space inside of you, light and warm, shining forth into the room. Everyone else there has it too, and everyone’s space is shining and the rays are all touching one another and blending seamlessly into one. A bunch of tiny hearts beating sympatico that make up one larger beat.

I hardly ever cry, especially in public. To be completely honest with you, it leaves me feeling defenseless to any who may witness it. There has to be some deep-seated, clinical-type reason for this, but let’s not delve too deep for now, okay?

So I make it a point not to gad about doing the Big BooHoo, alrighty? And there in that sanctuary, in the midst of all that singin’ and praisin’, I felt helplessly moved to tears. Big, fat, juicy drops welled over my lower lids, despite my frustration and efforts to make it not so.

I question anyone’s ability to disacknowledge that a higher someone exists, to write off a wonderful characteristic like faith as flighty or invented. Miracles happen. The voices in one’s self do not always require medication. They require a microphone. Or a pen. Or a word processor. Or a brick wall. Something. I say this all because a woman approached and asked to pray with me.

I was immediately filled with revulsion, but I sensed a genuine need as well. She wrapped a massive arm around me and began to sear me with her words. She spoke aloud the stuff that was hidden deep inside of me, oh-so-carefully buried from view. Things that I was sure I had given evidence of to no one.

Despite the Baptist damage that I suffered as a result of organized religion, I have grown to know that there ARE in fact works of the spirit inexplicable to man. I have had some amazing things happen in my short time drawing air. And at least three of them (more, if I were to really think on the matter) rank as strikingly profound. I am thankful that I was given the capacity to be open to them at their respective moments.

She melted away into the congregation; I didn’t even find out her name. I didn’t need to….what she was sent to tell me had nothing to do with her, so it was just as well. The significance of not being able to pin a name to her doesn’t escape me; with a name, the human mind attaches the message to the messenger.

I have been extraordinarily relaxed and focused this week….*

*despite later events, which I’ll catch up on this weekend.

|| April 19, 2001 || 5:11 am || Comments (0) ||

Well, all in all I have had a very different week. Starting with Easter Sunday, whooshing right on through to doing some jail time Monday-slash-Tuesday and being offered a job being secretary to a group of bikers last night.

You think I am exaggerating, don’t you? Welp, I assure you that I am not. As a matter of fact, I am downplaying it an EXTREEEEME amount until I can get back here to expound.

Suffice it to say that this week has been quite full and functional enough, thank you. And yes, I know that today is only Thursday.

Trust me: this week has been quite full and functional enough.