Friday, December 29, 2006

Faith and Occam's razor

Confusion the waitress has returned.

confusion the waitress


the ground

she said,
"you can do anything you want"
"you can be with anyone"
"you can go anywhere you want"
she said

she said,
"you can say anything you need"
"you can be anywhere you feel"
"just pick up the phone"

we are lightning boys
mop floor
lager makes us
the waitress

she said,
"don't go dark on me again"
she said

she said,
"the silence and the silence i see you my confidence"
she said

wait a minute

she said,
"loophole how are you"
"mmm once again a superstar"
"he loves you but can you name me his children"
"mmm the god you lost again"
"the color of your boyfriend"
"get out of bed answer the phone"

she said,
"in the belly of st. pauls again"
"got you a rubber man"
"i'm smiling with the sun"
"two years is a small price"
"loophole how are you"
"once again a superstar"
"look at the size of it"
she said

she said,
"you can do anything you want"
"you can be with anyone"
"you can go anywhere you want"
she said

she said,
"you can say anything you need"
"you can be anywhere you feel"
"just pick up the phone"

the ground...
look at the house whose noose step one
my urge deep...


Monday, December 18, 2006

One week and counting

Tis a Fearful Thing

It is a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.

A fearful thing
to love, hope, dream:

to be--

to be,
And! to lose.

A thing for fools, this,

a holy thing,

a holy thing
to love.

For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.

To remember this brings painful joy.

'Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing,
to love
what death has touched.

- Chaim Stern

I suppose it goes without saying that it was not a good birthday.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

The coming days

In the coming days of automation, where people might work, say 10-20 hours a week, man, for the first time will be forced to deal with the true spiritual problems of living.
- sample from a Frankie Goes to Hollywood song

But you know how it all works, how the small actions add up. And you now see how you can start to stack them up differently. The helpful suggestion upward, not made. The confidential memo leaked downward, or out. The book recommended to an inquiring student. No longer on the curriculum, but you might find it interesting - a different angle. The conversational concessions withdrawn. The conventional civility dropped. The hard stare back, the harder line held. The slack not cut. Elsewhere, the warmer smile. The word of encouragement. The grant approved. The link forwarded. The cartoon tacked up. The dues paid. The paper bought, the extra coin passed, the minute spent in friendly chat before you hurry for the train. The firm nod to your own kid's tentative query.
- from The Early Days of a Better Nation

For several weeks, these two quotes have been bouncing around my head. A change in me was pointed out by a co-worker that he'd observed over the last year or so. An ambition, beyond simple determination, but with an, with a ruthlessness that at times has almost become a ruthlessness with relish and a kind of arrogance for those who couldn't 'cut' it or didn't 'get' it. A disconnect with humanity.
Ultimately a lack of compassion.

Much of this tendency is nuture, though I do have a rather plain spoken personality, by nature. I come from a walk it off family, where showing the slightest sign of weakness or pain is an open invitation to let the attacks begin. Interestingly enough, I find myself in the exact same environment at work. Coincidence? I think not. I have a thick skin, but that skin has continued to develop layers, especially after finally deciding to engage in the struggle and kick, scratch and bite back until it's become both armor and weapon, it seems. It has earned me admiration and acceptance amongst the group as a whole, but it's come at a price that I don't necessarily think is worth it. When I worked in the office, and broke my leg - an injury requiring several hours of surgery, metal and months on crutches - the only day of work I missed was the day of the surgery. Last January, when I split my knee open, I was at work the next day; one of our busiest Saturdays of the winter. The guys love me because I'm tough and respect me because I'm a harsh opponent.

Last night, they offered to give me the night off if I wanted. My first response was that staying home wasn't going to bring anyone back to life. My boss saw some hesitation and told me to think about it and things came together in my mind in such a way that they've not before: it's good to push yourself, but I doubt I'll ever rest on my laurels, there's too much to experience to simply up and stop. BUT...but there's a time to take a rest, to cut some slack, to accept a helping hand without shame and without condition. A measure of grace. And how can I expect to find my way back to compassion if I don't start accepting it? With that in mind, I folded my apron, thanked my boss and came home. I didn't do much [observe the previous entry]: stared at the walls alot, made my bed, looked at old pics and cried. Took solace and quiet breaths.

What made me realize I'd made exactly the right choice was coming home during Friday rush hour as people were flooding through the Powell St BART station and finding myself caught behind a woman moving slowly and aimlessly on the stairs. She wasn't in tourist mode, in fact she seemed very, very SF, a gal on her way home from work. I felt a flush of irritation and frustration. "WTF, lady, we have a protocol here." [that was inside voice, btw - I'm not a complete dick, though I did make the WTF hands] but something in her posture caught me. A familiar tight heave in her shoulders. She was crying. I doubt many people wander crowded subways crying on a busy Friday evening, and suddenly her slow gait was no longer an inconvenience or imposition. I could feel her hurt and I hurt with her, in turn. All irritation, gone. I paused to catch her eye at the turnstile. It was a momentary exchange - "Are you ok?" A nod, a rueful flicker of a smile from her in response and then the crowds filled in as we passed through and we were gone. I hope she found her solace last night as well.

When I got home, I had my iTunes on random and 'The Russians' by Sting came on. From the first time I heard this song these lines caught me.

We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
What might save us, me, and you
Is that the Russians love their children too

It's not about politics with me, and it's certainly no longer about the Russians, but it is a powerful reminder of just how many ways we do breathe the same air and hurt and love and lose. Universally. That active empathy and compassion and gentleness require more strength and skill than beating each other to the prize and the punchline...or simply beating each other up. Things I knew a long time ago, but perhaps had stray from so I could understand why it's so important to come in from the cold and much better by the campfire.

As for the first quote, I don't know what post debt life holds. The implications and possibilities boggle my mind, but I want to think that the constant nose to the grindstone, constant fear of not being able to pay all of the bills, the profound discomfort of having one's life dictated by something as stunting and excluding as debt will end. I don't want to return to mutiple jobs, unless I'm pulled in directions that excite me. I'm not sure that I'll ever want to return to full time. On the other hand, perhaps I will, but only under the right conditions. I'm looking forward to being in a situation where the qualities I admire and aspire to are not liabilities.

