Sunday, December 30, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
so pick your risk and take it la la
from :11-:12.5, the look on her face ["What the?!"; "Wow that was quick."; "Welp, at least it was quick."; "I'll take the lil' bundle of dopamine, you can have the assholic personality."; "Do Over!!" . . . ]
"The Body's Only Rental," Katie Dill- like this
At New Years "best songs of the year" lists get posted all over. An upside to the crap cold time of year, I spose. Another selection: Jesse Malin - NY Nights (high rec, I'm listening to this again, it's catchy)
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
the day after christmas is when winter becomes pointless. from this day forward, I will Want spring with Mounting Disquiet
Justin Nozuka - Down in a Cold Dirty Well
for virgo this week: The desert-dwelling creosote bush can survive for centuries on little water. In the Mohave Desert there is a ring of creosote, named "King Clone," whose age has been carbon-dated at 11,700 years. The hardiness of this low-maintenance wonder reminds me of you, Virgo. You sometimes entertain the fantasy that the less you need, the stronger you'll be. The downside of this attitude is that you may unwittingly make it hard for people to give you their gifts. The upside is that you've learned many secrets about how to nurture and take care of yourself. But in 2008, I foresee you making a shift away from the creosote bush metaphor. You're more likely to resemble a tomato bush that gets watered regularly. (o brother)
[Bush: 1. The only presendent of the United States of America to be all most assassinated by a pretzil. see dumbass
Oh my god he must be a dumb fuck!!!
Tomato: 1. A term used to describe someone who is denial of his homosexuality...because even though you think a tomato is a vegetable, it's really a "fruit" 2. A sexy curvacious woman, usually dressed in a manner that invites men to try and fuck her]
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
self help reading + [more] music
- Gone With the Wind [Rhett Butler]
for virgo today: There is a huge amount of Earth energy in the air today and you will spend this Christmas Day feeling content, secure and positively grounded. That special person in your life will be only too happy to enhance your mood. A very romantic surprise should be in store!
jose gonzalez - fold
a voice you can curl against, sleepless - love this guy
feist - the park
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
"I Must Be In A Good Place Now," Bobby Charles. We got a tree, a little blue spruce that my small spot in the world makes appear larger - you could see its self-esteem rising as we lit it up. The neighborhood birds have just found Doug's feeder, which I hung outside the window in back of where the tree sits. They're swirling around, looking through the window at the purple ornaments, and gold lights, and one black ribbon. I could win the lottery without batting an eyelash I am very certain, but this ounce of sweetness stuff takes my breath away.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
La la la La la la . I can’t help it playliiist:
Tony Bennett: Chestnuts Roasting
Dean Martin: Baby It’s Cold Outside (w Doris Day)
Dean again: Let it Snow Let it Snow la la la
Bing Crosby – Dreaming of a White Christmas
Marilyn Monroe – Santa Baby (link removed)
Frank Sinatra – Have Yourself a Merry Little Xmas (next year all our troubles will be miles awayyyy la la la)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
from bro-in-law this trip: arshkavey, which is German for "tramp stamp" and translates literally as "butt antler" for its customary shape, plus douchenozzle (as an insult, like dickhead [only better, obviously])
+ life's a punishment - are there any of double-amputees trying to jerk-off (?) I wonder, cz it seems like there are plenty enough douchenozzles in the world slated for unfortunate reincarnations to make such a category logical enough ; that dog looks like a guy who took his lover for granted in his last life, no?
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I dragged ass bouncing through Detroit home – I hate that trip, 6 hours just to take two 40-minute flights, stinky airplane air bluck—wondering how mourning works exactly. I mean, I get grief. But that's not the same thing. And I'm not sure what the difference is. My grandfather was one of those "greatest generation" guys who, thus, got the honor guard, the flag thing, the soldier salute part, the (free!- God, my people do love anything that's free) tombstone from the government, and this seemed to help a lot. It was as if the whole world stopped with us for a minute and also noticed that he had died. And the baby, she helps - funny stories about my boys, the new puppy-maybe, etc etc etc helped turn my mother's mind "to the living" as she put it. Even my grandmother, she went down the hall to have dinner in the dining room for the first time (they stayed alone together ALWAYS in their room) and took a seat amidst the ladies - she chews shyly, looking with poised hostility left and right lest one of the other widows says something stupid or starts talking about tatting or something that'll make her head pop off annoyed. She looks a hell of a lot like TJ in kindergarten, big time.
