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Whoosh! New slate! Start Over! One more time to get it
, whatever the hell
Reality is suggesting that I won’t have many more, if any, of these new slates left. Given my view of the world, today, that’s not as frightening as it sounds. The great experiment that was once America seems to be on its last legs, the Bill of Rights is being whittled away by fear and parochialism, the McCain-Levin addition to a defense bill an example.
The conservative American psyche needs an enemy, needs to feel besieged. They have no sense of value, otherwise.
A man died here, yesterday. He woke up in the morning to greet the New Year, had breakfast and a cigarette, laid down after lunch and died in his sleep. Freak out time. My meditations all day had been about the little time I had left to accomplish
, and a man a little older than me died and underlined the truth of my deliberations.
It had not helped that I had spent the day checking out the who’s who of accomplishments of people my age who have accomplished something, who have left some tangible evidence of their having been.
Spent most of the morning playing with the art tool on my computer. It’s been awhile. So many things going on around me, plus a general lack of inspiration have kept me off except for occasionally throwing various bits and pieces from the web into the junk file.
Mostly I use the tool to design atc’s. I do some, too, with scissors and paper and crayon and clippings, but I don’t have a lot of room, here, and the whole process needs the wisdom used for moving troops around the battlefield.
Just trying to keep myself gainfully occupied and amused.
Michael relaxed into Belize’s hug. “Do you think we are what he said?
“I don’t know.” He covered up his lie by asking, “Does it matter?”
“Does it matter?” The question he had asked Michael had rolled out so easily. He asked himself the same question, “Did it matter?” He decided it did only if Michael thought so. If Michael didn’t, then would be time to consider the next question.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I know what a- a faggot is” Michael stammered.
“We could go look it up.”
Michael settled deeper into Belize’s shoulder.
The left side of my jaw is swollen so big; I look like I’m trying to imitate a chipmunk. I downing Tylenol every two hours and trying not to bitch about my pain. I can’t get to a Dentist till the 10th of January. I am not a happy camper.
Ah well, to parody Longfellow, into every life a little pain must fall.
To use Kenji Miyazawa in a different context, “We must embrace pain; burn it as fuel for our journey.”
Maybe if I keep looking up quotes on pain, I’ll forget mine.
I wouldn’t bet on it, though.
The swelling has gone down and the pain has reduced to an occasional pinch. I think I will be able to hold on till the tenth. There ain’t no way in hell that I’m going to increase pain.
“I'm full for days but come in and I'll work you in when I can –“ I’m on the dole…Doctors and Dentists don’t believe that people on the dole are in pain they can’t withstand until you end up in the hospital, even if the nurse swears on their license that you are.
However, thanks to all for your concern. I’m blessed.
One down, fifty-two to go- weeks of the year that is.
The year started out with my little ritual; of course, given the declining class of people coming into this place, I had to build a wall around myself to prevent interference from the outside, which I didn’t have to do formerly. Still, I started my year as I wished to start my year.
“Declining class of people” sounds a little bitchy, as I re-read, and sounds a judgment. I guess it is and I’m perfectly comfortable with that.
Death has played a role, this opening week. See January 1.
The Character Actor
He did not think himself beautiful,
Never the lead, the hero.
A major character, at most
The best friend
Subtext is everything.
Always in screen love wanting
Because he wanted, sucking
Up his lust osmosis like
Only onto himself.
Subtext is everything.
In Act Three he would be defeated,
Never with grace, graciousness
Has no tension, no drama;
The third bow is his forever.
Subtext is everything.
Copyright 2006 tinman
The past is an apple bittersweet; under the sugar, a taste of tart. Mnemosyne does not sort what she presents. She gives us all or nothing.
Zero is the number of nothing, or the placeholder, the line between the negative and the positive. In the ancient days past it was a symbol of mystery.
Zero was rejected by mathematicians for long centuries. The Egyptians and Romans, mathematically inclined as they were, did not use the zero. I am not sure if they knew of it, even though it had been invented by the Babylonians. However, Babylonians did not use it as a number, but as a bookmark in their odd sexagesimal numbering system. It wasn’t until 9 A.D. that India began using it as a
The thing that the Conservatives seem to have forgotten is that Government, in the United States, was directed to promote the General Welfare, not just the welfare of the rich and powerful. It was also meant to keep “Religion,” another special interest group, separate from the secular. For a long, long time, that seemed to be working.
If you want to see one example of why this was considered a wise thing, you only have to look at the Islamic countries, today. Women are oppressed under the disguise of being honored and protected, legal exploitation in the name of Allah
“Mornings come and go so quickly, here!” I don’t remember if I read this line, or heard it in a movie. I want to say it comes from
Alice in Wonderland
, but I can’t be sure of that.
