Exile from a friend

Well, I used to fancy myself a poet... but I was never really great at it. Have had a couple of poems published, but it was so long ago and in useless publications. The thing is sometimes a person needs to feel completely confused and tortured to really be a productive artist. I know that's a stereotype, but when things are going fabulously in my life, and I'm in love and happy and surrounded by people I love and can really connect with and relate to on a bunch of different levels (I have like 5 friends left in my life like that and all  of us are so far away from each other.), I don't think hey I'm so goddammit happy I'm going to write a lovely bit about it-- although I confess I felt all of that a few weeks ago and wrote a sonnet, an ode to someone I'd reconnected with who made me feel very special. In the true spirit of the Tao I had to feel that bliss and have it ripped away so that I could again feel broken, ie lame attempt at a little wallowing, free-verse bit below. I also used to read and write so much more for fun and relaxation. Writing my dissertation has been completely and utterly painful. It has ripped every ounce of creativity from my writing style and isolated me to the point of wishing I could be the kind of person who could kill themselves. I don't know how many times I sat, struggling with primary, secondary texts and my own ideas and how I have to entirely reiterate the point of my dissertation throughout the entire thing (the redundancy saps all), and wishing that a large airplane would just fall out of the sky and land on my office building, only damaging me beyond repair.

Most nights
Alone in complete darkness
Silence beside me
I lay down in desire
...and pull the dirt over my eyes.
Down in this hole
Wound up in a web of misconception
An already jaded soul
Tainted toward oblivion
Blindfolded in a tomb.
Constrained
...and
Fighting weakness
Wanting to crawl out
And ring your doorbell.

I write so much drivel lately that I couldn't put my wishes for 2013 any better, even though Carlin's words are a few years older. Umm... apparently NOT written by George Carlin. Nice sentiment though. :)  http://web.archive.org/web/20040930232902/http://www.georgecarlin.com/home/dontblame.html

SOMETHING TO PONDER: George Carlin

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

"Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it. "

Not really sure that anyone follows this silly online journal of sorts, but it's time for a very, very, very brief update. I'm down to revisions on my chapters one, two & five! I am half way finished with chapter three, which will allow me to either write the transitional chapter regarding 19th African American literature & canonical US and British works that use similar imagery and language that will gloss through specific images in Dumas, WW Brown, Charlotte Brontë, Mary Shelley, EA Poe, Harriet Jacobs, Harriet Beecher-Stowe; or, become an introduction to the current chapter five, which deals strictly with the resurgence of African American culture and literati's fascination with the Haitian Revolution during the Harlem Renaissance. 

The season of Saturnalia is upon us. I buy a toy or toys for anonymous kiddos, however, I do not necessarily participate in many mainstream practices of the occidental celebrations of this holiday. My family and friends understand my position on the preoccupation of our capitalistic celebrations of Christmas, and I appreciate that they know I will call them, but I won't send them a card because I believe cards in general are wasteful and then become clutter to those who give a mass-produced paper object such strong sentimental import. Rather than buy people things once a year, I try to tell my friends and remaining family how much I love and appreciate them throughout the year... and I do give gifts; ie, KL gets random RUSH items whenever I come across something cool, LL get's smiley face things, Mom gets nice shoes and her car cleaned out, her shrubberies trimmed, her plants watered, a compost hole dug, her French drains cleaned out, she knows where the guns are, ha. I deal with her WWII realities of anti-waste and necessity, and also I'm her occasional strong arm-- neighborhood bully chick who first writes a passive aggressive note to neighbors who park in front of her house, and waits to see them park facing the wrong direction, then calls the cops. My sister has everything so I respect that and don't get her anything. She wouldn't like it anyway, and I so respect that because that's what I tell people all the time-- "If you really want to get me something take me shopping, or give me the freaking money, or better yet go walk dog at the humane society or take your well-behaved pet to a nursing home on a Saturday," that is spreading love and joy. Just because your mom thinks you'll look adorable in something like that pink rabbit pajamas set the poor kid gets in "A Christmas Story" doesn't mean that your dwindling space will allow for something so intensely useless... and I'm not even going to elaborate on how annoying that would be in a city like Copenhagen, where people live in even smaller spaces than the post 1980 constructed domiciles that US citizens have adapted to.

Oh boy! Rambling is so very much fun, but I am back to the glorious process of revising, revising, revising... pretty sure I'll rant some more about December issues, and then include a list of everything I want for my birthday, which should really be a national holiday... (sarcasm), and it kind of is-- at least Punxsutawney Phil & I think so.

No time left for you...

Poor blog! I have been so busy trimming my nails and typing more insistently important things and I have little time to post here, heheh. And hooommm... what have I been doing? The printout of my chapter draft has blurbs written in the margins like, "check out Imp guild Hoax,"  "add Askalon," "need lvl 23 might hilts for Anna, lvl 27 force for Pan," change Iseulte to armstech & investigation," "Stephen needs mods for Flashy," and "Transport 5 1187 571." If you understand what I'm talking about hey, I enjoy it, too!

