by the by

I’m kind of sorry that I’ve not updated, and kind of not. As always, there is lots going on up top and there are things of humor and some merit in my life to write about. No time, no time, though, because there is much of it to be stuffed into the sparse minutes I’m given each day (which, if I am fortunate, may just change soon; keep your fingers crossed for a development that I’m not yet prepared to discuss).

Four things:

+one of my uncles died last week. He was married into the family and was a real tool, so don’t cry for him (Argentina)(or any other nation, for that matter).

+another of my uncles is gearing up to die. Him, we like. Him, my mother is closest to. Him, was really good to me and Fred. Him, we will mourn.

+my favorite quote right now –and perhaps forever– is by Saint Augustine: “Qui cantat, bis orat,” or, “To sing once is to pray twice.”

+I think I’m falling in love with simplicity. Gently, slowly, but deep and hard.

That last little sentencey bit would make a great KY ad, yeah?

I *told* you bastards that my cursing has a cause AND a purpose!

“But despite the seemingly atavistic roots of cursing, the sounds themselves are composed of English words and are pronounced in full conformity with the sound pattern of the language. It is as though the brain were wired in the course of human evolution so that the output of an old system for calls and cries were patched into the input of the new system for articulate speech.“

This book has been great nerdy fun. I usually have three or four books concurrently running as reading material, but I didn’t set this one aside for anything else until I’d bounced from one side of the cover to the other. I think I may have even spooned with it one night.

I reckon I’ll look into Pinker’s other titles, as well.

two three more reasons to love miss scout

she took a close-up picture of herself; in it she was holding a tub of chocolate icing next to her cheek. posting it online, she captioned it with, “i went to the store so i could bake a cake and this new sprinkle icing was $1.39 and the old none-sprinkle icing was $1.79. now, thats a deal”

she wears purple unselfconsciously. it is not in my power to do that. (thanks for the complex, dad)

a recent post reads,

people always hold back… why are you afraid to do what you love? i do everything i love and anything i take interest in. i may not be perfect or as good as anybody else and i may not do it the way others think i should, but i still do it. just because you do things a different way or you’re not perfect in what you do doesn’t mean you can’t do it. do what “you” love. don’t let others help you live your life.

:: it’s hotter than it should be for june. ::

big gigunda linkdump to keep you busy for a minute.

Obama’s gonna help McCain win (courtesy of Matt). I vaguely recall voicing this prediction quietly to a friend many moons ago. Said friend was surprised that I had an opinion on anything political, much less backing facts for same opining. I am politically tight-lipped, not a complete retard. I just play one on this here weeplog.

Best-dressed: I agree with commenters, though, that it’s not really any more eco-friendly than the next garment if you’re using the disposables. From a design standpoint, though, this screams “SEX!” at me. As in, I’m totally hot for it.

I’m still playing NationStates after all this time. I am a nerd.

Triple Five Soul makes some of the best streetwear ever and right now has a fatly-stocked clearance section, check it out.

The Bureau of Communication helps you out in times of need. If you fuck up, son (and you will, homosapienbeing), and find yourself tounge-tied, why not present your apology with style and flair? There are other options, too, “_new”>Declaration of Romantic Intent and Airing of Grievance among them. So great.

If you haven’t yet heard of Black Hockey Jesus, WHY NOT? He’s still in his pandering, Whoring For Hits phase, but his writing has staying power and (DON’T TELL HIM, HE HAS BIGHEAD SYNDROME) I’m hooked. He offered me some virgins via e-mail. He really is as sick as his writing conveys. You will love him, oh delightful Muffinasses.

I’m busy finishing pieces for my Etsy shop, and am at the point where I’m about to work on opening it. I’ve been surfing the marketplace over there even more frequently than usual while WAITING FOR THE PERSON WHO IS COLLABORATING WITH ME ON DESIGN IDEAS FOR THE BANNER AND INTRO PAGE –sorry, did I go all bigfirmvoice on you? whoops– to hunker down with me about finalizing some design elements. Which tells you how I found this amazing shop, Made With Molecules, with these awesome pieces of jewelry (and one spectacular pillow)that I would maybe swap some child labor* toward.

One hippy trip might have positive, long-term effects. Nancy Reagan FREAKED EVERYONE OUT. It took a minute to get back around to intense, structured study of psychedelic pharmacology.

That trickster TheDane got a get well gift from The One And Only Mister Chuck Palahniuk. He was all name-droppy about it, too. GROSS.

