I've slept for 12 hours (1st time in 3 years) and just ran 5 miles. Going to paint a room red, grade homework, watch TV (never do)--that'll be my day. Simple.
Month: September 2001
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Death becomes me. That’s what no woman sees. Should I explain for a thousandth time? For a thousandth time have understanding words returned to me to cloak me like a glazing shroud until the passing of that moment when the glaze dries to a brittle transparency? Clairvoyant? Psychic? Who can see what I have seen? This clarity of crystal vision burning within! Yes, I burn—so do not touch! Pour more understanding words, if you will, as a glaze to dull for a moment the luminosity, to cool the flame temporarily. Yet Death waits, for it becomes me. Soon. Soon enough, don’t we all agree?
I am literally dying of lovelessness. My body is shaking apart, my legs grow heavy, my arms fling helplessly, while my heart feels like a neutron star determined to compact my entire existence into an imperceptible minutia. But I’ll hold together surely—cohere as I must to finish what I’ve started. And what is that? What work might I have other than that which is economically transposed? I can but answer with my favorite phrase: “We’ll see.”
The bear went over the mountain,
The bear went over the mountain,
The bear went over the mountain
To see what it could see.
And all that it could see,
And all that it could see,
Was a new paradigm of reality,
A new paradigm of reality,
A new paradigm of reality
Was all that it could see.
We’ll see. Won’t we? Soon?
…just talking to a satellite while blogging from a distant cemetery…
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I may not be a very good taoist—if a taoist I be at all. Oh yes, I studied Chinese and learned to read the Tao Te Ching in its original characters. Oh yes, I studied calligraphy so as to be able to write those characters most appreciably with exacting fluency. Oh yes, even now I carry most everywhere my Shambala pocket copy of the Tao.
Yet though I have appreciated the words and characters, it seems I have failed some most intimate taoist prescriptions. I now confess: I am not worthy, I am not worthy…at least by this account which puts belief to the test:
As early as the Eastern Han Dynasty (A.D. 25-220), a school of Taoists created the Yin Taoism which proposed a theoretical basis for immortality through sex. The theory and practice were seized upon by the emperors as the key to longevity, if not immortality. One of the Taoist manuals asserted that the Yellow Emperor became immortal after having had sexual relations with 1200 women and that Peng Tsu, through the "correct way of making love in ten to twenty girls every single night', was able to live to a good old age. Peng Tsu thought it a fine idea to have intercourse with virgins - "He ought to make love to virgins and this will restore his youthful looks. What a pity there are not many virgins available... My late master observed these principles strictly. He lived to 3000 years of age... one cannot achieve one's aim by using one female. One will have to make love to three, nine, or eleven women each night, the more the better."
From The Illustrated Book Of Sexual Records
Peng Tsu
—I am an unworthy student I—
can’t even hold a match to you.
How many women you have punged!
How many virgins o so young!
3, 9, or 11 at all hours!
In such hot effusion restoring powers!
“Live long and prosper.” asserted Mr. Spock.
But you always knew that was a pot of crock.
”Love myriad and live forever!” I hear you declare.
And to think I tender in my mind but one affair—
As if I could survive on but one breath of air!
O Peng Tsu, with so many penged and flung,
I’d dare to say here-with-us you are yet among!
Step forth, lead me in this my dire hour—
Lest one steamy vixen steal all my power!
Peng! Pung! Peng! Pung!
Well-hung and high-strung,
To have sprung so upon so many so young! -
It appears that there is some rough turbulence in the potioning ocean of blogging which is Xanga today. No doubt, it's due to the move of the Xanga servers and some redirections which seem not to be yet properly propagating through the DNS servers they use. Here's a short-term fix I developed for myself:
If you're having trouble accessing your private page and seeing your normal graphics and background, try this URL: http://new.xanga.com/private/home.asp
If you're having trouble in Premium Xanga posting a new weblog, try this URL: http://new.xanga.com/private/premium/xtools.asp?reload=/private/home.asp
If you're having trouble in the Standard Xanga posting a blog, try this URL: http://new.xanga.com/private/xtools.asp?reload=/private/home.asp
I don't know if these are short-term URL references by Xanga or new definitions. So if they fail later, it may be that a reversion to the old www.xanga.com has been reinstated--even though that would make no sense whatever!
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The true warrior must take responsibility for his or her entire world. The whole world.
And as in the world, thus also within.
Tat svam asi--That is thyself.
Thus is the war first waged in the heart and soul of the warrior, the interior-cosm, reflecting the cosmos itself.
Consequently, the warrior who conquers himself/herself has already achieved a victory comparable to conquering a thousand of the enemy upon the battlefield.
Conquer thyself and awaken to proclaim "Hoka Hey! Today is a good day to die."
Crazy Horse, chief of the Oglala SiouxWeapons are tools of violence,
Not of the sage;
He uses them only when there is no choice,
And then calmly, and with tact,
For he finds no beauty in them.
Whoever finds beauty in weapons
Delights in the slaughter of men;
And who delights in slaughter
Cannot content himself with peace.
So slaughters must be mourned
And conquest celebrated with a funeral.
The true warrior is forever unknown. And all the awards and medals for heroism and valour bestowed thereafter are but beads on a baby's bracelet.
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...searching, soul and self...
Wish You Were Here
(Waters, Gilmour)
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here... -
I’m so stressed by this now visible looming threat of terrorism. To the point of physicality. Even talking blood pressure. My requisite attention to new vigilance is pushing me to extremes…more coffee, more beer, more everything…less sleep.
So I’m going to try to blog my way out of stress. Reach for that catharsis bestowed by blind blogginess. Forget my troubles, chant of dalliance, search for that mythical de-traumatizing virtual tryst, and lose my mind online…
1st Attempt:
All the gods and demons that have ever existed are now resurrected and choosing sides. There’s no middle ground as they now re-align for the cataclysm ensuing, for the final hurrah. The possibilities that were once available for a lazy life of ease and innocence have now vanished, with fate hinging contingently on a sword that’s been raised. And when the sword falls, the battle will begin. This battle inside me that I’ve lived with for years.
So now the microcosm of me is matching the macrocosm of our world. And the terror I see is not really new—for it was latently hiding in a dark part of my heart. Until now, until now…
Hell. Piss-ass attempt. Back to the blogging board…
2nd Attempt:
Fish
I came from the river with three fresh caught fish
and was heading back home to prepare quite the dish…
But three cute little pussys started following me.
So I stopped to pet them all nicely—caressing them thricely.
Then I started to go—but they wouldn’t leave me alone:
They knew what I had and each wanted one of her own.
The first little pussy had the most beautiful eyes—
I gave her my Truth—so that she’d never see lies.
The second little pussy had the cutest pert ears—
I gave her my Strength—so she’d never hear fears.