I will expand on this brief post soon, but I loved "The Avengers," but I love Whedon and I love Buffy and I love Firefly, so... I saw it three times.  I will watch it again to just to squint at it. There's something cool with the CGI that I can't yet describe... no time. Also saw "Cabin in the Woods," ha! Yes, I guess we all thought of that, especially after the "Truman Show." But what makes that film is the Buffy-esque "Initiative" element, which again, I'll have to expound later. "Dark Shadows": as one who watched the soap, it is pretty true to that kind of drama with lot of silly stuff; sure, Austin Powers meets Barnabus Collins, but it worked for me. Then again, Burton and Depp & Carter always work for me. Maybe by the time I catch the new Spidey and Batman and "Abe Lincoln Vampire Hunter," I will elaborate more on my reception & aesthetic appreciation of these films? Also I need to address a great many typos... :)

Church of Stevie

When I get mentally stagnant, all I have to do is listen to "Inner Visions" and "Songs in the Key of Life" and jump around and up and down to the music and sing the words loudly until tears roll from my eyes, and I think that must be the same kind of feeling that people have at church. I wouldn't know because church freaked me out when I was a kid--- Joycean hell sermon kind of thing.

This is such old news but if you never have, listen to these songs and ponder:
Stevie & Tupac & Coolio

They've been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
They've been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
They've been wasting most their lives
Glorifying days long gone behind
They've been wasting most their days
In remembrance of ignorance oldest praise
Tell me who of them will come to be
How many of them are you and me

Dissipation
Race relations
Consolation
Segregation
Dispensation
Isolation
Exploitation
Mutilation
Mutations
Miscreation
Confirmation... ...to the evils of the world

They've been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
They've been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
They've been looking in their minds
For the day that sorrow's gone from time
They keep telling of the day
When the Savior of love will come to stay
Tell me who of them will come to be
How many of them are you and me

Proclamation of race relations
Consolation
Integration
Verification of revelations
Acclamation
World salvation
Vibrations
Simulation
Confirmation.......to the peace of the world

They've been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
They've been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
They've been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
They've been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
We've been spending too much of our lives
Living in a pastime paradise

Let's start living our lives
Living for the future paradise
Praise to our lives
Living for the future paradise
Shame to anyones' lives
Living in a pastime paradise

21st Century pop culture chit chat

hmm... and born on Bloomsday ;)

Tupac gives posthumous live performance from beyond via hologram

OK, I'm not big into the gansta shizzle, yo, but I reared a tiny rapper and I'm familiar with the stuff. I also understand from whence the genre was born and how it evolved into a cultural art form more respected in the world we live in than Shakespeare (and that's not a bad thing)-- at least perhaps, by the younguns  I also know that Tupac and Biggie were 2 of the greatest and they both died from senseless gangsta murders. I also know, and have known for a long time, that Tupac was way too beautiful--one of the finest aesthetic representations of the male form in our world-- a warrior in the streets and in the language. This hologram freaks me out. I wonder if people will one day be paying money to see live performances via holograms-- just projections. In more than one connotation, projections & light  are everything in 21st century society & culture. Hmmm, and someone mentioned project bluebeam (?) One day I will work on these unfinished, semi-conclusions...

Isolation: a good reason people believed Howard Hughes was insane...

I've been writing about my self-imposed dissertation isolation, and as the days roll by as I sit before this keyboard and screen, I slowly began to think I was losing my mind. "I used to type better than this?"  "What's up with all the typos in my first drafts?" I type things and sometimes can't even read what I've written... why, you ask? Well, it seems that even though I try to take care of myself, this can become a hindrance. Although I haven't left the office in a couple of weeks, I keep my nails nice and sometimes paint them. I realized last night that my nails have grown too long for me to function, and it's time to cut them off. I remember seeing a film about the final days of Howard Hughes when I was a kiddo and wondering, "How does he move around like that, with those super long fingernails?" Mine aren't super long, but you can tell I haven't been playing guitar, haha!

The thing is, I used to bite & peel my fingernails, and I'll admit it here to no one that as a kid I even bit off my toenails-- I was limber, and I still am--but no, I don't bite my nails anywhere any longer. When I was a kid, my father's fingernails freaked me out. He kept them groomed and well cut, but he kept one pinkie fingernail really long. No, pops wasn't a coke-head, he used it to turn slot screws, clean out tiny grease-filled grooves on some mechanical part, and I think he picked his nose with his hanky-- yeah, a hanky-- that's what we called those cloth, environmentally-friendly bits of cloth one blows one's nose into. So the point is, I grew up my entire young female life not knowing what to do with fingernails. As we grow older, they don't seem to stop growing, do they? And toenails? In the summers when I wear sandals, I forget to look at my toes after I paint them and the next thing I know they're poking through socks or bending my toe up painfully when I suddenly decide to boot-up and take a ride on the motorcycle. My nails are frequently used accidentally as weapons of destruction on some random thing they cling to.

Therefore, I'm ritualistically removing them today so that I can type better, and perhaps pick and grin a bit on breaks, but here's my eulogy for them: Goodbye purple tips!
I-solation