Standing on the corner of Stockton and Geary last night, amid the rush and thrill of people, not feeling the need to navigate the crowd sharply with the singular focus of reaching the MUNI stop and praying the MUNI would actually show the f*ck up in some sort of timely manner, hoping that we weren't unaccountably delayed somewhere else along the way, not calculating connections, not thinking about the kitchen or whose ego I'd have to massage to make things ok or appease a table. Or, even, not standing there at half past midnight, tired and wired and counting contentment but the number of dollars I'd made that night and wanting to be as far away from the madding crowds as I can get. In that moment, it became clear that in my self absorbed determination and focus, I've missed out on a hell of a lot of life just trying to catch up.

Yes, it's served a purpose, and in senses has been entirely worth it. I know that many are much more driven than I but I'm not them and I'vebarely played by the rules as it is. Sometimes, in some areas, enough actually is enough and less is far more. I'm looking forward to catching up and slowing down. Grappling, or sometimes not, with the true spiritual problems of living and relearning the art of seeing people before I react based on a calculated intent. Of being still, but not always because I'm too aching to move. Fireflies. Family. Whisky slushies. Laughter that's not forced and silences that are easy. And a silly little dog named Sofie.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Further notes on being God's Private Mystery

Two things that have recently returned to my attention:

When I'm overtired and/or have had, let's say, a glass of wine too much to drink, I like to find new places to 'store' things. Like keys. Or debit and ID cards. Or large sums of money. Always with the thought that I'll know *exactly* where I hid them when I wake. This is not always the case.

Also, when under duress or during periods of great stress, for reasons completely unknown to me, I seem to take great solace in picking up items I've had for years and staring at them as though I've never seen them before. I do this until I become distracted by another object I've owned for a similar length of time, only to return to the first and start all over again.

I assume this is a practice run for senility.


From the continuing, and very worthy, process of 'turning a lover into a friend' to processing the loss of a cherished family member, it's been a tough week.

Rich found this and it just makes my toes curl that he thought of me when he saw it: he knows my aesthetic and eye for beauty and knew just how very much I needed some injected into my world.

In the interest of paying things forward, I'm, in turn, dedicating this to Gladys who added so much beauty to my world and leaves me with an amazing sense of having been utterly and unconditionally loved and to Joe who continues to add joy and beauty to my world in his own inimitable ways.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

The 'fuck it bucket'

The note read: "When shit brings you down, just say 'fuck it', and eat yourself some motherfucking candy."

Whomever wrote that seems to know I don't like candy as this particular bucket contained audio of David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day and Eddie Izzard's Circle. Awesome, awesome, awesome. I've been laughing my ass off all morning. Sedaris, especially, reading his own work, and especially imitating his brother Paul aka 'The Rooster' in the chapter "You Can't Kill the Rooster" is pure comic gold and has looooong been favorite of mine.

And thanks so much for this reminder, too:

You are a WEDL--Wacky Emotional Destructive Leader. This makes you an anarchist. You don't give a damn. When push comes to shove, you just forget about it--it's just not worth the heartache. What this means for others is that dealing with you can be aggravating, because they find they can't get you motivated about things they care about. What this means for you is that you are happier, calmer, and saner then they are on their best days.

You are near-immune to criticism, and those who know you well acknowledge and respect that. You may come across as lazy, but the truth is that you find little to get worked up about. Regardless, you have slews of friends, because they are fascinated by your world view, jealous of your lifestyle, and drawn to the fact that you are hilarious to be around.

You are a pillar in a sea of hot-bloodedness. You have a sweet tooth.

I have no idea who sent those to me, but thank you so very much for the thoughtfulness, laughs and timely reminder.

But I do know that it was bmarkey, my favorite midnight radio cowboy and middle of the night email buddy, who sent sent me a fantastic mix. I love it, b! And Rich, fellow flickr fiend and friend whose capacity for the insane never ceases to amaze me, who pulled off a major hook up. Pa. La. Bra. Seriously. Just wait till I start working the mad skilz, yo.

Finally, to mudpuppie, who somehow knew exactly the right words to say.

Nothing's changed, but nothing's really the same, either. And that, I think, is a very good thing.

Friday, September 08, 2006


The Sus is in SF!

*a happy dance to the right*
*a happy dance to the left*
*shake it like a chorus girl all around*

Hell yeah.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

On Hammers and the Throwing of

Laughing babies didn't do it for me...but Throwing Hammers did. Hammer, I dunno who in heck you are, but thanks for dropping by and leaving a comment so I could go have a look at your stuff. I laughed so hard, I've got those rumbly "after laughs" happening. I'll probably snicker through my shift tonight, too.

Well done!

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Haysoos Crisco

I'm now taking some of my own medicine: a coupla belly laughs that I posted to MeCha awhile ago.

Right before I go off and apply the girlie blues remedy of a new cut and color, of course. Dun dun dun!!!!

Robot Dreams

Looking up the lyrics to the Postal Service's cover of Bjork's "All is Full of Love" a while back, I came across Chris Cunningham's stupendously beautiful video for her original track. [Click the word 'large' under the pic to see the video, but the text is a wonderful breakdown of the creative process that went into making the video itself and well worth reading.]

So, I didn't actually dream of robots, but after a very long conversation with a friend who pointed out that I might be serving as an obstacle in their process and questioning how fair that was on my end to remain in the mix, and after writing a long letter to Joe, I did have a dream. In that dream, Joe showed up on my doorstep. I was full of mixed emotions as I had already told him goodbye, but he told me that he wanted to give me a foot massage. Please, to just let him rub my feet. [And understand that neither of us has a foot fetish or kink like that; it was a very emotional, but non-erotic request.] So I invited him in and we sat on the stairs while he gave me a massage. As he did, he sang "All is Full of Love" to me.

you'll be given love

you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it

maybe not from the sources you have poured yours
maybe not from the direction you are staring at
twist your head around
it's all around you

all is full of love
all around you

all is full of love
you just ain't receiving

all is full of love
your phone is off the hook

all is full of love
your doors are all shut

all is full of love
in any language

all is full of love......

I know it won't come as a surprise that I woke up crying, but this is that whole 'the only way out is through' thing. If I had to lose someone, in a sense, I'm glad that it's someone who left me a little, no...a great deal richer for having had that connection. I'll spare details, but I will say that no one, through his own genuine personality, warmth and intelligence has ever, and I do mean ever, made me feel so cherished, beautiful and amazing as Joe has. I'm not saying he's perfect, either. He does have this odd aversion to clogs, for example.... But again, if I have to lose something, at least it's something that's raised the bar and changed the playing field.