In the end, it was just as my sister said, they were instructed to tell him it was okay to go, and they sooo couldn't, not one of them - my mother HOWLED no no NO! (Santa is an asshole, NO!) by her own description. When they bundled g-ma up and "hauled her ass over there", she did it. She told him (not unkindly, but certainly not howling), "Go on Doug, I'll be along in a little bit", and he nodded like O Okay and then went to sleep.
The hospice people also told my mother to cut his hair off, bc often people want that later. My mom tells me this, sitting at my sis's this morning, we're drinking tea and I ask, "What's in this envelope?" on the table, and she tells me it's his hair and I can't help it, I say "Why the hell would anyone want that?!" She says, "That's exactly what your grandmother said." (lol) Well?? People who were Victorians kept lockets of hair, she says. (pause) (LOL) Are you a Victorian?? We start laughing and she's crying but we can't stop laughing. I laugh until I'm snorting, THAT IS SO GROSS!! Then we sober up and she says, Well you might want that sort of thing ya never know. (LOL) And we're off again giggling like hell, Geod No mom I will never want to pet your corpse hair -Do you want me to pet your head NOW?, cz that'd be okay I guess. (I pet her.) Laughing and laughing, while she cries off and on. And I think hmmmm: Mourning. I suspect that mourning will be one of those things that will turn out I had no clue how to do in any normal way, so I'll have to wing it totally.
Now I’m home, and feel like I am walking travel-crud. I’m gonna take a long hot bath in my deep old tub with one of those ugly oatmeal deals, water the plants, make a shopping list, wrap some presents, hope FPH can show up as planned and haul an xmas tree or maybe just lay around whatever, and as I think about that I’ll imagine(smell) a pine tree and I’m going to feel relatively glad to not be dead at all. So far, mourning feels very specific to the person who is missing, who in this case was the happiest person to catch a fish or to see a cardinal on a birdfeeder (every time) ever. Like a dream you wake from and can't remember except that it was good. Like a sentence fragment. An evocative inherently incomplete thought.
"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," Charlie Haden, Hank Jones
Monday, December 17, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Sometimes they are the only [right] choice, but I’m not fond of upheavals at all – they’re a Big Wedgie. It has been a hell of a week. Burst into tears like a kid who very much does not want to sit on Santa’s lap, no no NO get offa me.
The person who is writing this is sheltering another person who thinks Santa looks like some kind of weird scary asshole (NO!) and who sleeps with one eye open so that she can keep hold of her pet hamster at the same time (ALL NIGHT - and they're nocturnal, so that's no easy feat lemme tell ya) etc. . . . . I keep telling her "everything is OKAY” but when she's shaken she stares back at me, suspicious and skittish, clutching her psychic hamster close. I just have to wait her out.
Chris Smithers - Killing the Blues
Allison Kraus & Robert Plant - Killing the Blues [I still like the Colvin best but I lost it along the way - always love that song, just about at "I am guilty"]
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Anarchy is an expression of insupportable pain and/or Total Bullshit. [thus]Rule/Principle: I like what I Know (as long as it doesn’t Utterly Suck).
Last night my tv blew. Right in the middle of “House”, which the boys and I watch on Monday nights at 8 p.m. and they ask all sorts of questions about anatomical disease and at the commercial breaks assert “He’s Going To Figure It Out!!”, yes yes, and then kerplunk. We stare at the blankness. What the?? We press the buttons. We stare. We give up and wander away from the television as if it has died on the Trail of Tears and there’s nothing to do but move on.
We spent this evening pretending it has always been this way, reading books they got at the book fair this week at school and Doing Whatever.
Then Ears says, We could try whip cream.
Whip cream?
Yeah, I’ve never tried it.
You’ve never had whipped cream, seriously?
No, really – have you ever served me whipped cream on anything?
(I think about it)– Well no, I haven’t – what about like at the ice cream parlor?
I always get cones, don’t I?
Yes. Huh.
(So we go to Wilson Farms and buy whipped cream and I make Ovaltine and warm it up and spray it on there and we drink it.)
This isn’t so bad!, says Ears.
There is a Rule/Principle lying around here somewhere nearby, and I’m looking for it. Is it
[upgrade: . . . what I know, as long as it's Pretty Good/(undefined potential)] .? It's something about setting the bar higher than "Doesn't Utterly Suck" without tripping over into chaos (which Sucks).
Monday, December 10, 2007
Friday, December 07, 2007
Not any one poem
The whole thing in general
I am supposed to understand it
I am supposed to like it
There are a lot of things I was supposed to have.