Did you know that this site over here gives away a fabulous pair of designer shoes once per week? For free. I DID NOT, and if you did, WHY HAVE YOU NOT MENTIONED IT TO YOUR FAVORITE FOUL-MOUTHED SHOEHOUND?? Selfishes.

A sly, artful underscoring of the green perspective meets mass marketing. And it’s purdy, too.

This series juxtaposes the shifting, vaporous nature of man against the concrete, fixed nature of city. Wow. (link courtesy of redclay, that rakish bastard, who never updates anymore, so I don’t know why I continue to link his site)

Sometimes I get really cynical about the world. Then I see something as beautiful and simple and hopeful as this

and I remember the true nature of the heart God placed in me.
…in ALL of us.

Happy Fourth, y’all. Kisses and kisses and kisses.

*Mathias is young and obedient. Any takers?

I planned on bringing back Teh Funneh this week. SHIT.

Let me just be blunt here: Sometimes Many times I pick up on the emotions of others and they manifest as physical ills in me. Sometimes I just experience the feeling itself and it’s strange, like putting on a coat that is familiar, but doesn’t quite fit so well. It took me many, many years to figure out that the sometimes-unexpected surges of emotion I was experiencing didn’t even belong to me. It took me a few more than that to learn to sort my own from those of others and not act (or react) based on what someone else was feeling in a given moment. Mostimes it’s pretty effortless any more, but sometimes it’s verra, verra exhausting.

Okay, I said it. I’m sure you never thought I could admit to one more thing that would make you believe I’m any more insane than you already do. I just don’t care. This particular trait is a huge part of who I am and why I behave in the manner I do, and while I’m not gonna be one of those crystal-squeezing loonies, neither am I going to not discuss it with others any more. I see things, I sense things, I inexplicably know things, I dream things. They are all important in their own rights. They, also, are all pretty dead-accurate.

And, for the more conservative-minded persons among you: No, I am not schizophrenic. Thank you for asking, fuckwad.

There are a handful of people in my life with whom this ‘connection’ is not so haphazardly or sporadically dealt out: It exists near-seamlessly with them, and most of those people I care for deeply and passionately.

This weekend, out of nowhere, and after four or five of the most amazing days I’ve had in a long while, I was overcome by a sense of desperation. I felt it both emotionally and physically –it was a crushing weight on my chest–, which is something I do with those that I love best. As the weekend waned, it mutated into a sense of intense and seamless grief; I was terribly dizzy all day yesterday and a good portion of today.

It was the same kind of rug-pulled-out-from-under-me grief I felt four years back when Catt died: A sense of How Do I Even Approach Doing This? painting itself in a wide swath across my innards.

Today I took a notion to call Melly: You remember Melly, yeah? She used to be over at ordinarymorning.net (now defunct), but packed it in and moved it over to LJ some time ago. I was listening to Morphine, and that is one of ‘our’ bands (The Cowboy Junkies, too…) so I dialed her number, which went straight to voicemail. Typically I’m all, “I MISS YOUR FACE. CALL ME, JACKASS.” Today though, I was overcome with sadness and nearly lost my shit leaving her a message, feeling awkward and feeble.

Let me just tell you, ‘awkward and feeble’ is not in our vocabulary, me and Melliloulou. ‘Drunk and disorderly’ maybe, or ‘loud and disheveled’ or ’spastic and unglued’ but never ‘awkward and feeble’. We’re talking about someone here who, when my digits were first mashed by her, I conversed with nonstop for like four hours, covering every topic under the sun. We instantly ‘got’ one another.

And, as a fellow insomniac drunkard, she was someone with whom I could share three ay emm safe and sound from my couch, far from misdeed or harm. I grew to love her quickly and fiercely, and if you remember the heyday of this place, you will recall the Mutual Retardation Society that was our banter.

Tonight –just under an hour ago– I logged into LJ to check out her antics, as she’s just moved and is settling into her newfound desert home. What I found snicked on a lightbulb in my consciousness, as I had been mostly unable place my feelings of the past four days.

Melissa’s mother died on Sunday. She flew back to Texas on Friday and by her own estimation, she knew her mom would be gone soon. And now she is and my friend is hurting and I’m soaking in all that hurt and I want desperately to be with her, to hold her close and rock her and stroke her hair. If she asks it of me, I’ll be on a plane before she can blink. I love her, and we’s boy-ayyyyys like that.

Wish her wells, and if you knew/know her, drop her a line. She may not respond any kind of soon, but she will read and I know her well enough to tell you: Human contact, human connection and concern, they comfort her. She will be grateful.

So will I.