I guess the consolation prize is that I get to still wear my beloved clogs.

There is always that.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006


[Saudade] The inimitable Cesária Évora and some of my favorite fado folks will be in heavy rotation for a while, I do believe.

Preface: This'll be an incredibly disjointed entry, meant less as navel gazing or wallpaper wallowing as a processing of what is happening in my brain and heart. Neither of which is pleased with me at the moment. At all.

From Farscape, is a short exchange between John and Aeryn when they know they're likely doomed, but have admitted the depth of their emotions to one another.
John: You know what scares the hell out of me? From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I could never see the end.
Aeryn: What scares me is I always could.

I don't know how that applies to this situation but it was a thought that rolled though my head in the early hours this morning. Of how doom and desire and destiny - if you want to call it or believe in that - can converge. Beautiful things happen when they ought not. How we make decisions understanding the possibilities, but not understanding their possible weight or deeper impact. On how what can mean something quite cursory today can become something incredibly significant very quickly under the right circumstances. Less in a star crossed sense, but in the sense that they create a kind of moment and a space. Almost an emotional singularity. One that's both beyond definiton or expectation, but one that has such distilled strength and pull as to profoundly affect its surroundings. Ultimately, it's these kind of moments that make being human magic. In my humble estimation, that is. Even when they break your heart.

It never occurred to me that Joe wouldn't go back to her, that part always seemed clear to me. Ironically, that's exactly one of the things that released me to be as open and transparent as I was with him, what deeply fueled an intimacy I'm not sure I ever recall experiencing with anyone else, on all of the levels that we touched, and we touched on a great deal. Being so cavalier about things, what additionally didn't occur to me was that I would become so attached, that our exchange would become so rich and meaningful. I mean, I knew I could and that it might, on a purely logical level, but let's consider my track record, shall we? Which is to say, I knew where it could go but paid little heed as my famed package of altruism and emotional distance has always kept me so very safe.

Even as I watch him walk away to fill a dream he's had for so long and find happiness with someone else, I can neither be angry with him or feel regret, let alone bitterness. [....Though I do have to admit that working in a very busy date restaurant right now is something of a Faustian bargain and quite possibly the ultimate appetite suppressant.] I feel, in a number of ways that I've brushed against a possibility that has altered my world view. In a good way: I've discovered something I really didn't know existed and that gives me hope.

On one of the sign in pages for flickr there's a quote from Agnes Repplier: A puppy is but a dog, plus high spirits minus common sense. I think that's an apt description of my heart. It's important to understand that there's a part of me that's genuinely happy for him to have this chance, regardless of how much I want to be the source of that happiness and desire [and, Lord, do I.] Regardless of how much it hurts. And I think it's no secret that it does...and even as I prepare to say goodbye and figure out what the hell is next and how to fill the many hours a day that definitively became his temporal and emotional real estate in my world. Even then, I know that should the two of them do what they have to do and it not work out; should he turn up on my doorstep after getting himself worked out and want to give it a go, barring a conflicting committment on my part, I would do just that. In a heartbeat. Silly, stupid Frisbee, indeed.

Conversely, the chances of that actually happening are so slim to none as to be beyond calculation or consideration.

In plain English, I realize that while hope may spring eternal, I am absolutely SOL.

How's that for a "What I Did This Summer" essay?

On a lighter & happier note [read: excuse me while I preen for a moment], not only did one of my most admired fellow SF photogs add me as a contact, but two of my most admired fellow bloggers, 'bought some of my blogshares'. Hardly Noble Prize and Poet Laureate status, but enough to put a much needed wiggle in my walk.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Dee ewe en

And not in the 4AD style, either.

Earlier this week, I told him that just because it was the end of the beginning, it didn't mean it was the beginning of the end. Unfortunately, my heart doesn't seem to believe that.

Thank God I don't make a habit of this falling in love stuff. And the next time it happens, can't I do it with someone who can be at the same place with me? Not to say that one of us is ahead of the other, close. So fucking far.

To be really fair, I do need another six months before I'm on top of my game in all aspects...but still. If anyone's seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the scenes where he's watching his memories/treasured moments being erased and rails against the process...whatever it is I'm feeling is like that. And that impossible moment in the bed on the beach in the snow. I have no idea why that stuck with me, but it did.

There have been a number of times it sucked to walk away or watch things come to an end, but I just don't remember the last time I struggled so hard with letting bygones be bygones, with letting go. Perhaps my 'catch and release' philosophy has come back to bite me in the ass.

Or maybe I just need to get that dog. I'm telling you....

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Long weekend

In a rare move of solidarity, after what was one of the most bizzarely and uniquely difficult weeks for everyone, the entire staff got drunk at family meal last night.


Admittedly, it was nice to dull the roar of emotion and adrenaline and enjoy the sense of community about jointly recounting the various points of WTFF?!? Anyone from the industry knows the drill, but this was rather unprecedented: not only short staffed and someone walks, but a piece of non combustible equipment catches fire randomly, a wine glass falls apart as a guest raises it to their lips, walk ins exceeding reservations by two...I mentioned that we were understaffed, right? That just scratches the surface. But the fact remains that, in the end, I'm not a fan of getting drunk and I'm definitely not a fan of escapist drinking. If nothing else, I'm not getting any younger and, dear lord, do I pay the next day.

And this could be the first Sunday in six without the carpenter in one form or another. There's part of me...much of me actually, that wants to be clear. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I really am a masochist when it comes down to it. More than that, though, is that my imagination can be my worst enemy. Containing it is in my own best interest.

But while poking about, waiting for the Alka Seltzer to ease my head with its tasty goodnees, I came across these three wonderful videos:

Naked As We Came - Iron and Wine. I think I first saw this a year or so ago and found it again. I keep waiting for Sam Beam to do something that I don't like. Has yet to happen.

Dayvan Cowboy - Boards of Canada. Was clued in to this by cliptip, but never could get his link to work so I hunted another down. Well worth the effort. Full of space and sea, and the vastness of each that the footages aptly inspire. I love this video.

Millionaire - Kelis featuring Andre 3000. Another cliptip heads up; a timely discovery.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Endings and beginnings

Awhile ago, I made it a solid goal to pay off my student loans by spring of '07. A few years back, when I set that goal, '07 seemed so far away. Now, not only is it looming large on the horizon, but I appear to be on track for meeting this goal. With the additional bump of putting off the Mac and learning to love black beans, I'm that much closer.