If you can’t get from one end of a sentence to the other then FUCK! is the place where it broke down, trying to make sense, and then I guess if you keep writing anyway you fill up the FUCK! hole with lettuce, and that’s poetry
Or there is a poem about a bluebird
Or whatever
In which case, why? As in leg warmers and breakfast sausage that takes like fish – WHY? Why do that?
If you don’t know where to put commas, then express yourself in some other way.
And stay out of language.
I preferred, in retrospect, his craggy hands smokey smell to anything he said, but
If I hadn’t been too stupid for too long, I would have
Asked him the secret before we ran out of time:
How were you always so happy?
Like to see me?
"Like You'll Never See Me Again," Alicia Keys
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
My greatest digit is a 9, but I’m less than 900. I’m 1 more than a multiple of 10, and the sum of my digits is 12. What number am I?
[I have no fucking idea whatsoever.]
bruce springstein - pink cadillac
I love this song today for some reason, I dunno.
Monday, November 26, 2007
post-thanksgiving
Snow Patrol guy and Damien Rice girl :
Gary Lightbody and Lisa Hannigan: Some Surprise
Lenny Kravitz – Can’t Get You Off My Mind
Eddie Vedder - Hard Sun This is from the Into the Wild soundtrack (book by Jon Krakauer):
If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal – that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. But they are the highest reality . . . The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indestructible as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of a rainbow which I have clutched. Thoreau-"Walden, or Life in the Woods"
I stand in awe of my body, this matter to which I am bound has become so strange to me. I fear not spirits, ghosts, of which I am one—that my body might—but I fear bodies, I tremble to meet them. What is this Titan that has possession of me? Talk of mysteries! Think of our life in nature—daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it—rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! The SOLID earth! The ACTUAL world! The COMMON sense! Contact! Contact! WHO are we? WHERE are we? Thoreau-"Ktaadn"
bonus track from DmS : "Always Be My Baby," Mariah Carey [the mood-name you’re looking for is girly(?)]
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I tell her I’ll send a box full of the jams he likes, and I do send it. Why not?
My sister says, Ma you should tell him everything is okay, that We Will All Be Okay. My mom hangs up on her.
And you feel like such a traitor, every time, bc he does come back and then you take the baby for a visit and he pets her fat arm and he knows enough to know he likes that a lot. And if they had stopped dragging him back, then he’d not have seen the baby. So you’re an asshole.
Still (I'll prolly eat my words but) it seems having oxygen blown down your throat and 20 drugs (AT LEAST omg) running through your system forcing your heart to beat with your children by your bedside sobbing DON’T GO!!!! is not a pleasant way to go. Absolutely nothing is more unnerving than your child in tears and in pain. That puts me in the highest state of distress that I ever get in. To die in that state seems like the exact opposite of what I’d hope for, i.e. I’d prefer not ever to be in a state of annoyed terror but especially not if I’m trying to concentrate on something as big as dying. (FYI, when I get ready to die, do not tell me THEN that you love me so much your eyeballs are gonna melt outa your head – speak now.)
My sister says hell maybe they’ll figure out how to taxidermy him with a heartbeat and we’ll see him at Christmas. (We laugh like assholes.)
Otherwise it was a really nice day. It was warm and rainy and I canceled class in the afternoon and did some xmas shopping online and felt good to be alive. I miss my grandparents. I wish they were still alive and not nothingbutsuffering, and that I could visit them and sew with my grandma while Doug fried eggs over hard. He was always laughing.
"The Way I Am," Ingrid Michaelson
Monday, November 19, 2007
Everyone says a funeral in Chicago for Thanksgiving dinner is in the offing . . . we’ll see. I can’t, literally can’t, find a reaction . . . I used to think that you were alive a long time, then old (odd/annoying/amusing/inspiring/achey), then dead. But some people spend a long time at DYING, which is a very different thing than either old or dead. And it’s so absorbing in its way that it obliterates the aging process and it also makes death itself so remote that, really, it’s like planet death – you know it’s out there, maybe you should even be planning for it, but then again how could/would you anyway except to try in a general way not be an asshole cz life’s short(?)