But when the last cutest little pussy hung her tongue out to lick—
I took her back home and gave her my…
There!
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Why I love blogging on Sunday nights...
Becauze there ain't nobody to care if I gots a typo or misaquired parts of speech.
Because I can say "tit" and only the renegade mouse thinks I'm talking about her.
Because by Sunday night I'm usually burnt out and when I'm burnt out I'm at my best.
Because the world will someday end on a Sunday night, but if it were to end this Sunday, it would already have--so we're safe for another week.
Because the beers I had for breakfast are long gone.
Because the moon can always be seen on a Sunday night from somewhere on the Earth.
Because Sunday night is such an oxymoron!
Because woodnymph is about to crawl into her pajamas.
Because Monday morning is not yet a reality.
Because God rested on this day and told us to do the same. Hey, why can't we rename all the days of the week to Sunday?!
Because in the morning I'll disavow any knowledge of any weekend excesses--so Sunday night is my final chance for a grand finale.
Because I'm so free and I have nothing else to do.
Because if the Sun was part of a binary star system now would be called Sunsday night. Or there would be two Sunday nights overlapping. Or there would be no Sunday night at all--so how rare and enjoyable the moment is.
Because blogging is sometimes tantamount to prayer and soon I lay me down to sleep with no night more peaceful than upon a Sunday.
Because the devil is surely still out raising hell, but you know it's not me 'cause I'm right here with you!
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The Fervor of Patriotism and the Decline of the Financial Markets
It is unfortunate that American patriotism alone cannot entirely revive our "American markets" since our markets in this century of trans-national capitalism are so internationally inter-woven. Yes, domestic demand is off and the markets reflect that. But even if Americans start flying and spending again, that's no guarantee that the markets will concomitantly respond and quickly revive to pre-terrorist levels.
Most of the giant corporate entities that are "players" in our markets are trans-nationals, or at least assume a trans-national viewpoint, discarding any particular patriotic fervor as not necessarily in the best interest of their world outlook.
Indeed, I've a feeling that if our markets were as parochially American as they were during WWII, we would not now be seeing the negative losses continuing in stock trading. I think the negativity reflects a lack of patriotism by a lot of large players who instead have a an overriding "world capitalistic" outlook toward "the greatest efficiency". One may bemoan that, but such is economic life as we enter The Century of Markets:*
"...In news reports, it is common to see people lament the apparent increased frequency of crises, especially in financial markets over the last decade. To repeat a point I touched upon earlier, a different interpretation of the phenomenon we are witnessing is that a crisis is a breaking down of an old order and the creation of a new one. The evolving order is conducive to the rapid adoption of new processes and institutional arrangements that are superior to those they are replacing.
In a world with highly mobile resources, the lessons learned in a crisis invariably lead to changes in behavior that prevent a repeat of the conditions that led to the crisis. Once a crisis atmosphere has subsided, we rarely see reinstitution of the practices and arrangements that created the crisis situation.
This interpretation of what we are observing would suggest that the frequency of financial crises is evidence that the pace of adoption of new and better ways of doing things has accelerated. Borrowing from Schumpeter, just as there is a creative destruction in goods and services as new and better products come onto the market, so too in political and economic matters, the replacement of obsolete arrangements with more effective practices is a wrenching process.
...It seems natural to extend such arguments to forms of government. There are a number of different models of government, just as there are many models of successful business operation. And, as best practices in governing evolve, countries that do not adopt such practices will lose “capitalization”; that is, they will fail to attract and hold a share of the world’s investment capital, and the process will culminate in much lower standards of living."
So, according to this outlook--if I read it correctly--America's inability to prevent world terrorism's assault on our domestic infrastructure would signify a breakdown of "best practices" with a corresponding diminishment in domestic capitalization. In fact, our previous seemingly domestic impermeability to world terrorism may have led to an "overcaptialization" of our domestic markets, with, perhaps, the current negativity of our financial markets reflecting a "correction."
Hence, only if our patriotic fervor happens to coincide with their best-efficiency outlook will transnational interests rally for the flag. But with this threat, realizing now that there is no place in the world to re-capitalize safely (the World Trade Center was the World not American Trade Center), these transnationals may, indeed, eventually come to re-align with our national interests.
Personally, I believe The Century of Markets is but the next inevitable elaboration of holding foremost the myth of Economy in our collectively conscious lives. And though it is hard for those of us here currently planted in its numinous midst to see beyond it, I, too, believe that someday a reopening of our hearts to a sense of our greater place in the cosmos, and beyond the mere trans-national concerns of this "Silent Planet"** will once again bring change--and the possibility of collective transcendence.
* The Century of Markets , Jerry L. Jordan, president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Cleveland, February 2000.
** Out of the Silent Planet , C.S. Lewis, 1938.
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Huge car crash today. Around 2:10 EST.
Van in front of me slams brakes on and stops.
I respond likewise within inches of his back bumper. Whew.
Pickup behind me isn't paying attention and slams into the rear of my SUV showering me with my rear window glass.
My car gets pushed into the maroon van ahead.
I'm not angry, just shocked.
The van ahead keeps going a little while, pulls over to the side of the road, and then speeds away! What the fuck?! It being clearly not his fault, I think maybe the driver had no license, or it was a stolen vehicle, or they were too fucked up on drugs or...maybe it was a terrorist fleeing detection.
I estimate the damage to my vehicle at around $8500, though I think that is possibly too low. The amazing thing though is that it is still drivable. So until I get it repaired, just driving a wreck.
The funny thing is, that this wreck was actually a change in my fortune for the better today. You don't even want to know how hellbent the day was prior to that. So though it may seem like near tragedy, actually I was relieved that it happened.
It gave me an opportunity to stop.
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I love little pussy,
Her coat is so warm,
And if I don't hurt her,
She'll do me no harm.
So I'll not pull her tail,
Nor drive her away,
But pussy and I,
Very gently will play.
That's mine.
Now what's your favorite nursery rhyme?
Need a refresher? Zelo Nursery Rhymes has almost 200 online.
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The Use of Force
Terror which is allowed to perpetrate itself is cold and deadly and unrelenting.
Terror turned back upon itself screams effusively with the ultimate terror as it itself is extinguished. Like matter and anti-matter meeting--a final flurry, then gone.
Terror in the world today is intended as a means to our end. We must recursively realign it through counter-terrorism to serve only as a means to its own end.
Firemen in forests, at times, fight fire with fire when they torch a firewall.
Are they arsonists? If you think so, I hope you do not live close to a forest with no firefighters (who at times --by means--must be firestarters ) to protect you.
Do we need to oversee the use of fire, the use of force?
Yes, of course. Lest we fall into a situation like we did earlier this year where government-sponsored "preventative burnoffs" led to actual raging, uncontrolled wildfires out west.