In the spirit of 'ask of the Universe what you will, but be ready to hit the ground running', I started thinking about what I'll do when, in for the first time in 20 years, I have nothing to answer to beyond food and lodging. There will be the obvious squirreling away of funds, but past that.... If I had, say, 4 or 6 months to be driven by whim entirely, what would I do?

Chatting with my funk soul brother, mosch, early this morning, exchanging ideas and dreams, I was surprised at what came to the surface. He, of course, wants to take Mrs. mosch and mini mosch to Europe and live some kind of pastoral life. [Very selfishly, I'm all for this plan of action on his part as one can never have too many friends in exotic locales.]

I'd love to travel as well, but wouldn't likely become an ex-pat, at least not for long. What I'd like is to do more than a week in Chicago. The jazzhead in me really wants to see what autumn in New York is like. I'd like to spend Christmas through New Years and then some back with the folks. I'd like very much to have lunch with a certain carpenter.

What crept up that surprised me most, as it seemed to come out of nowhere, was to find my dad's grave and spend an afternoon talking to him. Tell him that I miss him every day, that I grew up to be an ok person; someone that I think he'd be proud of. Tell him that I never stopped loving him. Tell him the goodbye I didn't get to tell him 30 something years ago. But not before telling him again how much I still love him.

It's funny what your heart calls to the stand when given free rein.

And regardless of what happens, I'm determined to get a dog. Maybe I'll even call him Jack.

Monday, August 28, 2006

And now for something completely different...

I'm horrible at being pathetically sad. Outside of kissing and making up, I dig up funny stuff to make myself feel better. This out of print book is one such example:
Then Some Other Stuff Happened
edited by Bill Lawrence

If you can find a cheap used copy on Amazon, it's worth picking up. Especially if you're an American history buff.

Chapter 1
Around The Round

The story of America is told in sagas. Sagas are mid evil tales about certain men who did certain things. Such men as: Davey Crochet, Daniel Boone, Jessie James, Robing Hood and the Vikings.

Getting Our Longatute

The Vikings saw America first. They discovered Japan and Jamacia and claimed they discovered Greenland, but it was really part of Canada.

Eric the Red was a Viking leader. He was called Eric the Red because he sailed the Red Sea a lot. His son, Leaf Ericson, was blown off course and discovered Finland.

All the Vikings wore odd kinds of hats.

Vikings and other early sailors sailed with an astrolobe, an instrument for finding the longatute of yourself. That is, it showed sailors where the sun, moon, and stars were.

Cathay was another insturment for getting your longatute and latatute and for telling how far away the horizin is.

About the ninth century the Mohammeds overun the Holly Land under their leader, a man named Moslem. The Crusaders tried to get the Holly Land back so they could unite the world and go to America.

One of the greatest Crusaders was Richard the Lion Harded, King of Urope. Richard went off on a Crusade and left the throne to John, his greety brother. Prince John made a mess of the throne and Robing Hood had to come and straighten it out. The Crusaders brought back luxuries which increased the trade between Asia and the Far East and made people want to find better ways to get to America. One of the Crusader ships was captured and used in going to the U.S.

Marco Polo had already discovered China. Marco Polo was from Venus, Italy, where everybody speaks Italian. HIs name means "Great Khan" in the Italian.

Well, Marco Polo and the Crusaders were blown off course and all but one ship, the one Marco Polo was on, decided to stick to the job so they came to land on Oct. 12, 1942, and they called it America.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

No bueno

The longer the days that pass, the less certain I feel that I've made the right decision.

I think I'm completely screwed.

Long Hot Summer

This weekend I said goodbye to one of the the most incredible people I've ever met. While I think that he's off to experience bigger and better things, it doesn't change the fact that somehow he expertly filled a place that I didn't realize needed or wanted attention and now leaves a void that I can't imagine otherwise filling.

I think and hope I did the right thing, but my heart is in the tiniest of pieces. I'm hardly able to fathom how much it hurts.

Fucking wimp.

I play out my role
Why, I've even been out walking
They tell me that it helps
But I know when I'm beaten
All those lonely films
And all those lonely parties
But now the feeling is off-screen
And the tears for real, not acted anymore
I'm all mixed up inside
I want to run but I can't hide
And however much we try
We can't escape the truth and the fact is
Don't matter what I do
It don't matter what I do
Don't matter what I do
Don't matter what I do
Don't matter what I do
'Cause I end up hurting you

One more covered sigh
And one more glance, you know, means goodbye
Can't you see thats why
We're dashing ourselves against the rocks of a lifetime

(in my mind different voices call)
What once was pleasure now's pain for us all
(in my heart only shadows fall)
I once stood proud now I feel so small
(I don't know whether to laugh or cry)
The long hot summer just passed me by

I want to run but I can't hide
-Paul Weller

Joe, I'm so very sorry. I wish I was stronger.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

The irony is not lost on me

that my social/recreational world has become so head explodingly bizarre that crossing things off my 'to do' list is practically an escapist activity and doing chores qualifies as avoidance behavior.


Thursday, August 17, 2006

High camp

Snakes on a Plane. It comes out tomorrow. I'm looking forward to seeing the final product - if only to hear the cheer that goes up when Samuel L. Jackson declares, "That's it! I've had it with these muthafuckin' snakes on this muthafuckin' plane!!"

The video by Cobra Starship "I suggest you grab your ankles and kiss your ass goodbye." Oh, snap!

The snake sock puppet rap. No really. [for the bunnies, of course]

All your snakes are belong to us. Observe the power of the intarweb, memes and FARK. Oh, what a wonderful world. *snicker*

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Conundrums and crossroads

Back to the dream series! I know how you've missed it.... This one is uncharacteristically short, but one that's pulled me from my sleep and stuck by me in the quiet hours this morning.

I'm standing at a crossroad, it's a warm, slightly windy night, at the edge of a beach. Looking across the water, perhaps a bay of some kind, I can see the beautiful shimmering lights from houses. The ocean smells amazing. I feel immensely happy and calm. As I stare at the water and take in my surroundings, consider going for a nightswim, I hear whispered in my ear, "Don't disappear."

Of course, you know where I went to further ponder the various 'portents' of said dream.