Sudden flash of memory…It wasn’t Alice, it was Dorothy in the movie
The Wizard of Oz
, and it was people who went quickly, not mornings.
Memory is such an odd thing and two people can witness the same event and remember it differently. How is it that we can ever find the truth of a thing? Or is
just a fable?
Went to the dentist, yesterday; this morning, I saw Walter Brennan in the mirror. Glad I’m not in the government secrets business, a little
torture and I spill my guts! In this instance though, I was a brave little soldier, I jerked with the pain, a few times, but only gave a small
moan when one tooth, whose roots must have reached my toes, was extracted. Truthfully, the needle in the gums hurt more than the removal of the teeth.
I feel better smiling toothless, than I did with the row of rotten teeth repulsing the spectators.
like winter, here in Chicago; we have snow, for which I suppose farmers are happy (I’m not). Some water will at least seep into the ground.
O.K. - It did look pretty falling. I’ll give you that. It’s environmentally necessary, here in the mid-West, another point. However, after two hours of looking at it, this morning, I started hearing “
California, Here I Come
” playing in my brain.
I’ve never appreciated snow, even as a kid; I had to shovel it. I wasn’t interested in snowball fights; the cold snow always dribbled down the back of my neck.
The inexperienced housebreaker would have rushed to his car. Martin was not inexperienced. Rushing catches the eye. Once he reached the non-descript black Edsel, he opened the rear door and tossed the coat into the back seat, and reached around the door frame to pull up the lock on the front door, opened it, got in and drove off. Nobody on the street would give him a thought when the break-in was noticed hours from now. It might even take the victims a day or two to figure out what had been taken. Another job well done; life is good.
We gay people have cause to celebrate Martin Luther King’s birthday almost as much as black people. I say almost as much because those of us who are Caucasian and part of that time at least had closets in which to hide and in which we could avoid the blatant and evil discrimination that Black people, by virtue of their color, could not.
That does not make the long struggle against discrimination of gays and transsexuals secondary, however, only different. We, too, are a people who deserve to have a dream, the dream of absolutely equal treatment under the law.
I know award shows are always a bore. The hosts and presenters are only accidentally funny, the winners go on and on thanking the remotest anyone who had something to do with the picture and you know they don’t mean it, or they wouldn’t have those phonebook lists to read. And still, I watch them. Now and again, something touching happens.
That something during yesterday’s Golden Globes was Morgan Freeman’s acceptance speech receiving The Cecil B. De Mille Lifetime Achievement Award. Morgan Freeman has always been a class act and often better than the movies he’s in. A true artist.
I love to tell an anecdote about my cancer op. I was coming back to consciousness, the family was gathered around. The elder of my two younger sisters leaned over me and said “My dog had what you had and we had to put her to sleep.”
I looked up at her and replied “Don’t ask why
don’t have my power of attorney!”
My sister has always been one of those people who says it first and regrets it later. I love her dearly, but God forgot to give her the filter that most of us have regarding conversation.
Did you know I can read your mind?”
“Aw come on!’ Belize paused a moment and then, “You really can do that?” Show me.”
“O.K., think of something that you wouldn’t expect me to know.”
Belize closed his eyes, and after a second said, “O.K. I got something.
Immediately Michael shot out, “You’re wondering when you are ever going to get the nerve to ask me to sleep with you.” Laughing, he said, “Belize you’re always thinking
, give me something a little less obvious.” Belize flushed, making Michael laugh even more.”
“I didn’t think I was that damn obvious.”
In my secret heart of hearts I always wanted to be a Broadway, Hollywood dancer. Watching musicals at my local bijou, I had this fantastic idea that dancers, if they wanted to, could fly.
But in my time, neighborhood and family, that was an impossible fantasy. One didn’t dare to publically want to stand out as an “arty” person, not among the lower middle class truck driver, construction, tobacco spitting environment in which I grew.
Looking at a family film featuring me at ten, I should have gone for it anyway. I was already a princess in training! Bully bait.
She kept her eye on her target, Michael the tall, almost scrawny, blonde serving out the vegetables. He had a word and a smile for everyone. Next to him, as expected, was Belize, half a frizzed head shorter, study bodied, and serving cuttings of pork roast. He shared more laughs than smiles and everyone that passed him, passed on the next server still giggling.
The way they stood, shoulder to shoulder, spoke of something more than a simple friendship. She muttered a prayer to the One that she be not wrong about them. It would make things so much easier.
Humavari, as they age, do not decay as humans do. Rather, age adds majesty to their being while their bodies remain unbent. While they could create an illusion of having aged as humans did, they prefer, instead, to retire back to the Haven, or re-locate to somewhere they have not been in a while.