But if we dispense with fire to fight fire altogether because we fear that we ourselves may go to excess, then we are fools with one less tool to pummel the fiery maelstrom.
You can't both empower a fireman and frisk him/her down for matches.
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In my heart I feel this:
After we effectively rid the world of terrorism, we must dispense with our obsession with the myth of Economy, and learn to love the Earth, sweet Gaia, again.
For we have allowed the overriding myth of our time to become an organizationally-complex but spiritually-sterile 'Economy'; while I believe, forever and always, the true myth is 'The Cosmic Journey'.
Let us become heroes with a thousand faces.
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Just staring at my last post, I'm reminded of a commerical that was on TV about ten years ago. And though I don't remember all the particulars of it, the relevant segment goes something like this:
Daughter: "Dad, can I go out and play?"
Dad: "No. It's too late to go out--it's not safe."
Daughter: "But you told me you did when you were a kid..."
Dad: "Things are different now."
Daughter: "Weren't they 'different' then?"
Dad: "No, they were the same."
Different then and the same! Hence, different now and the same!
The world forever changes through generations for the lessons we need to learn to evolve as humanity are never static.
So we all have a hard lesson at hand now and a lot of work to do to get through it.
But we, too, will someday speak of a distant tomorrow to a subsequent generation by saying "Things are different now."
And they will be. For that stays the same.
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"Everything has changed." "Everything is different now."
I'm sure you have heard these words spoken in the last week. In fact, most of us have spoken them ourselves. And I don't dispute their veracity at all.
But my narrower question here is: What has changed for you about your relation to the Xanga community as a result of the changing world we now find ourselves in?
I find that I'm now seeing myself as less a part of a Xanga community unto itself and more as a part of a people and as a part of humanity. So I'm feeling less like I'm a *Xangeroo* and more like I'm a man, a man needing to create and defend civilization--and more like an American.
It seems in months prior, Xanga was serving me as a surrogate for the rich community I sought in my heart that seemed largely unavailable in the world otherwise around me. But now that seems to have changed and the world around is beckoning me back to live, to love, to serve--ourselves.
Xanga remains a part of that world, an important outlet for me into that world. But like a bride led to the altar by her father, so do I now feel ushered out of this matrix, this dreamland cybermatrix of scintillating fascinations. It seems that I have lost my cyber-innocence. And I now find myself appositely mortal.
And though I intend to continue to participate in Xanga, and perhaps will become even more prolific than previously, this odyssey which is life has called me out. And I must go where it directs me to go.
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Question of the Season: What in the world should we do with Halloween?
The candy and costumes are now in the stores. It’s 42 days until Halloween 2001. Is America ready for a celebration that characteristically embodies horror and terror as one of its prime elements?
Some observations and speculations:
Will there be Osama bin Laden costumes? If so, will those who wear them be in danger of physical threats and attacks from outraged “patriots”?
Will/should parents allow children to collect candy from anyone other than a trusted family friend? Should we fear that terrorists—or psychos caught up in the real terror now unleashed in our world—might target children as a terror target?
Will organized religion take a lead in now trying to stomp out the Halloween tradition, a tradition of pagan origins, as “insensitive, dangerous, and inapropos” to our “new reality” because of its dark coloring of terror?
A search of the Northern Light search engine provides about 701,000 hits for “Halloween” and about 25,000 hits for “Halloween and terror” for approximately a 4% joint mention of the two versus just the holiday itself. Altavista provides about 865,000 hits for “Halloween” and about 17,000 joint hits for about a 2% joint mention. How sensitive will we be, should we be to this traditional association?
Would you still visit a haunted house called “The House of Terror” ? And if so, would you be outraged, terrified, or amused if a ”bin Laden monster” jumped out at you?
Do you want to bet that think-tanks and boards of directors in the candy and costume industries are not discussing these issues right now?
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TWI (Terrorist War I)
The attack upon the terrorist community must not be simply a military campaign. The “sponsor” states, of course, have been identified and have/will be given the opportunity to capitulate and discard the terrorists or face conventional assaults. But beyond that, the terrorists’ organizations themselves must be effectively assailed. And there will be no “ground rules” –anymore. Behind the scenes, there will likely be assassination campaigns, kidnappings, stings, severe “off-the-record” interrogations of prisoners to garner more intelligence, heightened surveillance of all types including “hacking” terrorist internet accounts, etc. This war will entail police actions (arrests), identifying and seizing the terrorists’ 'legitimate' financial market involvements, discovering and destroying their black market operations (this might be the toughest task), and conducting an artful propaganda campaign to sway their sympathizers away. Though there may be an initial conventional military response to take out "soft" targets, the eventual conduct of the war will be one of employing enhanced counter-guerrilla warfare tactics along with economic and technological "terror," or if you will, "counter-terror" techniques, some of which are doubtlessly now being improvised for just this occasion.
Am I sounding like the Secretary of Defense yet? Screw that. It's just the kid in me...
When I was 10-15 years old, unbeknownst to practically anyone, I covertly steeped myself in knowledge of all forms of non-conventional warfare and guerrilla tactics. I will not recite a litany of the topics I delved into lest I sound like a modern militia recruit! But as part of my self-training, I also read books on the history of modern unconventional warfare, a history that is portrayed as beginning with Rogers Rangers.
So who was Rogers?
Robert Rogers was a colonial farmer recruited from New Hampshire in 1755 by the British for service in the French and Indian War (1754-63).
He created a unit called Rogers' Rangers in 1756 (the first Rangers), and by 1758 the British placed him in charge of all colonial Ranger companies. The Rangers wore distinctive green outfits and developed tactics called "Rogers' Ranging Rules", which the British considered unconventional. These tactics are still in use by Rangers today, including the Green Berets.
Rogers' Rangers were most famous for their engagement with the Abenaki St Francis Indians, who lived midway between Montreal and Quebec. These Abenaki were credited with the deaths of over 600 colonists during the duration of the war. After the Indians attacked a retreating British unit under a flag of truce, Rogers led a hand-picked force of 200 Rangers to destroy the Indian's village.*
Now we are about to enter a new era of unconventional warfare. Just as Rogers developed tactics, so too can we expect a fresh implementation of counter-terrorist tactics in our time. But don't expect to immediately see more than the tip of this tactical iceberg. For just as with terrorists, secrecy and surprise will be essential to our success.
In other words, what I'm suggesting is that "our need to know" as a free public citizenry should not descend to an investigative reporting attempt upon each and every tactic employed. Even though that will be the mass media's instinct, and it is our healthy instinct generally to be sceptical of needless secrecy in government, much of this war must transpire "behind the scenes."
In fact, I would be surprised if the terrorist death count, beyond those that committed suicide in the plane-bombs of 9-11, has not already climbed.
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For anyone who hasn't seen THE BINCH THAT STOLE TUESDAY, go to teeking's blog. Go! Go!!!