DreamScape Analysis
Aug 16 2006 6:07:28 AM

Primary Aspect:


Secondary Aspects:

night lights beach wind request

Dream Analysis:

Psychologically, roadways or paths symbolize choices & decisions in life. This may reflect a recent decision you've made or one you're presently considering. The nature of the road in your dream represents your feelings in the matter. For instance, a straight road indicates a clear choice with few distractions. A branching road suggests indecision. Metaphorically, one choice calls you, yet you can't prevent yourself from looking over your shoulder at the other road as the two diverge.

Consider the roadway or path in this dream. Did you have a choice of direction to travel?


This symbolizes the options confronting you, Frisbee. Pay attention to the details of your dream - such as whether the avenues open to you are pleasant or disquieting. These details reflect your intuition & feelings about a particular choice.

Recall the pleading or prayer in your dream. Was this plea imploring the help of a higher being?


Then you may be expressing a want or craving in this dream - perhaps covertly desiring someone's attentions or affections. Needs which cannot be openly expressed often appear as dream symbols.

Have you been sensing that change of some kind is imminent in your life, Frisbee?


Then interpret the atmospheric conditions in your dream as symbolizing the winds of change. This usually indicates that material concerns are moving into the background as matters of the heart, family, or spirituality take precedence. But it may also represent more practical concerns, such as changes in your job or schooling. The intensity of weather reflects your level of concern regarding this upcoming change.

Recall the water or liquid in your dream. Was it contained or prevented from flowing freely?


Then interpret this symbol as a subconscious attempt to put something behind you - perhaps an error or mistake you've made. It's time to move on and acknowledge you can't change the past. It's water under the bridge.

There was a symbol of light in your dream - was this light blinding or somehow destructive?


Then interpret this dream as an attempt to gain understanding or awareness of some issue or event. You're trying to bring the matter to light. The tenacity of your efforts is symbolized by the brilliance of the dream light. The brighter the light, the more intense your examination.

The shadows or night symbol in your dream mean that you're not seeing clearly or are exploring unknown parts of your personality. Metaphorically, you're groping around in the emotional darkness. Was there any fear or apprehensiveness associated with this dream image?


Good, Frisbee. Even if you're having difficulty seeing the whole picture, a lack of fear suggests that your exploration won't be slowed - and you'll soon see what's been hidden from your psychological view.

Your dream analysis is complete. Pleasant dreams, Frisbee.

I already had a pretty good idea of what my mind was mulling in the dream, but it makes me oddly thrilled that the analysis program seems to so often nail it. While the specific details aren't that important [ha! you knew I'd say that], something I've noticed in the past few months is that whatever - in the distant or recent past - has fueled my singular drive for and white knuckled attachment to all things independent and security has receded into the background. That urgency has ebbed away and in its place is not only that quiet ease but a gentle happiness and calm clarity I could have only dreamt of previously.

I'm still confounded by things and I still have momentary freak outs, but the difference is that now, almost quickly as the idea to flip the fuck out starts, I remember that I don't need to. Really, I don't. Inventing tragedy and pre-living it so that you can manufacture it in order to experience it and then relive it in some post traumatic haze has got to be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas I can conjure up.

Of course, I also realize that this is an open invitation for the universe to take these new synaptic pathways on a rigorous test drive [read:
soundly kick my ass.] The holiday season does start in just weeks, after all. But as the boys used to say during pre-shift, "Let the games begin."

Thursday, August 10, 2006


It has just come to my attention that I've managed to kill a large potted plant of ivy. A sturdy, non invasive cultivar I've had for months and months. Actually, well over a year.


How in hell does someone kill ivy?!?

*scuffs dirt and hangs head in shame, grumbling*

Two [Jumbo] months off

Courtesy, again, of Underworld and in homage to warpup's echos exercises of days past on Tribe. A mental, emotional and musical mash up. It seems that this year has been literally infused by Underworld and in ways I'd have never expected. Where the hell they get off being so great for over 20 years [just try discounting Freur and 'Doot Doot'], I have no idea, but that's another thought for another day. Today, it's about how they take the oddest verbal and musical pieces and pare them down, snapshots almost, nonono....moments - singular and significant - captured and encapsulated then presented in a way that strikes a deep chord both viscerally and cerebrally.

There was a little drawing of a heart next to that,
                  followed by an exclaimation mark.
The back of his was covered in stuff... stuff like:
Brandon is not a very nice guy, but Alex is sooo nice.
And that had the exclaimation thing too.

It was just silly crap that hit the spot. And he let himself be drawn in.


- brother there's a little sale on, uh, vests at, uh, Walmart?
...nine dollar.

- Oh yeah?

- eight some, yeah...nice little vest, light.

(hammer pounding)


i need sugar i need a little watersugar
i get thoughts about you and the night it wants me
like a little lost child
locked in a safe place
lookin out the window
the dark move fast past
the window
the dark on the otherside of
the locked door


my thumb's on a tetris keyring moving in brilliant timing
you pick up the phone
and i'm imagining


tiny wires in her ears
(slide into the city)
tiny wires in her ears
(slide into the city)


- expected early in the mornin'

rising in the morning stopped to you (beneath the feet of the city)
you disconnect from me
when you're gone you take your century

telephone breath between us the whole world is between us
only these wires
dust between the wires
and the green grass

in the distance
i am your tourist

- expected early in the mornin'

moving in brilliant timing...

- i search for this spot then find you fellas hangin around at the same
stump...and you're right there with 'em

- well, i've never fished here, but i caught beaucoup fish in reverend

- i never did catch fish here

- beaucoup fish in reverend burton

i need sugar...
- expected early in the mornin'
you disconnect from me...

I don't know exactly what to say as a segue or an explanation. It's been crazy days. The final push before vacation; vacation; the return to six day weeks and opening; the Jack Ass Extraodinaire; the slap and grab attempt at taking my phone - which I guess is the thing here - and chasing their sorry asses down, both categorically WTF? moves.


And, in the midst, surfacing to join the land of those who have a pulse after placing myself squarely on the sidelines for a year. Finding out, definitively, that I am not incombustible. A discovery that's been duly noted, but not entirely addressed. And a point at/on which I tend to stammer, in some situations. Perhaps the worst situations. But there it is and what can you do? It's like recounting some race to a distance nowhere, and maybe that's just it: that we are all tourists in one another's distance.

I don't know that I'll ever know the answer to that possibility...but it's a worthy idea to chew on.

I think.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Here it comes and there I go

Chicago. Tomorrow. 10 days.

I'm almost cross-eyed with excitement.