No Humavari would admit it, but vanity, pride in their appearance is a major fault among them. This is as true of males as it is of females. Experts suggest this is an inheritance from their human ancestors. There is, however no DNA evidence proving so
The rush that the Stonewall revolution created for my generation, the generation of the mid-forties to later fifties, who had endured some of the most horrific of anti-homosexual experiences, made coming out easier than it had been, and we relished it, we got drunk on it. Still, it did not erase that so human needed approval of relatives and friends. This is what has always made “coming out” and “staying out” the difficulty it is.
Older now, and separated from my community, I find myself struggling to remain
that I am.
Old age is a
I used to fantasize I was the cabin boy to a pirate captain (who looked something like Burt Lancaster). I would trim his beard; keep his cabin clean, etc. Every night we would sleep naked in his bed and he would ravage me. [At ten, I had very little knowledge of what the word ravage meant, but the sound of the word sent pleasurable shivers down my spine.] Around twelve, I realized pirates didn’t take many baths and I abandoned my captain.
Sometimes, now, so many years later, I wake in the night and realize how
Should I share a little aging secret? Should I admit the libido doesn’t shut down after a particular age, or when you start getting your Social Security check. Even if the flesh is weak, the fantasy is still strong. Lord, have mercy.
According to Genesis, Abraham was still rocking well into his eighties, and judging by the narrative, if it’s to be trusted, Sarah’s infertility wasn’t from lack of trying, either.
It’s probably a good thing I have the physical problems I have, otherwise they’d have to hose me down twice a day.
Did I waste my youth being modest?
What did God know when he made me
And when did he know it?
I woke this morning with the thought running in my head, “I wish I could just disappear.”
I am too weary to face the day and the persons who people my day with their inanities, their molehill problems. I want some peace from schizophrenics. I don’t want to deal with the O, so cool (they think) ex-cons and non-repentant druggies. I am sapped of human kindness today; it’s not
fault you’re up shit’s creek without a paddle.
Are you listening God, or are you just laughing?
Life/Death, one coin, two sides, it will be the eternal mystery to humanity because it is not just about the mechanics. It is a perfect example of cause and effect and also the perfect example of simultaneity. From the exact instant of perception we begin both the process of life and the process of death.
Death is the gift that comes with life, for on earth, where things ever change, eternal memory is a great burden and we would grieve for what is lost more than we would rejoice in the moment. Human grief is the reason for cleansing tears.
It is said that life expectancy was about thirty years of age in the Middle-Ages, i.e. just enough to leave your seed and succor it for a while. Just one more proof, for me anyway, that the only purpose Life admits is to continue. Man, the imaginative animal, has invented all kinds of other purposes for Life to keep the fear of the unknown quiescent within him. Man is still afraid of the dark.
Because Man is not quite sure of the promise of eternal life, He has worked undaunted to extend His time here. Eternity here is his goal
Time became when there were almost no full-blooded Elves. What remained were the mixed blood people who adapted the name (among themselves) Humavari. The original meaning of this name was lost during the great persecution when Humavari hamlets were burned to the ground by humans angered by what they saw as the special privileges offered Elves by “immortality”.
The Humavari retreated from human societies and created secret Havens through what men called their magic but were simple adjustments of space and created a fourth dimension that humans could neither see or touch. Normally, these Havens cannot be entered by Humans.
Here in Chicago, they seem to be taking the New Testament scriptures “Let the dead bury the dead” (Matt. 8:21-22; Luke 9:59-60) a bit literally. They can’t process the bodies fast enough.
As I understand, most of the problem is lack of supplies and personnel. Our County Board President is handling the situation, i.e., she wants to fire the person or persons who leaked the problem to the press. That’ll work!
You have to stand in line in every government office. Even the dead aren’t exempt.
I wonder how many were standing patiently in food stamp lines when they passed?
Virgo and Taurus: “These two really understand each other, making this pairing the stuff of long-term relationships.”
I’ve always gotten along splendidly with Taurus individuals. As the quote says, there’s always been an immediate connection. Unfortunately, I’ve never fallen in love with a Taurus, even though there have been a couple of chances (thinking of E particularly).
fall for are always the dark, brooding types with whom you never know, from one minute to the next, where you are with them. I’ve come to the conclusion, over the long years, that I’m a bloody emotional
And so this is it, 36,500 words for 365 days at 100 words a day. My new year’s resolution for 2011 has been honored. Now and then, in those 100 word segments, I managed to say something worth saying. Well done, I say to myself.
It wasn’t as easy, or as difficult, as I imagined, from time to time. Sometimes I woke with the words in my head and other times I had to struggle to find them. Mostly it was just the discipline of sitting down and writing.
Will I continue to do this? Only time will truly tell.
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