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If you ask me, the following message is not strong or informative enough:
"Those who feel like they can intimidate our fellow citizens to take out their anger don't represent the best of America. They represent the worst of humankind. And they should be ashamed of that kind of behavior."
Though but an excerpt from President Bush's comments at a Washington mosque Monday afternoon, this is so far the most forceful expression of Bush's derision against those who are now serving the terrorist's cause in dividing America through the perpetration of hate crimes directed against the Arab/Muslim and Arab/Muslim look-alike peoples in our country. And if you ask me, it is well-intended, but weak.
I feel that Bush must step forward and make a prime-time speech directed at all the American people condemning in the harshest terms possible the racial crimes and hatred correlated with the current terrorist attacks.
He must make clear that such acts are the equivalent of terrorism and need to be addressed as directly and severely as the primary terrorist threat itself. He should explain, as I did in a recent blog, that it is not farfetched to expect that some acts of "racial hatred" against Arabs may be staged by Arab terrorists themselves as an attempt to further destabilize and polarize America through the creation of a 'perception' of an atmosphere of hatred. And that even if they aren’t, they still equally-well serve the terrorist cause of divisiveness.
He should state that this deviant domestic variant of terror, in creating general alarm and fear in the Arab community, can lead those good citizens with some knowledge and intelligence about the foreign terrorists and their activities to become severely reluctant to divulge that knowledge, not out or fear of Arab terrorist repercussions, but from fear of violent backlash from unidentified non-Arab pseudo-patriotic domestic hate terrorists. And that if that is so, it is likely that some key intelligence necessary to quickly defeat the foreign terrorists will be lost. And that the foreign terrorists will thus be allowed to needlessly savage America further before they are tripped up.
He should lead a crusade against this rabid, destructive outbreak of hate and urge passage of a law that anyone convicted of such hate crimes henceforth, besides incurring all current maximum penalties, also will be labeled a "hate predator" and be tracked for the rest of their lives by law enforcement agencies.
If we are going to defeat terrorism in the world, we must also crush it--and all illegal activities that would bolster it directly or indirectly, (like Andre the Giant would a sniveling opponent), simultaneously at home.
For just imagine some day...if this phenomenon of domestic hatred is left effectively unabated, and grows, organizing itself, until it expresses itself internationally. Under such a scenario, it would become fully justifiable for some "victim" Arab state to target America as a passive harbor of international terror itself!
NO TOLERANCE NOW FOR TERROR—INTERNATIONAL AND DOMESTIC.
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the psychic confession a terrorist
nfp: "What was going through your minds as you crashed into those buildings on 9-11?"
terrorist: "Practically nothing...except that... 'we are falling back to Earth.' You saw us flying 'into' but we only felt ourselves 'falling'...."
nfp: "Why did you go after the Pentagon instead of the White House?"
terrorist: "We missed the White House. We couldn't recognize it immediately from the air, couldn't pick it up. So we opted for our first secondary target instead--an unmistakeable one."
nfp: "Why the lag of 18 minutes or so in crashing into the second of the twin WTC towers? Was this, as some speculate, to insure that the media had ample coverage?"
terrorist: "That was mildly upsetting to us. We intended near simultaneity. That would have led to a much greater disaster in loss of life and would have been, if conceivable to your mind, even more psycho-terrorizing in terms of its precision. But it was pretty much a toss-up: more lives or media coverage."
nfp: "Was there supposed to be a second wave of attacks? Or has our security now shut you down?"
terrorist: "Surprise and timing are so critical to us. We have lost surprise to some degree for now, but if we could, we'd plan the next wave of attacks to coincide with the re-opening of your financial markets. After all, they are just soft, delicious pussies waiting to be raped, more than willing to spiral into blind hysteria. If we could, we plan new waves with each and every re-opening and re-opening and re-opening of your markets until your government would relent and indefinitely shut them down. If we could..."
nfp: "Do you have anything else to confess?"
terrorist: "How the fuck did you get into my mind?"
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The lighter side of my week past...
I was blogging last Sunday from Lakeview Cemetery on a gorgeous sunny 80 degree late afternoon only to learn around 6 PM that the cemetery had reverted to its regular closing hours of 5:30 PM--instead of at dusk, at it had been all summer long.
So there I was driving around hundreds of acres of hills and trees and graves seeking a breach in the perimeter--but I couldn't find one. What I did find shortly, however, was that I was not alone. There were at least four other cars also locked in, two of which joined my frantic convoy.
Actually, one of the drivers of those two cars was rather interesting. A senior at the Cleveland Institute of Art, she like me, was taking the lockup pretty much in stride. In fact, I joked that if we couldn't find a way out, I'd order a pizza delivery and beer-delivery that could be delivered to the front wrought iron gates and handed through to us. She chuckled at the idea which actually got me hoping maybe that we wouldn't find a way out!
But leave it to me. I sniffed out a caretaker in a remote corner of the cemetery where I had never explored before. The house was actually in the cemetery and the caretaker appeared roused by my insistent knocking. After explaining the situation to him, he said he'd meet us at the gate. So we all got back in our cars and waited at the gate...and waited...and waited. I joked with the Kim, the art student, that when the authorities would find us in the morning, we'd tell them about the caretaker who never came around and they'd tell us that we must have been mistaken because that house we were at hadn't been occupied for the past 25 years when the then current caretaker violently ended his own life one night!
Damn that caretaker though because he did show up! And let my newfound cemetery buddy escape through the open gate!!
Also...
I met an actress. Well, fledging actress, at least. Her name is Jubilee and, according to her, she's going to appear in a pilot premiering tomorrow night on NBC at 10 EST called Crossing Jordan. This girl is hot! So hot that the part she plays in the pilot is a "dead girl" named Clarrisa! So I'm going to let my Stats class Monday night out just a little early so I can run home and watch this rising starlet appear in her first cameo role on TV! ...Providing it isn't pre-empted.
Also...
We have a travel expense database at my workplace called "T&E" for Travel and Expenses. I happened to mistakenly refer to it at "Travel and Entertainment" and ended up the butt of several workplace jokes for a short while...
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I’m now brainstorming. Always. Except the times I seek intoxication as relief. And lately that’s no refuge either. No refuge. Hence, no intoxication. I need more coffee. Focus. Clarity. Trance-like fluidity gliding unto awareness. I need to sink into wakefulness. Dissolve into vigilance. Disappear into consciousness, trans-consciousness. I need to dream awake lucidly. We need to dream our new reality, tomorrow’s awaiting. Tomorrow is awaiting…
What to do if…
…if there are further terrorist attacks. That depends. Where? How? How many? But how long do you wait for full information before you decide to act? I’m sure there were people high up in the second WTC tower just hanging around watching the horrid spectacle of the first WTC tower going up in smoke…when the second attack struck. There were people with false optimism, some of it encouraged by authorities, who returned to their office below the towering infernos perhaps to retrieve valuables and belongings. Or to back up essential databases to remote servers. They were needlessly lost. Simply, if there is an attack, get out—unless you’re sure you can really help.