Right now there has never been a sweeter word in the English language than 'vacation'.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Pour a little out...

for a [soon to be ex] homie.

Slammy's moving out. Frankly, he lasted longer than I expected, though, in reality, he's hardly ever here; and when he is here, he doesn't acknowledge anyone in the household. It's been a bit like living on the set of The Others.

In honor of his departure, I offer this Letter Never Sent that was part of a Metachat thread several months back.

Hi! How are you? I am fine. Do you mind if I call you 'Slammy'...? No? That's wonderful, thanks!

Slammy, you are a mystery to me. How is it that you can slam your door so hard that the pictures in my room - two rooms away in a sturdy early 1900's Victorian - shake on the walls and yet remain catergorically unable to close the front door, the back door, pantry doors, or microwave door? And let's not get started on the lights, the bathroom fan or the gas heater that you would turn on full blast, while leaving the wind tunnel from the open front and back doors in full effect, but slamming your door repeatedly (further nullifying the warming effect of the heater on you) for what I can assume would be shits and giggles.

We know you're here, now pipe down. If you open it, close it - preferrably like a sane and well adjusted adult - and put on a fucking sweater, already.

Slammy, I'm not really going to miss you, but I have truly appreciated your capacity for the unique. Best of luck, Prince Charming!

Tuesday, June 27, 2006


I received the incredibly happy news today that this extraordinary little boy has a sibling on the way. In life's inimitable way of, this news was followed by further details and couched in an earnest, if understated, request as is the nature of the author:

All efforts are to carry this pregnancy longer than the 27 weeks I carried Miles. Currently at 23, I don't feel like I can take any chances. I don't know how many of you have spent any time in a NICU, but from my time there, I know that even for 27 weeks, we were extremely fortunate with Miles. Babes born before 26 weeks are beyond extremely fragile, and those that do survive do so usually with lifelong complications and conditions. The possibility scares the hell out me.

Assuming I carry as long as 32 weeks (a full 2 months from now) and that my condition doesn't drastically change, my restrictions would lessen at that time. Of course after two months in bed, I won't be able to do too much, will I Mark? I’m desperately trying to remember, and I don’t always, that this sudden inactivity is an effort to stay out of the hospital.

So here I am, occasionally moving from the bed to the couch, from the couch to the bed when I get up to use the bathroom. Nic has become my personal assistant, caretaker, and cook and Miles' primary parent for the remainder of this pregnancy. I am gradually arranging full time care for Miles while Nic is at work. Thankfully I had scheduled two full weeks of work for myself (huge project at work that was to wrap up in another 5 weeks), so I had sitters lined up for two weeks already.
I am continually vacillating between this being a relaxing vacation and the longest, most disempowering period of my life. We'd love to have thoughts, prayers, good wishes and positive energy sent our direction.

It's difficult to be this far away from loved ones when fears are high and calamity strikes. And the fact is that, even if I was there, there's little I could do at this stage of the game. What I can do, though, is ask that if anyone has a spare prayer [or four], burst of positivity, etc to please send some their way. Mom and baby, especially, but the whole family, they can use as much as they can get.

Thank you so very, very much.

All my Frisbee affection.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Monday, June 19, 2006

Snakes! On a plane!

Some things are simply too wonderfully absurd not to make one's day. Having followed this for the better part of a year, it's hard to logically express the silly glee that comes from hearing about the imminent opening date. That glee is second only to the fact that "New Line wisely decided to leave the title alone, and went on to embrace SoaP's fan base by adding five extra days of shooting to amp up the film's over-the-top elements and, per fan requests, letting Jackson deliver a line about "m -- snakes on the m -- plane."


[This post, with utmost affection, dedicated to mudpuppie. Muthafuckin' snakes! On a muthafuckin' plane, sister!]

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Beautiful things

Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.
-Ricky Fitts, American Beauty

Perhaps video isn't such a poor excuse. Suddenly everything has changed, to quote the Flaming Lips. [Again.] New eyes. Learning to use a new language. So very much to learn, but I'm continually moved and inspired by the visions that others offer. Expression. So powerful.

Via cliptip, Lost In A Moment from shrift is gorgeously done. A sublime song alone, the video is wonderfully compelling.

Also via cliptip, Baby I from Amy Millan. Country angst at its best with a lush visual treatment. [This one appears to now not be in working form, but hopefully they'll get that sorted out, and soon. If you're a fan of the Neko Case set, check this lady out. She's great.]

Finally, though old, from the highly-Frisbee-revered and outrageously creative Underworld and the Tomato collective comes Jumbo. Starting with the endearing request for sugar that manages to be at once self-effacing and cheeky, to the images that unfold and perfectly match Rick Smith and Karl Hyde's inimitable talent for musically and lyrically marrying the archetypal, emotional and mundane in a way that makes it seem so obvious...perfection. I have a crush on this video.

Monday, May 22, 2006

For Andy

A small gesture of thanks in honor of his quietly constant patience, support and humor.

Not to mention the music. Lordy, lordy that music!

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Monday, May 08, 2006

Friday, May 05, 2006

OMG Holga!

I got my first Holga rolls back from the developer today. The pictures, though artisically devoid of much in terms of street appeal are the kind of ugly mug shots that, proverbially, only a mother could love and thusly fill me to the brim with goofy joy.

In other news, despite Andy's declaration of my contrary nature, on a whim this week, I happily dyed my hair red. Unlike the previous package's description of screaming fuschia as a rich warm brown [aka 'Chestnut'], this one helpfully referred to itself as 'Red Pulse'. A sweet red that's just about as close to Candy Apple Red as one can get without donning a wig or going to Manic Panic. Word.

Friday, April 28, 2006

FG and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Soooo yesterday I went to the Haight to say goodbye to my friend Alex/Sydney. The Haight being relatively close to the Marina, I felt pretty safe giving myself an hour to navigate MUNI to work. I mean, I could have walked there in under an hour. And walk is exactly what I should have done. Through a you-really-can't-make-this-stuff-up series of miscommunications and MUNI bizarro-ness that can only be described as MUNI, I ended up in Daly freaking City before making it to work 45 minutes late.


I woke up at 4:45 this morning STILL traumatized over the whole thing. Seriously. I realize that it was just one of those freak things, but damn. It's days like today when I could really use a dog to remind me of the more important things in life. May I never, ever ride a 43 again in my live long life. EVER. I haven't wanted to cry out of frustration like that in a long, long time. [I am so clearly not unflappable.]

