I do not know how to be writing to Nobody on this blog ... that seems like an important thing to figure but I'm not sure how or why .... I dunno.... here I am this morning, alive inside my life, my mother visiting, my kids around me close each of the three (so far) orbiting at their particular distance, my career clamping down on my time... my reproductive health what it is, whatever that is, who can say?? la la la ... a man nearby to all of that but not here (yet?), stirring feelings and memories and chitchats with Mary, writing which for a change I do not leave here, that for a change I gave to Sunnie, a first between us . . . this is still what I'm listening to because it was the last gift I got, though I am trying not to listen to it over much, just a four times now, trying not to make the same mistakes, letting shit get to me too much down the bone more than it is meant to .. or is the mistake that I don't let it get to me enough? This is what I can say for sure about the last 24 hours: I talked to God; I took my girl with me and I gave the dialogue to my best gf; I told the man who is presenting himself to me that people seem to really love me or they really just do not, that anyone trying to hold a middle ground on that is driven bonkers or disappears, that my kids have been raised by the mafia of me, that you're either in or you're out with me that's how it goes for whatever reason; I took my peeps to see "30 minutes or less" and my mother laughed in that shotgun-burst style she does, like John used to too, that way that makes me laugh more than the joke itself; I listened to the rain alone, and am still doing that right now, hoping for some sleep

fuck

what's up?
nothing good. (tell me a story)
ya know those chin straps?
(headtilt)
like it's a dildo attached to your face.
ok...
I gotta friend, we go out and he wears one to the bar.
hahahahahahah wtf? hahahah that's pretty brilliant. in a really fucked up kinda way.
yeah it's amazing how well it works too.
really?
yeah he wears it with a 'I heart fat chicks' tshirt and everybody wants to talk to him.
hahahahahahahahaha....

heard this while I was waiting for my fish fry togo order tnite - I was watching Shaun White do mute commentary for a bmx competition on the pub tv

http://galleries.buffalonews.com/photo.php?gname=gallery_1311812612.txt&item=8

http://galleries.buffalonews.com/photo.php?gname=gallery_1311812612.txt&item=8

a man who matters

it is hot as hell

back to work today, another mid-summer blowout, siiiigh - faculty are brats, administrators are dickheads, both are arrogant to a fault

that's alex

I didn't want to be here anymore for a while (a stalker can't follow me to WI, presumably) and wanted to see my peeps besides - and what better occasion than a big party at which nobody is getting married?

More later on my relentlessly insane parents, but right now I have to shovel out my house before my head . . .

it's actually very beautiful, I'm ashamed to keep giggling about it cz once I got it home and saw the price and product info on it and Amy's hubby explained to me what it's made of (maple, not veneer, and mother of pearl w abalone along the neck, etc etc), I realized Tony had wanted to be taken seriously at his store by donating a serious instrument . . I have zero idea how to even hold it correctly, I sit on the couch with it and touch it lightly all over and listen to it say whatever

update: going to Black Keys at Artpark tnite

that damn doctor kept me there all damn day, literally, from noon til almost 5, to look at me for o 5 minutes . . he asks, How you feeling? Fine. "Well then you're fine."
>:/

then I picked up my new Transformer (I think the name bodes well - tho I have zero idea how to use this badboy) - it looks like a laptop but it works more like a phone only different <:/

Dave installed the lights - then we had a bit of difficulty over whether I owed him money still on that roof. once upon a time, I'd have swallowed that $1k, but, well - I guess I had a John-moment: No. it's not so much that I'm tired of overpaying for handyman things (which I SO am), or that it was clearly an unfair price for what amounted to 2 half days of sticking flashing on (which it was, especially after a 3 yr wait for this to be friggin done and about $6k altogether in getting f'd by it already), it's more like my skin just went hard. DmS says, "You don't care what I think" and in a way she's right. I feel very alone inside my skin, which maybe lately if you tapped on it you'd feel metal. my ability to get out of it and jump into anyone else's point of view is very low, as is my capacity for anyone else in here then too.