So you get out. But where do you go? It depends. With any attack beyond a conventional bombing, that is, a chemical, nuclear, or biological attack dispensed into the air, if possible, all other things being equal, go upwind. Know your prevailing weather patterns and stay abreast of the current winds. In a simulated battle involving tear gas, I once found myself in just such a situation without my protective gas mask and preserved my fighting ability by moving out but upwind of the attack.
What if you are staying abreast of the news and hear of chemical or biological weapons dispersed first in one metropolitan area, say, Los Angeles, then another, say Chicago. Do you wait to hear of the third? The fourth? The fifth? At what point, if you are working in a downtown metropolitan area, do you decide to evacuate? Do you wait for “authority” to make the decision? It’s a judgment call. But if you need to get out, envision a safe haven well outside the metropolitan area and upwind—where you and all your loved ones can meet—and get out.
Communication has now become more important to us than ever. I’m taking a radio to work and keeping it on a news channel. I’m keeping my radio in my truck on news rather than listening to music. I’m keeping my cell phone on 24x7 and intending on buying an additional battery and carrying that with me. I’m intending on using this Xanga site for an emergency communication to loved ones should cellphone communications be disrupted but the internet backbone remain intact. And I’m devising a contingency plan, should I not be able to return home, to gather at a country cabin—and devising maps to travel there over primary and, if necessary, backroads.
Fear does not drive me to these considerations. Getting intelligently clear of danger—with no panic—is the very best thing the average citizen can do in the event of an attack. If you have a plan, and have the necessity and opportunity to execute it, you are one less person for everyone else to worry about. And one more person to continue…onward, to dream…other dreams,…lucidly envisioning and creating the world yet awaiting us.
Be well, be strong, stay blessed.
p.s...next blog, more carefree, promise
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It's funny how some of those late to work at the World Trade Center on 9-11 were the ones to survive. One fellow, who was late, was halfway up one of the towers to his office at the top when the destruction hit. He stopped his upward ascent, got out, got down, and is the only known employee of his office to have survived.
It's sad but true that being late for work or leaving early from work from a potential terrorist's target can now be considered a survival strategy. Just staying away from crowds can be considered the same. And taking private transportation--your car or a private plane--rather than public transportation--busses, subways, trains, commerical planes--now becomes a counter-terrorist advantage, too. Likewise, "working from home" when possible via PC and the internet has now become a much more attractive proposition than harkening to the office in a potential target in a major metropolitan arena.
I,for one, will not be later or leave work earlier than I have before (okay, so I still have an advantage seeing that my past track record on tardiness is less than perfect
). Nor will I avoid crowds, let's say at a baseball game or amusement park, just to be safe. I will continue to drive my truck to work only because I almost never know exactly where my next destination after work will be until sometime around midday. But if I could "work from home"...oh yeah, baby! -
No HATE Allowed
Across America stories are arising here and there of threats and violence directed against innocent Arabs and Muslims wrongly blamed for the viciousness unleashed upon America this week. Indeed, agrochick78 has related two such incidents in her blog today occurring close to her home.
We, as a free and fair people, must insist that any instance of racial hatred now emerging and directed against Arabs and Muslims as a supposed response to the recent terrorism directed against the United States is itself equivalent to terrorism and needs to be addressed as directly and severely as the primary terrorist threat itself.
And indeed, let’s be wary in automatically assuming that all is even as it appears. It is not farfetched to expect that some acts of "racial hatred" against Arabs may be staged by Arab terrorists themselves in order to attempt through polarization to align Arab sympathies toward their own position. Bomb threats, too, against Arab and Muslim establishments and organizations might be called in by terrorists themselves with no actual intent to bomb, but as an attempt to further destabilize and polarize America through the creation of a perception of an atmosphere of hatred.
Thus anyone demonstrating anti-Arab or anti-Muslim vitriol and hate should either be considered 1) as a potential terrorist, or 2) as a bigot but serving the terrorist’s cause of division and polarization. Hence, our response to such actions and displays must be clear, loud, and immediate: NO TOLERANCE and full, swift repercussions from the law protecting all of our civil rights.
Remember: if you see or witness unlawful acts of hatred, no matter how seemingly “slight,” please notify the police and the FBI and be sure to report it as an apparent HATE crime.
Be well, be strong, stay blessed.
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The Soft Way. Let’s do it the Soft Way.
Dr. Jigoro Kano, founder of modern Judo, was born in Mikage, in the Hyogo Prefecture, on October 28, 1860. Shihan Kano never viewed martial arts as a means to display physical prowess or superiority. A pacifist, he studied them to find harmony in his dealings with others. In his youth Kano studied Ju-jutsu under Sensei Teinosuke Yagi, Sensei Hachinosuke Fukuda (Tenshin-Shinyo ryu) and after graduating from Tokyo University, under Sensei Iikubo (Kito ryu).
His search for a unifying principle for the techniques he learned led Kano to Seiryoku Zenyo (maximum efficiency in mental and physical energy). To him, only techniques that saved physical and mental energy should be incorporated into a Do (from Chinese “Tao”, i.e., The Way). The idea was to use the energy of one's opponent to defeat his or her aggression. He called his system Judo (“the Soft Way”) , and to propagate it he founded the Kodokan (the "school to learn the way") at the Eishoji temple in 1882. ...from A Brief History of Zen Judo
Though Kano was a pacifist, he realized that if an enemy intended harm, death might not be avoided. But the master of the Soft Way envisioned the death of an enemy not as killing, but as using the energy of the opponent to assist in his own suicide.
Like Ourobus, the ancient Gnostic symbol of a snake biting its own tail and representing the continuity of life, the master would direct the deadly enemy to consume his own "tail", directing the enemy’s intent of death back upon himself, and thus fulfilling the continuity of death.
What lesson can we learn from the Art of the Soft Way?
1) Terrorists intend death and are prepared to die.
2) But terrorists would prefer to chose their own way to take their own lives—intending death for us also.
3) Understanding the Soft Way, we cannot change the terrorists’ will, but we can redirect the intent of death solely unto themselves.
4) Hence, we must assist all terrorists in this world into rebirth through self-contained suicide. When they die, it will be because a) they have chosen the path of death, and b) we have redirected them to consume it themselves—alone.
The greatest martial arts are the gentlest. They allow an attacker the opportunity to fall down.
–Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
To an outsider, when the art of Judo is exercised and it results in the death of an enemy, it appears that the Judo master has killed the enemy. But to the Judo master, the distinction is critical: a life wasn’t “taken”—death has merely fulfilled itself.