Can I get a do over, please?

Really though, there must have just been something in the air last night. Perhaps it's the approach of Cinco de Mayo or two weeks without rain [deluges, at least], but there was a party here when I got home. Seems to have gone on well into the early hours.

Charming was listening to performances of drunken quasi-karaoke. Not so charming was whomever came stumbling into my room at 5am.

Downright mind boggling was the dream that I had last night. I was waiting tables at Red Robin again and we had two entirely separate floors for seating. I was the only server on and people kept going upstairs to sit and suddenly I had 75 tables. [How I knew the exact number, I have no idea. Dream logic.] But then, as I start working through all of the tables, it's clear that they've all been waited on already. Relief.

Next, I'm on my way home, standing on the steps of a church, waiting for my partner in crime because we were going to remove the small fortune in cash we had stashed in the basement. I look out across the city to the bay where a supercell is forming. As my PIC approaches, the supercell turns on its side and slowly forms a face and arms. The face begins talking and I'm trying to get my PIC to look at it and reassure me that I'm not going nuts when it reaches down and grabs a different church and flings across the city.

I start getting nervous and enter the church to organize the removal of the money from the basement. As soon as I close the gate behind me, I hear something hit it forcefully. I turn around and pressed up against it is a tiny grey young woman. She seems somewhat deranged and I help her inside [like you do] where it becomes clear that she's really just not right. She informs me that she's the god who was in the cloud and that she's taking over the church. I think this is just fine, so long as I can get my money out, but am wary of telling her this. Trying to explain this to my PIC yeilds a less than enthusiastic response, especially as now the deranged god is inside the church and we are outside of it.

Things start to get a little weird when the DG starts spouting off beautiful prose about the poetically painful and undying nature of love and separation, intimating a deep angst about a long lost lover. It's absolutely arresting in its poignant beauty. Of course, this means that the PIC and I are off to find this lover in hopes of easing the DG's pain and the less than altruistic goal of recovering our money.

This takes us to Las Vegas, which is just down the street apparently, as I keep running back to the church to update the now despondent DG. All of this running back and forth and the discussions with the DDG take place in Ridley Scott-like weather. Crisis arises and it appears that the DDG will soon die if we can't locate her long lost love.

After much drama, involving the church full of other grey and despondent characters who do a herky jerk thing that seems like a cross between Thriller and Chicago, we do find the LLL and she rewards us by turning the church into a swank casino/restaurant/hotel. Which is nice, but it means somehow that we'll never get the money we buried.

At first, I'm a bit upset about this and as my PIC is trying to get a job as a waiter, I try and get a job as a bartender, already trying to work out crazy plans to dig under the joint and get our dough. The management, however, laughs at our applications and points out that we *own* the place as though we were pulling a great big joke on them. The DDG and her LLL are the main performers for the headlining show and wink knowingly at us before finishing in a send off that would make Xanadu beam with pride.

I think I may need a vacation.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Music, sweet music

After a good 10 years of listening to jazz and classical almost exclusively, I've had the very happy luck over the course of the last few years of being exposed to some incredible new music. Most recently, this was happening by webcast and the dj's were nothing short of superb. However, over the course of the last few months, my favorite dj's, namely, the inimitable mosch, the ever creative urbanwhaleshark, and midnight radio captain, bmarkey, have moved on, refocused their energies or found greener pastures, respectively. Fortunately, if you check out their sites, you can sometimes catch downloads or links to their live streams. Both of which I cannot recommend highly enough.

Still, this has somewhat left me kind of high and dry. In the midst of my musical state of existential angst,
panoptican came to my rescue and introduced me to SomaFM. Not only do they have ten faaaabulous (see, there's that word again) stations, but they're entirely commercial free, listener supported and they broadcast from just up the hill from which makes me feel oh-so-neighborly and cozy. What won me over entirely, though, and shows just how much of a dork I am is that the station ID voice is a computer generated dealio that every once in a while tells you that they love you.

Awwwww shucks! I love you, too, Soma!

Saturday, April 08, 2006

"...a force to be reckoned with." Sweet!

A Bit Of Both
You are 60% Calvin and 40% Hobbes
Calvin & Hobbes, like a scruffy yin and yang, are in perfect balance within you. Like Calvin, you're weird, a bit insecure, and can be a trouble-maker. But like Hobbes, you're down to earth and sensitive. It's a risk to say it here, after just a ten question test, but I'll bet you're smarter than most. Both Calvin and Hobbes are crafty, clever characters, and any one made from equal parts of each is a force to be reckoned with.

The Calvin Or Hobbes Test written by gwendolynbooks

Friday, April 07, 2006

"Learn to say 'YES' to the universe"


- - - -

Learn to say YES to the universe and the universe will say YES to you. I, for example, say YES to the universe and the universe says YES to me.

I see myself in the universe's mirrored sunglasses.

I have tongue-kissed the universe. The universe has really soft lips. The universe also has great minty breath.

The universe likes to stroke my back and braid my hair. The universe gives me pedicures.

I have taken the universe as my lover. In other words, you might say the universe has become my lover.

Learn to say YES to the universe and the universe will say YES to you!

Sometimes the universe and I play dominoes. On Sundays, in the late afternoon, when the sunlight just barely comes slanting through the blinds, I sit on the universe's lap, and the universe lets me beat his ass every time.

I like to rub my cheeks against the universe's stubble. The universe has really great eyes. Never mind his soft lips and his minty breath.

The universe just gave me his high school jacket. The universe just bought me a silver Camaro. The universe says he'll give me a promise ring as soon as he saves up some more money from his part-time job working at the Foot Locker.

You may not know this, but the universe is ticklish. You have to know just the right spot.

Don't you want a little action? I ride the universe like a wild, wild horse.

Looks like I am having the universe's baby.

I say YES to the universe and he says HOW HIGH to me!

I'm telling you: learn to say YES to the universe, and the universe will say YES to you, too.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Friday, March 31, 2006

"Here Comes Dr. Tran!"

I'm not a moccodity!!

[Point of clarification: this is an old video clip that's made the rounds for quite some time ago. I saw it for the first time about a year or so ago and I'm just tickled to have it back.]

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

It's times like this

that I'm thankful to be single.