then went to the Wheel with Nunu, whom I have not seen in forever, and Thighs played and tho he's now weird around me a little (I've not known him thru a full cycle, I have a feeling, that goes from 1 you're pretty 2 kissy face 3 omg catholic freak out 4 repeat 2&3 a few times 5 act weird and kiss/hug/talk to everyone BUT me 6 ?? repeat 1-5?? dunno - it's a little irritating, but hey I'm a social retard too in my own ways) he can sure play, whoa man. I talked to her about the gun thing, which I was probably just going to talk about so that people would think I already had one which I do not, and am not sure what the process is of getting one permit-wise, and neither is she, but for her own reasons has been thinking about it as well. so we're going to find out together, which is perfect, there's nobody more rational and systematic in their approach to a task/topic than she is, she won't give a rats ass about pink vs pearl (and neither do I)

then home, which after all that you'd think I'd sleep, but nope - not til the sun starts to come up, till then it's like catnapping w one eye open. NOW I'd love to go back to sleep, I'm going to try not to, this can't keep up forever . .

I like this song

today: the piano tuner is coming at 1, I'm sorting old clothes for a goodwill dropthing down the street, I'm going to HomeDepot for lightbulbs, I'm grading papers til they are done for the summer

slept again most of today, what can I say?, I don't sleep at night anymore way worse than I ever did which was never great. so I walked. I walked the mall. I walked the village. I ran almost 5 miles at the end of the day. then ate as much pasta as I could hold. it's almost 1 a.m., and now finally I think I might sleep awhile, but not bc of all that effort. sometimes, your own self just is not all you need in this life some kinda way, ya know? you need to borrow quarter, like for the meter.

Aaron (ex-student, now friend), helped me pick one (the mosquito) - he's gonna teach me how to shoot it if I want . . did you know ambulance drivers (he hates that term, it's EMT!) carry guns usually cz even when though they're trying to help well people just suck and are often dangerous besides. I gave him an A for a (doomed) wedding present (no, he didn't do that final paper, o well, what the fuck ever), so I guess, well, I dunno, I let him help me a little, let people help me just a little in general >:/

meanwhile, slept most of the day (don't sleep well at night) then went to hear Clyde at Waterstreet, Tony got shitfaced drunk and sounded way better then he ever does sober (what is up w that? a musician universal truth), got hit on a butgillion times til I ran away (him laughing, ha fucking ha), now home to listen for funny noises and watch netflix.

today: cleaning (told ya), then the Lewiston Music fest from 5-6 to hear Thighs (tho lordy his kissy face thing royally pissed me off last, sooo not in the mood for foolishness, fyi via the universe to all those who might think of doing so: DO NOT KISS ME DO NOT EVEN HUG ME UNLESS I HUG YOU DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME I DO NOT LIKE IT AND IF I DANCE I WANT TO DO IT ALONE, I'll let you know when/if my mood shifts again) playing w someone I haven't heard before, a woman who plays native percussion. then probably Powertrain, ie Crown Chakra and Jeff singing, at the Lasalle Sportsman Club. there are so many simultaneous music fests and charity benefits happening all at once right now that all the people I know are literally racing from one thing to the next to work, and I take breaks to come home and feel stalked and lonely and awful then just give up and head back out again. could be worse.

The boys drove away, I watched them turn the corner, I wondered how I'm gonna stand it (I'm going to clean, I won't even seem unhappy, the usual, inner clenching of will), and John texts right then, "I'm fine", as if he heard me inner-howl. Well, I'm not so fine, fine maybe but for sure not great, if you could care

talked this morning on the phone w tony for an hour, made me feel better and worse. we swapped stalker stories and controlfreak stories and whatnot, which made me feel better - but he's got more options than I do: he knows his stalker so the police put an end to his situation; he's back w the gf that it never works out with but he knows her and she's a comfort, which I so understand obviously, and I frankly would do that too if I could but my comfortlover is dead; and finally, of course, Tony's a man.