As we take it back to the terrorists around the world in the days and weeks to come, let us stay masterful of life and remember this distinction.
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Here’s a proposal I made years ago in response to the danger of bombs being carried aboard airplanes. Woodnymph this morning posted a blog reminding me of it and she suggested her own security measures (go there, see them!) that could enhance security aboard commercial airlines.
Stop the Bombings!
Here's just a core of an idea, for the record, proposed as a solution to the problem of terrorist bombings of airline flights.
1) Almost all bombs on airline flights are hidden in baggage loaded onto the plane.
2) If baggage didn't accompany the passengers, the incidents of bombings killing passengers would approach zero probability.
3) Transport the baggage separately—no carry-ons either. Costs are a consideration as is convenience. But a controlled programmed/programmable/destructible drone aircraft flying in parallel at protected altitudes and taking-off/landing on restricted runways, I believe, would solve the problem. If a drone explodes with a bomb and, otherwise, only luggage aboard, it is still a serious and heinous act but no life would be lost.
Additionally, now, I’d propose having one additional trained airlines personnel aboard each and every commercial flight. This individual would be a Security Observer. He or she would carry no weapons, but be securely enclosed in a bullet and bombproof bubble booth that could observe all activity in the aisles and in critical areas (with the assistance of cams, if necessary). This booth would be self-contained and self-ventilating, as would be the cockpit of the plane. In the event of a terrorist or psychotic attempt to takeover the flight, the Security Observer would, 1) immediately notify the pilot and ground control, and 2) by way of forced mechanism, release a rapidly-acting otherwise-innocuous knock-out gas into the ventilation system. The Security Observer and the cockpit would remain unaffected, but everyone else would enjoy a pleasant sleep.
The only counter-measures I can envision a terrorist taking to defeat these defenses would be carrying a gas-mask or oxygen mask and tank aboard and this would be prevented by much more thorough (think: “half-strip, bare essentials” no-touch visibility search and hands-on checking of additional clothing carried or removed) boarding checks.
Once again costs and convenience are a consideration. But I believe, if we so desire, that an unhijackable commercial plane can be constructed and implemented. Barring, of course, that the pilot and/or co-pilot and/or Security Observer do not turn out themselves to be terrorists.
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At a minimum, this man
must leave this planet NOW.
Yes, he is a man. But to many--including himself, also THE premier symbol of terrorist defiance.
These terrorists have destroyed and ruined countless lives in the execution yesterday of their attacks upon certain of our symbols of democracy, freedom, and civilization here in America. They attacked these symbols--military and financial--with a delight in taking lives. Our symbols can survive and will be rebuilt, renewed, and restrengthened. But those lives are lost forever. That we mourn relentlessly.
Now we must destroy their symbol. But guard to take no delight in the loss of life. Yet...since he is The Symbol and a man, he must die. Many will go with him. Many will chose to go with him. Others simply must go with him. Mercy upon all their souls as we must mercilessly destroy this symbol of terror and its ability to ever again visit us with hate and destruction.
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The ruthlessness of hate and the rush of change is now upon us. We are severely shaken, have taken damage, but are not destroyed. Let us awaken fully to that which can never be taken from us--comraderie, soulfulness, and love.
...some survival advice from a previous blog...
What a strangeness always the world brings when you open yourself up to it vastly. No room for routine as each succeeding surprise washes upon you like a tingling ocean wave. One learns how foolish mundane *expectations* can be. One learns to live like a tourist in a potentially predatory universe…
…to live like a tourist in a potentially predatorial universe seems to me to be not simply a valuable strategy, but an indispensable one. Conversant tourism predisposes one to engagement with a probing awareness, to sensitized discernment, and to activity without habituated involvement. Precisely: take in everything possible with heightened perception while never settling into a pre-fabricated template—a habit. For it is the nature of habits to inhibit conscious awareness for the sake of optimizing an efficiency in performance of some well-rehearsed structured task ("good" and "bad" habits are the same in this respect). But in a universe which can be changeable and predatorial, yet the structure of which is otherwise largely unknown, habits—either good or bad—may turn into fatal assets without warning.
Stay strong, stay well, and be blessed--all.
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I rode into Dodge last night
Road-worn, well-traveled, looking for fun,
And trotted on down to the watering hole
With high expectations and a whole load of soul.
“Wait…” said the devil,
“Can’t be Dodge—you’re in the Midwest!”
Wait? For such details?
I won’t postpone my quest!
Dismounted my horse and stumbled into the saloon,
Seeking a table, trying to catch a buzz and a tune.
Slumped into a chair and ordered a beer,
Seeking some numbness in a world less aware.
“Wait…” said the devil,
“You drive a car—not a horse!"
Wait? Does it matter?
I have come to the source!
As the beer arrived, so, too, did the saloon gals,
Huddling around me like so many pals.
Sweet words were whispered as we all did rounds,
Toasting the possibilities of our friendship newfound.
“Wait…” said the devil,
“This is a bar—not a saloon!”
Wait? When the heart yearns?
And with kisses so soon!
Overwhelmed was I by the attention I got—
More delicious with each and every shot that I bought.
This eruption of ecstasy taunted all the dudes to no end—
As they wondered which one was my real girlfriend.
“Wait…” said the devil,
“Those are bar dancers—not just saloon girls”
Wait? What’s the difference?
They’re my necklace of pearls!
But careless was I with first one, then the next,
As jealous studs rushed to my table to position betwixt
These gals so luscious and their attention to me—
Hell, with all the frolic and intoxication…I was too slow to see!
“Wait…” said the devil,
“Those are just men—not studs!”
Wait? While they steal?
The insult hit like a thud!
After filching chairs at my table and being asked for a dance,
These studs flashed the ten-spot that sent my gals into trance.
I practically exploded—they were embezzling my fun—
I paid off the tab and then reached for my gun…
“Wait…” said the devil,
“These girls all work for The Buck!”
Wait? While my heart breaks?
I will teach them to fuck!
But not having packed a gun now for at least 20 years,
And not wanting to bust heads with my last good bottle of beer,
I calmed down, swigged my brew, kissed the girls, and then lodged
This complaint: “Before we all die, I’m getting the F out of Dodge.”
“Wait…” said the devil,
But she was too late. -
I have arrived at the Convent of Our Lady of Victory in Lemont, Ill. and have been afforded free accommodations for the evening. The single room I’m inhabiting is, as one might imagine, quite austere since it was designed in the ‘60s for nuns sworn to vows of poverty and non-decorous utility. It’s one of many rooms in an unoccupied wing of the convent reserved solely for guests. And indeed, there are other guests about, both male and female. The nuns have assigned everyone a separate room even though it appears some of the guests are married and have abandoned the separate assignments for their own conjugal improvisations. Hrmm….for that matter, who the hell knows who’s married??!! I wonder if the nuns have any idea what sort of love, licit or otherwise, may be flourishing behind closed doors tonight.
