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Posts Tagged ‘pocket philosopher’

 
|| September 11, 2000 || 12:22 am || Comments (0) ||

~giggle~ Pneumatic chairs are the bomb. AHEM, now that I have THAT outta my system we can move along, folks.

Ever partake of something the 20th time out and it still seems fresh and new to you? Something about it simply sparkles and it appeals to you on many levels?…I know you know that feeling. We all know that feeling about something in our lives; those of us who are incredibly fortunate have felt it from more than one aspect/in many respects. If you’ve never had it happen, don’t worry. It will occur (even if it takes until your dying day).

One such thing for me is ‘Lawn Dogs’. The fact that Sam Rockwell (some names are so FITTING) sets the old Lust Bus en route notwithstanding, he is one fuck of a performer (sorry, Sam…that’s the best way I coulda put it. I’m at a loss; how cliche). It simply loosens my jaw to know that I have never heard him credited as one of the hottest commodities in Hollystrange. I mean Hollyweird. Nonono, it’s Hollywood. Yeah, that’s it: Hollywood.

So now you know one valuable thing about me: my true feelings about Hollywood. I’d make a shitty entertainment lawyer; or a great one, I dunno….

I should mention that part of the appeal is the character “Devon”; her fancy-schmancy hyphenated last name temporarily escapes me. Yuppies, SHEESH. “We are such full, interesting people that lead such full, interesting lives and live in such full, interesting houses with children who undoubtedly have full, interesting futures ahead of them and we should possess names that are just as full and interesting.”**HEY, HERE’S AN IDEA….perhaps you should earn one more hyphen with each successive ten mil after the first five or so.**

ANYWAY, all kidding aside, I was telling you about Devon…. somebody who knew me as a child talked to some writers and I was incorporated in some aspects into this character. That’s the only possible explanation….tooooo uncanny, mkay? These traits emerge and rub up against me with an air of familiarity that leaves me awestruck. How did they know that I would go out into the moonlight barely clothed on mild nights and look up at the unpolluted sky and feel all those places where I was not? To know that sorrow that accompanies a homesickness for a place you had never seen, a person you’ve never been? Does every little girl know talismans? Is it incorporated into the female makeup? Did we all climb trees and tie ribbons to each branch in need of a shiny piece of satin? Were/are there other young women that knew the disdain of their microsociety? I never pissed on my dad’s car, but had I thought of it, I might’ve. I NEVER would’ve entered a stranger’s house uninvited or unannounced; this was not from fear but from thinking it ill-mannered. I wouldn’t have done the fly-in-the-cookie thing either. Why waste a perfectly good cookie? The dolls, the doll parts, the exacting-punishment-where-punishment-is due…..yeah, toned down a half a click it could’ve been me.

The self-created parallel storyline WAS me. Always ticking out the next string of words in whatever drama I was destined to lay to the page. Not an escape, not a way to enliven a dull existence (for it wasn’t a dull one), just something that was. Like breathing or blinking. Simply an inherent part of the whole.

So watch ‘Lawn Dogs’ and know that it gets me right there, even if it doesn’t do a damned thing for you. Then e-mail me with what holds your multi-layered magic. Or better yet, set up your own blog and tell the world.

Pee ess….I am almost NEVER satisfied with the endings that are unfittingly served to us, but there could not ever in the history of the planet been a more suitable and filling wrap to a story. TRULY.

 
|| September 1, 2000 || 12:14 pm || Comments (0) ||

All week I have had some great ponderings to post on this here blog. I have.

All week I have been insanely busy and preoccupied with life in realtime and have not had the energy or spare moments to boot up and scribble on the webwall. Or maybe I have been avoiding it; out of nowhere I am experiencing a sort of spiritual exhaustion and all of my energies and time the past few days have been channelled (sp? fuck) toward getting as much done as possible in the 24 hours that I have been allotted per day. ~I am gassed up on only about 3.5 hours’ worth of snooze each night as of late.~

In the past few weeks I have watched and listened impotently as the following people weathered losses:

+Christie (mentioned in past post) buried her father after a recent sudden job loss and bore all the emotional and financial weight accompanying it
+Louise (nice, boisterous older lady from next door…pseudo gramma to our family) had a handsome late-40’s son who died a mere 2 weeks before his only grandchild was born
+My mom-in-law (ROCK ON, beautiful free spirit) saw two very good friends die in a car accident
+Donald and Vicki (two nicer, more genuine people could not be hand-picked from gazillions) buried their dad and may have to do the same with their brother.

*sigh* *SIGH* Perhaps this was a preparation for me; a ripening of my emotions so that they were ready to ooze thickly, cloying and sweet.So anyway, my mom calls me 2 days ago and tells me that one of my favorite aunts has cancer and her doctor in his infinite wisdom and sophisticated medicalese told her, “It looks really, really bad.” There you have it. Right there.

Now, I know (and I am hoping that you do as well) that docs normally do not leave room in the equation for the human spirit and its’ boundless power, so I usually say “BAH” and eschew the doomsday/naysayer’s point of view in cases like this. This is different. My aunt has had a series of things happen in the past 2 years that have seriously compromised her immunity and she may well die. ‘Die’ is such a succinct word, huh?