today: we're going to buy flippers and get TJ sized for a bike, get hotdogs and smokingjoe's and ice cream cones in youngstown near the fort. then the boys will be on holiday w their dad's family in WI for 10 days. and I will be alone. tonight, my first night alone, I'll have the option of walking into town at 10ish to hear Clyde (Tony's band) kick off the Lewiston Music Fest, or I could go into nf to the Wagon Wheel for the songwriters open mic (ie Thighs and D Thurman singing w Jeff). probably either would mean I go alone, as Sun has no babysitter. or I could stay home alone.

anywhichway, there is no way I'm getting thru this day without crying so I'm not even gonna try

update: the mail bundle was misplaced/delivered and has been returned to me. ever wonder how you'd ever possibly be happy to see $2k worth of bills? well now ya know

I am literally physically unable to call the electrician/handyman that Amy recommended, or the one who put the dishwasher in cz this whole thing started right around then, etc. I simply do not want anyone in here I don't know. I'm pissed at myself and so pissed off that I have to feel this way altogether. I finally emailed Dave - that's fraught but at least I know for shizzle that he's safe :(

rest of the day: taking the kids out to eat, probably steelheads, maybe back to the pool in youngstown, maybe to buy Cal a new bike at wallyworld. we're also going to the library. we might see Super8 tonight in nf at the regal12. no piano lesson today - guess what? Tony is being stalked too, his whole own rockstar trouble, dealing w the police etc. I wouldn't wish it on anybody so I feel guilty that it's oddly comforting that at this moment he knows exactly how I feel :(

I got a fave pic of my grandpa, I have it where I see it asap when I get up in the morning, his arms open for me cz I'm about to give him a patpat. meanwhile, spent the whole damn day with tech people. Yahoo has spanked and suspended Mr Dick(less). according to tech (and a private investigator who works for Blackhawk [no I'm not kidding] [this is NF, the ghetto, ya know how many dudes go into the military? um all the ones without a guitar, pretty much] [Sunnie knows him]) there is no way to get Mr Dick(less)'s real identity through an email address. anybody could be anybody. BUT the head of the IT dept at work will in the meantime make a website that'd track him to his house if he visits it for when/if he surfaces with a new email, something with a sexy sounding address to tempt him - that's pretty badass, eh? I'll take that solution if I need it. then Sunnie's bro helped me pick a tablet [backordered til the 13th ugh], take back the new laptop, get rid of the old ones after getting the music off, blabla

the bundle of mail which was withheld at the post office while I was away and then delivered in a lump was stolen off my buddha bench

today is the 5th. I was supposed to get my highlites touched up. halfway thru, the boyz didn't answer the phone at home so I went racing out of with my hair quick rinsed and standing on end. FBI guy is unofficially casing me to see who is casing me, and that is a lawyer/judgedude who lives a few blocks away and goes those few blocks out of his way to drive by here as many as 10x a day in his various automobiles to be less obvious about it but if I'm not outside he craaaaaawwwwwwls by waiting to get a glimpse of me, and goes round and round the block if Cal is outside cz then he knows I'm somewhere close. however, he might not be the guy who is emailing me, believe it or not, that person might be a student (or coworker), since although the email is a yahoo acct one of the msgs seems to start via the campus IP so the security people of the college are working on that . . .

fyi, none of this is illegal. it's BORDERLINE harassment, but that's it. until/unless he threatens to hurt me, watching me come and go is perfectly legal. even emailing me your junk, since I'm not a minor, that is no great shakes in the world of cyberstalking.

so I should just go about my business, but wow man it's hard to feel normal. everywhere I go, if a dude looks at me (which um is kinda all the time, just saying, you'd think that would be less and less the older I get but not so much, I dunno, I guess the world has so much milf porn in it now that I'm my own little fetish category or something cz men look at me All The Time) I get utterly completely weirded out. the fireworks last night, omg, we finally retreated to the other end of artpark AWAY from the fireworks so I could look at them and not at the people who might be looking at me. and as for sleep, forget it, I'm going on 48 hours now almost entirely sleepless. ie I'm a freaked out cranky fucking bitch BIG TIME, with fatigue cotton mouth and the urge to slap the shit out of anyone I don't know

rest of the day: eat out (too tired to cook) and nap somehow, maybe at the youngstown pool so the kids have something to do and lifeguards watching while I try to doze off if I can