Me? No, no…I’m just bloggin idly alone in my own little room! Laptop? Check. Cellular modem? Check. Cell phone? Check. Bottle of Jack Daniels? Oh hell, I knew I forgot something!!
What the hell am I doing here?? Am I one of the Blues Brothers here on a mission from God to see the Mother Superior, Sister Mary Stigmata?
Well, almost!
But, if you must know...I’m actually here to witness the Jubilee of a nun in my extended family tomorrow morning. And then I’m gone. Which is a shame. Cause I would like to stay in this room (of course, meals are furnished) for many moons, apart from all external demands, and just write, write, write. Might I not do that? Would the nuns tolerate it? I could tell them that I’m a professor on sabbatical and a serious student of mysticism. …Not too far from the truth! And that I’m religiously trying to further a never-ending quest to understand and elaborate upon things most esoteric in this world. …Quite true, almost! And that I’m a Xangeroo and “Look-see Mother Superior--here are my blogs!” …
Like I said, tomorrow I’m gone!
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I am traveling to a nun’s convent in Illinois this evening and expect to be exorcised sometime around 4 AM while sleeping, a la Mother Teresa!
Then I will return tomorrow and attempt to exorcise the spirits from the temporarily unoccupied house I’m performing home improvement tasks in!
Successful or not, I expect to be recuperating tomorrow night in a den of iniquity with potable spirits!
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This was brought to my attention, but I don't think it made national news. Are we, can we, indeed, be so much a part of one another?
Georgia lawmaker has vision of Chandra Levy
By Don Schanche Jr.
Telegraph Staff Writer
ATLANTA - The spirit of Chandra Levy ventured into the Georgia legislature's special redistricting session Tuesday when a lawmaker hinted to her colleagues that she had had a psychic vision of the missing woman.
"I want you to know that I can prophesy. I can communicate with the dead," state Rep. Dorothy Pelote, D-Savannah, said while standing at the podium of the House, delivering the House's daily devotional message.
"The last person who visited me was - I don't know if I need to call her name. Maybe I should not, because it's a controversial death now. She's missing. You know who I'm talking about. She has visited me. She has."
After leaving the podium, Pelote confirmed she was talking about Levy, the 24-year-old Washington, D.C., intern whose disappearance last April has sparked a national scandal because of her links to U.S. Rep. Gary Condit of California.
"She really didn't say anything. I saw her. She came," Pelote said in an interview. "When I saw her, she was lying in a ditch and her eyes was closed. She was in a wooded area in a ditch."
Pelote offered no other details of her vision.
She told her House colleagues that her psychic experiences began in her childhood after she was brought back from near death in an accidental drowning. She had a vision of a bright fireball turning in the sky.
Later, she said, she had visions of the dead.
"And the older I get, the stronger it becomes," she said.
Pelote described a recent visitation from a woman who died by violence.
"I have never seen her in life on this earth, but she visited me," Pelote said. "And I was so upset I called around to find her family. ... Well, this person, deceased, wanted me to know what had happened to her, and the family wanted me to come and communicate with detectives."
Pelote said the experience was so disturbing to her and her family that she declined.
The Savannah lawmaker, a retired teacher in the Savannah-Chatham County school system, has served in the House since 1992. She is a former Chatham County commissioner and belongs to the African Methodist Episcopal Church. She said her spiritual gift may or may not be part of church tradition, but she believes it is real.
"I don't know if it's part of the Methodists, but God just gave it to me," she said.
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This graphic courtesy of NASA depicts those parts of the Earth becoming “greener” (that is, both more vigorous growth and a longer growing season) over the past 21 years.
(all enhanced colors indicate "greening")
Scientists in the upcoming Sep 16th issue of the Journal of Geophysical Research-Atmospheres are attributing this greening to rising temperatures linked to the buildup of greenhouse gases. Their essential findings are 1) the warmer the temperature, the more dense the vegetation; and 2) spring is arriving earlier and autumn is delayed by as much as 10 days—resulting in a longer growing season.
I have always speculated amongst friends and colleagues that the buildup of greenhouse gases would benefit, at least in the short-term, the most developed countries and key powerful developing countries (China, Russia, Canada) by extending to them a more favorable climate. And this study seems to confirm my speculation. My reasoning was that if the warming trends were seen as immediately economically damaging to the preponderance of already developed countries, they would have intervened more robustly to curtail the foreseeable damage. So the rich and powerful stand to become even richer and more powerful with abundant cropfalls now and in the near future. Of course, those countries most benefiting may argue that the whole world will also benefit from a greening of these most arable regions by increasing the net food production for the entire world. Indeed, they may be right. Perhaps no other possible “ring” of enhancing green-ness elsewhere could optimize net world food production more so than the current one.
So are we just lucky or is this more than a coincidence?
And, of course, nobody is quite sure what the longer-term benefits and consequences of such transforming forces might be. But I ask you: what country in this world is really planning and providing for more than its current generations and, perhaps, the very next?
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Here are some conversations that actually happened between help desk people and their customers.
Customer: "You've got to fix my computer. I urgently need to print a document, but the computer won't boot properly."
Tech Support: "What does it say?"
Customer: "Something about an error and non-system disk."
Tech Support: "Look at your machine. Is there a floppy inside?"
Customer: "No, but there's a sticker saying there's an Intel inside."
Tech Support: "Just call us back if there's a problem. We're open 24 hours."
Customer: "Is that Eastern time?"
Tech Support: "Ok, now click your left mouse button."
Customer: (silence) "But I only have one mouse."
Customer: "Excuse me can I use this disk? It has a hole in it.
Tech Support: "Do you have 3 1/2 inch diskettes?"
Customer: "No, I only have 3 of them."
Tech Support: "I need you to right-click on the Open Desktop."
Customer: "Ok."
Tech Support: "Did you get a pop-up menu?"
Customer: "No."
Tech Support: "Ok. Right click again. Do you see a pop-up menu?"
Customer: "No."
Tech Support: "Ok, sir. Can you tell me what you have done up until this point?"
Customer: "Sure, you told me to write 'click' and I wrote 'click'."
Customer: "Now what do I do?"
Tech Support: "What is the prompt on the screen?"
Customer: "It's asking for 'Enter Your Last Name.'"
Tech Support: "Ok, so type in your last name."
Customer: "How do you spell that?"
Customer: "I received the software update you sent, but I am still getting the same error message."
Tech Support: "Did you install the update?"
Customer: "No. Oh, am I supposed to install it to get it to work?" -
Last night I happened upon a tear in the fabric of consciousness. The seams in my normal raggedy andy ragdoll head are usually well-sown, but last night a few became undone and allowed an influx of otherness. Though it was probably lost to me, I imagine there might have also been a leaking outflux to the universe of my own shadowy threshold ragdoll intimations which would probably otherwise have come to constitute a Xanga blog! Oh well, all’s a tradeoff in the balance of energies and nothing’s ever really lost.