Yesterday, I woke up from a dream that I had the voice of a lawnmower, with a horribly sore throat. That is to say, that when I woke I had a horribly sore throat, but not because of beasties that have taken advantage of my rainy, late night, existential commune with peace and sanity. No. It was because I'd fallen asleep in this absurd position, sort of hanging over the the edge of my pillow, on my back. Essentially, with my head cocked back. Remember those CPR classes we all had to take in highschool, where you tipped the creepy latex mannequin's head back to open the passageway? That position.

And the dream about the lawnmower voice and my sore throat? S-N-O-R-I-N-G. Full tilt, open mouthed, you only see this in movies and church, head back, lusty gusto snoring.

Can't beat that, my friends. No way, no how.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Same as it ever was... #2

So, my mom sent me a joke earlier this week involving a horse, a chicken and a Harley and a punchline (sorry, you can email me if you actually want the joke) about how one doesn't need a Harley when they're hung like a horse.

It was somewhat clever and I got a snicker out of it and told her as much.

This is her reply:

Many people I hesitate sending such things. However, (not but!) for a four year old that is over heard saying: "A duck for a fuck, a fuck for a duck and $25.00 for a fucked up duck..."
well, I guess it's OK.
Can you imagine how surprised I was to overhear you saying that to yourself?



[But, holy crap, even though I can't remember the rest of the joke, that punchline still makes me laugh.]

My circus train pulls through the night

Full of lions and trapeze artists
I'm done with elephants and clowns
I want to
Run away and join the office
-American Car, Mike Doughty

When it rains, it pours. Or hails and gusts and thunders, as the case may be. The outer tempest an angsty reflection of inner turmoil, frustration and pain.

Sometimes, however, you find yourself standing on a deserted downtown corner at 1:15 am in the driving rain of a warm spring storm; last train missed, busses nowhere, not a cab in sight. Too wet to bother trying to keep dry, watching the sheets of rain undulate and swirl down the street, then through the intersection, an odd tranquility, a quiet ease sort of slides up and settles around you. Though soaked - rain dripping off of your nose and chin, running down your back, filling your boots - it occurs to you not that everything will be ok, but that everything is really just fine.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

"If you need me,

I can always be found..."
(qt vid) via

Vivid dreams

Yesterday, I found out that a fellow poster on MeCha is a sleep researcher/psychologist and I offered to write down and email some of my current dreams to him. So last night, or rather in the wee hours of the morning, when I awoke to briefly reassure myself that I hadn't slipped into some alternate universe involving independent wealth and life on a sub tropical island with a personal sushi chef, I groggily described the dream I'd been having:

work, table staird nokkks expooding swick T DON'T CRAZY PEOPE


Seems par for the course, no? When I'm not filling in spaces with soap as I drift of to sleep, I'm yelling about 'crazy peope' and running in my dreams.

[But the best part of those notes is I can remember exactly what happen. Heh. Who's crazy now?]

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Hello, cruel world, I love you

I found my laugh again today.

In a moment of sorting through the Whisky Tango Foxtrot of the past several days that have spanned from the personal to the professional to fire hydrants issuing me stern lectures in my sleep, I felt it start to tickle in my stomach and rise up to slow chuckle and then a real honest to goodness laugh. Not the "ahaha, you made a funny" laugh, but a lean back and let it roll response to the absolute absurdity of everything. The kind of laugh that leaves you with an easy contented grin and a sigh of quiet satisfaction. One that, quite frankly, I've missed for the last few weeks.

There's no denying that none of us are getting out of this thing alive, but I can guarantee you this: some of us will go down laughing.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Radio silence


I've been going over last will and testament details with my mother for much of the week. DNR's, Final Directives, etc. A wise and necessary activity, but one full of so much sadness and grief. I'm not much of an escapist but sometimes you just want to turn it off for a while, you know? And this is rife with many old wounds: she has been suicidal my entire life, filled with so much despair. A sometimes constant cycle of deep black periods followed by the usual laundry list of methods/attempts.

Work has been blessedly busy (though last Saturday, I was so tired, I overlsept and MUNI ran late and I was late to work by 15 minutes even after jumping off and taking a cab...grrrr.) but even the brief respite has a backlash as I start feeling light and forget to ignore the big elephant in the room or something happens to trigger a memory and I'm momentarily blindsided.

She ruefully signed off her last letter with the observation that life is a 'series of hellos and goodbyes' I wanted to yell at her, asking, "But how many times should you have to say goodbye to the same damned person?" It's not like it gets to be old hat or something. As breezy as I am, it doesn't hurt any less, it still cuts to my core. Every. Fucking. Time. But you just don't say that kind of stuff to someone whose soul has been tormented by demons and pain you can never fathom, never want to fathom, though you see it writ in every tired line on their face and resignated shift of their prematurely aged body. You just don't.

You don't remind them of the 'false alarms' of terminal diseases before, where they led you on for weeks, sometimes months. You don't out of compassion and out of the knowledge that every breath is one closer to the brutal and incomprehensible fact that someday that end will be very real. Most of all, you don't say this to someone who is now too tired and broken to even fight for death as life has now, finally, succeeded in teaching them to wait. Day after pain filled day and one day that breath will be the last. And religious and philosophical speculation aside, there are no do overs. One day the proverbial wolf will be there and Peter will die.

This is inevitability in its purest form.

I wrote this several years ago; it's funny how some things just don't change:

The Anatomy of Grief

Consider now the anatomy of grief.
The heartbeat dead stop
swell to burst and
buck in the chest.
Breathe deep to alleviate this
but only succeed in the
Stomach working a syncopated rhythm with the lungs.
Feel the body shudder and shake
no that's not what I meant
that's not what I need
Reaching for something, anything,
to refute this.
Hands shaking
dropping items once so easily held.
The sound of breaking glass
is beautiful.
Knees buckling beneath the weight of a
reality that comes crashing down around me.

Could I turn this gaping wound in my soul
into a suckling mouth that would
draw forth life and strength from the universe?
Shoot oblivion like heroin
into the heart of this pain.
Could I, for one blessed minute,
reconstruct a time and a place
where all ends were tied
and everything made sense again?
Could I, for just one moment,
bridge the distance between
pleasure and pain
past and present
sanity and mayhem?
Pretending that you were still only
a phone call away,
to immerse myself in the passionate love
beneath all of your bitter words.
Hold you close to me just once more.
Flesh of my flesh
blood of my blood,
knowing my own past and present in your breath.
But the only thing I can do
and keep repeating I love you
I love you
as I pray this love will see me through.
And hold this love so tightly
as once I held you.