I'm being cyberstalked. Some idiot is emailing me pics of his dick and I was throwing em out thinking it was spam even though it was weird, how the messages included my name, "I'm under your spell sexy G---" etc. Then I got one last night that referenced lunch I had w Amy (margaritas in nf, a new place she turned me onto, I like tamales) and wondered how my camping trip went . . Nice huh? Uber catholic dude who says he can't talk to me cz I'm 'kryptonite' all of a sudden at whose bday party umpteen mutual friends and ugly polish relatives stare at me like I've got 2 heads while my ride ie my best friend's hubby gets jealous as if there's anything going on w either of them which there is not and on the side I get cyberstalked. And why am I blogging this? Well because I stopped blogging - bc nobody reads this - bc I miss John sometimes and I don't want to cz he doesn't want me to - etc etc etc - but now that I want to know where I was on 6/15, I have no record of it cz I've stopped blogging. So. Um. Today is 4th of July. I will be at a party on Oneida St, at the home of the people who run the belowthefalls magazine, where Tony will be playing his guitar from 4 pm til fireworks. Yesterday I was at home mostly - but I went to the Basilica in Landcaster to light a candle to get grounded - because the day before that was the bday party and that had freaked me out. The bday party was at a park in nf, Oppenheim Park, and most of the people I know where there in addition to Thighs and his weird wife and all his relatives all of whom wear ginormous crucifix necklaces on heavy chains. The week prior to that I was in Letchworth, in cabin c6 with the boyz, and Sunnie's whole extended family had the other cabins. The week before that, all I can remember is the party at the Marina on Grand Island, I found a turtle in the road and freed him in the river, Thighs kissed me (he does that, it's the Guinness goes to his head, he doesn't mean anything by it much and then he goes into tizzies of self-loathing over it and puts a ton of money in the collection plate at mass whatever like a lunatic). The week before that sometime, I can't remember when, I went to Waterstreet w Sun and Jeff and Chris (base player who is in our drum circle - superduper shy, nice guy, only ever says about 10 words - but he made fun of Pete in a good natured way, Pete was singing, and it cracked me up like crazy, and I remember thinking "Chris is ok"). Before that, I can't remember . . . it all blurs by early June, nothing stands out, I don't remember talking to anyone new or special . . the only people I know now that I did not know in May are the Thurman Bros, D and J, songwriters both in their late 50's who helped w Tony's store move. To the best of my knowledge, I do not know anyone who could be that dude in the pic, nobody that skinny and with no tattoos and with the gay tendency to shave his balls. Normally, from the look of that pic, I'd say 'a student', but no student knows anything about my personal life whatsoever, except Story who does not know Amy and who would never EVER do such a thing nooooo waaaaaaay - if anything he's even more reserved than John and Tony, who are both very reserved obviously. That's it. I have no idea who this could be, and/but someone is watching me. So I guess I'll go on about my business and wait for Mr FBI next door to work his magic on tracking email addresses whatever and keep blogging where I am going so that if I disappear someone knows where to start to look.

"The Book of the Grotesque"