I dunno how I’m gonna feel when it becomes a real fact. Some kind of really lousy. They, my grandma in particular, always thought I was fantastic, the wonderful one, most able and most blessed, as if all the others were good too but watered down kinda. My sister still resents it, and I don’t blame her. It was very important to me to have their expectations bolstering my own, otherwise I would have expected a whole lot less. Even when I was miserable, deep down I expected to be happy and was pissed that I wasn’t and kicked up dust making a fuss to get the story back on track. Then I’d visit them and tell them all about it and they’d say ‘That’a Girl!’ It’s not that they expected me to “be a doctor” or any specific thing, they just always said “that one will be blessed”, and so when I wasn’t I felt as if surely there must be some mistake(!) I’d get back in the line of life and foot-tap-tap, honing my re-application argument, armscrossy.
The Aliens - Robot Man (Hot Chip remix)
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
(I really should be working, I am working, but grumpily and with stupidity thrown in outa spite.)
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Tom Waits — Straydog
Tom Waits — Walk Away
He was smiling. I thought that was kind of . . . I dunno, kind of mostly admirable and a bit nutso. He/they, the rest of “us”, really and truly believe the mantras: that one has nothing to lose because one came into the world with nothing. The only thing that is real to them is themselves, and the self is fleeting besides. Ultimately their own selves are their works of art, but sand art, not to be clung to [in fear]. (pause) Indifference is part of despondence which is hopelessness which is a NO NO for me too much to unclench. I can’t get to relinquishment of clinging to life and to things I love. I want to want to . . . but end up wanting to build a house more hahah :/
Monday, November 12, 2007
good enough is not good enough
But. If I’m standing in shit, I don’t feel like sitting down much. So I went out to the bale site and made clay slip and then plaster all day long and practiced how to trowel and had coffee with Bale-D and the pastor, both of whom are on their 2nd or 3rd lives of what they expect to be a pile of them. Like the yoga people, they talk about their lives like they would about a house they’re building, and swear at it when something doesn’t work right and re-arrange it endlessly and grunt and shove at it. And like the work. Mostly. Or try to anyway.
I can’t say as I ended up “la la la if at first you don’t succeed” these last few days – I was and am pissed as hell that I have to sustain any more losses and get around another impasse as I try to get to some kinda HEA (Happily ever After). But when we couldn’t find the comb I scored plaster with my fingernails:
It's gotten another coat since this pic, and the corners are being built up to taper at the top, and those are pagoda-style trough gutters made of wood - I'm not sure how those carry the water properly, but I'm scheduled for carpentry this coming weekend so I guess I'll find out.p.s. Doug's eating, not much but he can't resist KFC entirely.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
self help reading + music
-from “One of the Hosts”, John Polkinghorne
"If I Lie Down," Aloha
"If I Ain't Got You," Alicia Keys
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
So far two main things stand out about this experience: 1. the environmentalism implicit in every choice that would result in the construction methods, including the aspect of communal labor and 2. the communal aspect of communal labor. Social situations are not my strength. The only thing I’m good for in a social situation is observation. If what you want is an outsider on your insides, I’m your girl. Otherwise, the smallest exchanges can fill me with unease, and I mix my animal metaphors, and wind up looking like this right before I head for cover. But if there’s a TASK involved, that helps a lot, and if the task is PURPOSEFUL that’s even better. Plus this is a church not a bar we’re talking about, Church of Christ Something Liberal, and definitely NOT into proselytizing about anything other than environmental and social issues. They quietly added me to the “many hands make light labor” email list and left it at that. That all suits me very well. It’s like an Amish barn raising (ish).
[I like quiet work.]
Then it was Halloween of course. There was only one punkin, so the compromise was three eyes and two mouths.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
self-help reading + music
-from “All Necessarily So: Spinoza’s Ethics” Don Garret (TLS review)
Saturday, October 27, 2007
self-help reading + music
A girl cries. Her father beats her, convinces her she’s dumb.
She’ll land back on that cave of herself again
And again for the rest of her life. So many are like mythical creatures
Blindly returning to tackle whatever invisible monsters
Brought them down so long ago in the Trauma Caves.
Maybe the greatest wonder of wonders
Of being alive – the lake like a glittering shield,
The leaves turning to tangerine, gold, ruby
And so infinitely on – is we have not, as yet, undone our world.
"The Wonder of Wonders", Greg Delanty
"100 Days, 100 Nights," Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings
Friday, October 26, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
I think talking to my grandmother this morning [in hospital w pneumonia again], listening to her speak in short words with a suck on an oxygen machine between each one as she tried to get out “thank breath for breath the breath books breath I breath love breath you . . .”, and the ominous sounding horoscope got hooks into me that I just couldn’t wiggle entirely free from.
don’t be a stranger – perfect problem