When mom told me, I was fairly non-reactive but now it has started to settle. I slipped today into reclusive cyberescape mode and was twiddling around when I clicked through to a site that I normally enjoy immensely. The author apparently has a friend afflicted with the dreaded BIG C and is doing her part to help. As I read along, outta nowhere the tears started to roll and here I am, typing and bawling and backspacing and fixing typos that my tear-induced blurry vision has prompted. Fuck.

All of this putrid softy behaviour is only culminating now; it started last night about 9 p.m. and I felt a need to phone my mom to talk. What’d we converse about?? You see, it boils down to this: I feel that this is a beginning. My parents each have several siblings (mom has 7 and dad has 6). While I feel that I am still way too young to be losing any of them, odds are that it will undoubtedly start happening soon. I, in my profound wisdom, deem this as ‘fucked up’.

As I explained it to my mother, without caring one iota how fucking selfish that it may have sounded, when my family starts dying off, I fear that I will start dying off as well. I was raised in a close-knit familial environment and I am grounded in that, no matter how the miles may separate me from them. A big part of me is defined within and by my family and when they start pushing daisies an important part of me will be gone. I expressed this huge, HUGE thing to my mother and she said, “Oh, my beautiful baby, you don’t have to worry…something else always moves in and takes that place.”

I don’t fucking want it to. I don’t. And don’t tell me I am being unreasonable, damn you. I have never feared death, ever, but now I am coming to the rather fierce revelation that I DO fear its’ aftermath. I have questions that only certain people can answer. Who do I turn to for wisdom and knowledge when they are gone? Not even 2 months ago I made the six-hour drive to visit my aunt and spend a few days with her. She has always been a creative person and we sat on the back patio for hours during that trip, sparking ideas off of each other and firing new ones based on the last one. She spoiled my children and we laughed together at their antics and she marveled at how much like my mother that I had become. We had grown-up conversation; something that I never would have imagined when I was 9 and running through her sprinklers in the yard or pleading for her to buy my favorite popsicles at the grocery. It’s now something that I look forward to with my own nieces and nephews…..

So I get off the phone and call my father. In preparation for that call, I tuck my sorrow and shakiness away neatly, so that he doesn’t think that my calling him is to pirate him emotionally. We just haven’t talked in so long and I want nothing to sully it. Something does anyway. He is himself.

As well-off as I would like to be (hell, merely financially stable would be GREAT), I realize that money doesn’t buy everything. Here is an open question to him that he will never see: When are you gonna wise up, old man? Is it gonna be before or after I am as unavailable to you??? You see, I have wants, but I truly want for nothing. I wish you understood just what you were/are passing up.

And by the way, I have standards of my OWN and in a pure sense they are FAR SUPERIOR to YOURS.

 
|| August 24, 2000 || 4:14 pm || Comments (0) ||

When the dark wood fell before me

And all the paths were overgrown

When the priests of pride say there is no other way

I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see

Though you came to me in the night

When the dawn seemed forever lost

You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me

By the deep well of desire

From the fountain of forgiveness

Beyond the ice and fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone

How fragile is the heart

Oh give these clay feet wings to fly

To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart

Lift this mortal veil of fear

Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears

We’ll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

Please remember me

//Loreena McKennit, “Dante’s Prayer

 
|| August 22, 2000 || 1:12 am || Comments (0) ||

“Well, once again I am angry and without…”

A friend of mine posted that comment on her web journal. It makes me wanna cry.

Wanna know why / Why it makes me wanna cry? / Well I’ll heave a heavy sigh / And once again try to fucking explain…

Lemme give you some background:
It has been my experience as of late that others my age or thereabouts pretty much fall into two distinct categories:
a) those not worthy of speaking to (and don’t you start your railing-against-me-and-my-elitist-tendencies bullshit, okay? Take it up with my father…he is the one that stoked the shit as I was learning to string syllables) and
b) those of us, like the pal I mentioned previously, who are “angry and without”.

See, this is the thing…we don’t always know that we are angry and without. The without is definitely the variable in this particular equation, i.e. “I am without gas, so I can’t go anywhere (literally? theoretically? read in to it all ye wanteth, oh thou gentlest of readers)”, “I am without a decent job that fulfills me and makes use of my God-givens”, “I am without motivation, so what the fuck?” and so on and so forth. Just fill in the little blank after the word ‘without’ and there you have it. Angst made to order.

The anger part is the catch. We piddle along, snatching moments of joy (and don’t get me WRONG, that is as it SHOULD BE) and the anger sits dismissed in a colorless corner like a petulant child. We forget because we can and because we have to, because it would make us eating-mashed-bananas-drawing-on-the-walls-with-fecal-matter loony. Batshit. Crazed out of our motherfucking gourds with the intensity of it.

And then SHAZAM!!!!, somebody or something reminds us of it. It’s as simple as this: me in my jammies, cramming down Wheaties with granola and American Lit notes while carrying on a conversation. All of the sudden I am told, “You are just so fucking angry.” Whoa. Hold on. Wait a minute. You’re right….I am angry. “Thanks for reminding me. Now hand me that pen; I have a letter to write. What exactly was that editor’s address??”

Tell me one more time–what is our purpose?

 
|| August 19, 2000 || 11:44 am || Comments (0) ||

…the bad thing about a good morning lay is that the rest of the day has a lot to live up to.

YOU KNOW??