THE WRITER, an old man with a white mustache, had some difficulty in getting into bed. The windows of the house in which he lived were high and he wanted to look at the trees when he awoke in the morning. A carpenter came to fix the bed so that it would be on a level with the window. 1
Quite a fuss was made about the matter. The carpenter, who had been a soldier in the Civil War, came into the writer’s room and sat down to talk of building a platform for the purpose of raising the bed. The writer had cigars lying about and the carpenter smoked. 2
For a time the two men talked of the raising of the bed and then they talked of other things. The soldier got on the subject of the war. The writer, in fact, led him to that subject. The carpenter had once been a prisoner in Andersonville prison and had lost a brother. The brother had died of starvation, and whenever the carpenter got upon that subject he cried. He, like the old writer, had a white mustache, and when he cried he puckered up his lips and the mustache bobbed up and down. The weeping old man with the cigar in his mouth was ludicrous. The plan the writer had for the raising of his bed was forgotten and later the carpenter did it in his own way and the writer, who was past sixty, had to help himself with a chair when he went to bed at night. 3
In his bed the writer rolled over on his side and lay quite still. For years he had been beset with notions concerning his heart. He was a hard smoker and his heart fluttered. The idea had got into his mind that he would some time die unexpectedly and always when he got into bed he thought of that. It did not alarm him. The effect in fact was quite a special thing and not easily explained. It made him more alive, there in bed, than at any other time. Perfectly still he lay and his body was old and not of much use any more, but something inside him was altogether young. He was like a pregnant woman, only that the thing inside him was not a baby but a youth. No, it wasn’t a youth, it was a woman, young, and wearing a coat of mail like a knight. It is absurd, you see, to try to tell what was inside the old writer as he lay on his high bed and listened to the fluttering of his heart. The thing to get at is what the writer, or the young thing within the writer, was thinking about. 4
The old writer, like all of the people in the world, had got, during his long fife, a great many notions in his head. He had once been quite handsome and a number of women had been in love with him. And then, of course, he had known people, many people, known them in a peculiarly intimate way that was different from the way in which you and I know people. At least that is what the writer thought and the thought pleased him. Why quarrel with an old man concerning his thoughts? 5
In the bed the writer had a dream that was not a dream. As he grew somewhat sleepy but was still conscious, figures began to appear before his eyes. He imagined the young indescribable thing within himself was driving a long procession of figures before his eyes. 6
You see the interest in all this lies in the figures that went before the eyes of the writer. They were all grotesques. All of the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques. 7
The grotesques were not all horrible. Some were amusing, some almost beautiful, and one, a woman all drawn out of shape, hurt the old man by her grotesqueness. When she passed he made a noise like a small dog whimpering. Had you come into the room you might have supposed the old man had unpleasant dreams or perhaps indigestion. 8
For an hour the procession of grotesques passed before the eyes of the old man, and then, although it was a painful thing to do, he crept out of bed and began to write. Some one of the grotesques had made a deep impression on his mind and he wanted to describe it. 9
At his desk the writer worked for an hour. In the end he wrote a book which he called “The Book of the Grotesque.” It was never published, but I saw it once and it made an indelible impression on my mind. The book had one central thought that is very strange and has always remained with me. By remembering it I have been able to understand many people and things that I was never able to understand before. The thought was involved but a simple statement of it would be something like this: 10
That in the beginning when the world was young there were a great many thoughts but no such thing as a truth. Man made the truths himself and each truth was a composite of a great many vague thoughts. All about in the world were the truths and they were all beautiful. 11
The old man had listed hundreds of the truths in his book. I will not try to tell you of all of them. There was the truth of virginity and the truth of passion, the truth of wealth and of poverty, of thrift and of profligacy, of carelessness and abandon. Hundreds and hundreds were the truths and they were all beautiful. 12
And then the people came along. Each as he appeared snatched up one of the truths and some who were quite strong snatched up a dozen of them. 13
It was the truths that made the people grotesques. The old man had quite an elaborate theory concerning the matter. It was his notion that the moment one of the people took one of the truths to himself, called it his truth, and tried to live his life by it, he became a grotesque and the truth he embraced became a falsehood. 14
You can see for yourself how the old man, who had spent all of his life writing and was filled with words, would write hundreds of pages concerning this matter. The subject would become so big in his mind that he himself would be in danger of becoming a grotesque. He didn’t, I suppose, for the same reason that he never published the book. It was the young thing inside him that saved the old man. 15
Concerning the old carpenter who fixed the bed for the writer, I only mentioned him because he, like many of what are called very common people, became the nearest thing to what is understandable and lovable of all the grotesques in the writer’s book. 16