I was prepared to totally indulge in the psychic trepanning thus visited upon me, but it seems that a secret seamstress pulled my rag-thread seams back tight but a little further into the night. And with that nurturing I fell asleep. Damn that nurturing! But something tells me that it was a reflex to conserve sanity and stop my shadowy threshold ragdoll bleeding. Damn that sanity!
There are doors of perception to other worlds. Worlds yet strange and un-unified with our “own.” And I seek their opening. Much as the microscope prior to its invention was the unknown key to an unknown world that there before, except by some mystical visionaries, was considered pure chimera and fantasy, so too, do I believe, that we are on the threshold to finding new doors to unseen worlds providing new discovery.
For there is always new discovery, in this, our Golden Eternity. -
Lucidities
I'm up again. I may not sleep the rest of the night. When I last laid down, I found myself crying, not in fear, but over what was in sight, that is, my mind's sight.
I was filled with memories--none of my own. Lucid, colorful memories--this was someone's life. There was a group of Irish school kids by a brook. They were all dressed in white, but wearing green berets..and walking, walking after school.
And a man at some distance was walking directly towards me. Fading in and out of tree shadows and direct sunlight. And his clothes kept changing--seemingly modernizing--beginning in the style of the early 1800's and growing closer in time.
And many more memories appearing as flashes of faces. And still other memories so energetic that they were shooting like out-of-control bottle rockets right at my threshold of consciousness.
And then I saw her. A teenage girl, blonde hair, dressed in an orange blouse and orange shorts, arms and legs outstretched and trying to fly or pounce away from the second story of that house, but being pulled back to it and sucked in.
I'm up to this...I'm going to lie down now. And wait.
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That Breeze is Blowing Again
I was working (prep and painting) alone in a house last evening where the owner will be gone all week and I've been entrusted with the premises.
The strangest thing happened. While scraping the wall in the bedroom, I felt the house "breath" and "fill itself" with paranormal entities. Well--that was my impression anyway!
My reaction? Though I never speak to myself, I said out loud: "Now I am at home." And was immediately somewhat surprised by what I said since it was not my home nor did I intend to make it so!
Now at home, just ten minutes ago, I went to lie down to rest but not sleep. After closing my eyes, I was immediately barraged by vision upon vision upon vision of souls, creatures, beings, some in human form, some in mobile plant form, and others just in a presence or pressure form. They seem to be there. But also near. This is rather interesting. That breeze is blowing again. I'm going to go lay back down for awhile now and see if a storm is a'blowing in.
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Multiplicity
...by way of a comment left on woodnymph's blog...
The economic myth of Economic Man requires that we all remain unalterable identifiable unities until our very last breath. So you are woodnymph--you must REMAIN woodnymph forever! But trans-mythic reality is not so harsh...
Once there was a little woodnymph who imagined herself a branchfairy! And branchfairy wakened to every break of dawn embracing it as an eventful novelty. Every color seen was a different perceptible shade or pastel, every shadow encountered was a darkening into mystery, every sound the start-up of a new symphony. O branchfairy, is woodnymph not the fulfillment of you?! But woodnymph wants to play, still play--so stay branchfairy, linger, and rediscover this awakening that now expectantly awaits you!
So woodnymph and branchfairy playfully resume! And the play lasts the day until the shadows grow long and then as the forest shivers warm with twilight, branchfairy must flee. But in the shadows awaiting woodnymph, is another, treesprite. Treesprite has watched woodnymph for, it seems, forever. And has shared in her dreams, and fears, and secret wishes. And would have come out and played with woodnymph and branchfairy except that she is drawn closer to the the fiery passion of dark delights. twilight encounters, and moonlit reconnoiterings. Woodnymph has known these things, too, but in more familiar woods and not treesprite's forest deep. And as the twilight fades and the shadows into blackness merge, treesprite extends her hand to woodnymph with a whisper of "you know me...I am you." First touch, then bond, and then together running softly in tandem into the night.
Economic Man screams "Come back, woodnymph, all's danger--come back!"
But woodnymph and treesprite have passed out of sight to discover the joys of the night. And there concelebrating they will await the moment of dawn when branchfairy yet again will awaken embracing all, and especially them, as an eventful novelty, a revelry, a communion of glowing. And as we all know, the glow of sunrise on a new day has a horizon but no boundaries.
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Running amuck in the hood
and I almost forgot what this is all about…
which is to…???
Oh hell, what did my friend say? Oh yes, he said: “You don’t remember, but I do. The night that Ms. Lynn Thomas, the only fucking girl ever to be designated a Playboy Playmate and a Penthouse Pet came up behind you, put her arms around you, and said ‘What’s happenin’, Foot Boy?’”
So I’m the Foot Boy?? Ah yes, the thing for feet! But that’s, well, in the past….
Do you see the woman running? She’s running to the TV in the other room to concurrently whistle to the Alfred Hitchcock “Good Evening” tune that’s playing! hahhaha
These words are almost as disconnected and disjointed as a ghost parting from the planet. See the thought form, cogitate, and dissipate as one must. In endless, upset, imperfect disgust.
Foot Boy! Yes, she was swooning naked in front of me and all I noticed was her feet!
Buckle my shoes.
Yellow, pink, and polka-dot fantasies crowd my cranium.
ONE, TWO
Just making myself relevant
Working for a B.A. in Psychology.
BSing my way through with Sulph and Phets,
Sputtering senseless spew to late playing rock records
And long burning electric oil lamps.
ONE, TWO
Late-raiding beautiful dorms—us frats—with all sorts of roarities,
Pillow fights,
And lovers in the night,
Here’s Shakespeare writing my biography,
And Milton.
Milton Berle at the Friday night drive-in
Singing Texaco songs,
While we pubic throngs keep bopping under the moon
In a gourging delight.
ONE, TWO
Drinking-driving on Mad Dog dibbings,
Cruising around the town,
Then needing to fill-fuel my machine, filling-her-up,
And excusing myself for an abrupt—
Throw up Throw up Throw up
Damned 3.2
Screwing my accumulative—
Not enough to make the Dean’s List,
So?
So pushing myself a little harder, faster, farther,
Burning my ass under a cindering sun,
And barely making the Team,
Until I’m cutting classes.
ONE, TWO
Rose-colored contact lenses meet a girl at the Drop Inn
With legs spread wide beckoning me to her apartment,
And all night just laying there,
Working on my thesis,
Jesus,
ONE, TWO
On through Graduate School,
Finishing touches
And old hat down pat,
Until I graduate
And done,
I’m out into the world
A bum.
Foot Boy!
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