Saturday, December 27, 2008
The day still too short has already succumbed to darkness. I’m working ridiculous this week and find my days are ending before they even begin as there is no time between shifts to do anything except sleep. To be fair, I had the stomach virus last week between coming back from another trip to New York City into a long work week and I’m still recuperating. My energy low is slowly beginning to rise again.
Yeah, about the stomach flu. Um, I am now officially one of those people who will be remembered for making a flight rather uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure of it. The virus began to take hold of me during the decent of the plane to the Cincinnati Air Port. I was returning home after a week in NYC with the g/f and had a stop in Ohio before taking the flight to Michigan. I was buckled in, turbulence was high, and I had to use one of those puke bags to vomit up my guts. A horrifying experience for me, all I could do was listen to the grape vine growing down the aisle. “Someone’s puking.” “Oh g-d, who?” “Couldn’t she have waited till we landed, how rude.” A horrifying experience for everyone else too, I suppose. I even made another woman puke.
During the flight, as my head began to spin, my stomach ache, I spent my time listening to this wanna be actress behind me provide her autobiography to the man next to her. Apparently he had something to do with the film industry and since serendipity sat her next to him, she used the open invite to NOT STOP talking about her self. Everything from her mouth was I statements, “I did”, “I saw”, “I am” until I began puking in which her commentary turned to “I knew a guy once who got sick…”
I wanted to puke on her.
The stewardess was pleasant, though annoyed. After the onset of vomit, she gave me more puke bags, better versions of the ones in the chair pocket. She did have to take one from my new stash to give to the other lady I made puke. It made the women sitting next to me chuckle. I have to say, the woman who was forced to sit next to me was kind. I spent my time facing the window, too embarrassed to turn around, but when I did I was greeted with the kindest smile from her. She didn’t have to have such a warm smile, I mean she was sitting next to me and let’s face it, puke is disgusting, but she did. She smiled and told me it was going to be all right. “These things happen.” Thank you lady sitting next to me.
My connection flight was canceled and I managed to get the airline to give me a free hotel. Thank goodness. I spent the remainder of my day into the next throwing up, and well…you don’t want to know. All I could do was lie in the bed and feel absolutely grateful that I had a bed so far away from my home to rest in. My love also got sick. I spent my brief moments of consciousness texting her, she me. Checking in, we worried about the other. I had wished we could have been sick together.
Ah, but a week later, I am very glad that time has cushioned the experience. It seems so long ago and I am glad for it. Everyone at work has been getting the stomach flu too. We all share our experiences of how awful it was to be sick. We compare the disgust coming out orifices and who we infected. Apparently this virus has a humbling affect on most of my coworkers as incontinence of stomach contents seems to be the surprising theme. I am not the only one who suddenly found her self tossing her nutrients with no warning. I can’t change the fact that I vomited high in the sky with about 30 other people crammed into a small space. Though I can only imagine how others will carry the experience of “that gyrl who puked” I have to admit, I do appreciate the fact that mine is one of the more interesting retelling of the stomach virus of ’08.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Hmm. I want to change this site from GoGo's Stranded Deviation to GoGoRoku's, just so I can say its 6pm's Stranded Deviation. I like the sound of that.
Of course, technically, 6pm in Japanese would be gogo roku-ji.
I also realized I apparently never really learned how to tell time in Japanese.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Except I am not alone. I’m seeing someone. And this isn’t the first winter season I have been in this predicament either. I mean, in holiday seasons past, I have also been with someone. Hmm. What gets me is, if I am with someone or not, I still feel alone. I could say because in the relationships of the past it was VERY clear it wasn’t gonna last….much longer…really I was holding out for the holiday presents, and impermanence meant I was going to once again be alone. And then I had many winter holidays where I was alone. Me with me and there I was alone, with me, feeling lonely, convinced the holidays embodied just how sucky I was.
Of course, being the true GoGo I am, I had to do all this work on facing my loneliness. I want to face the fear of being alone for two reasons. First, so no matter if I was with someone or not, I could know I was okay. Second, I wanted to avoid sticking around in ANY relationship in response to the fear of being alone.
But each year the holiday seasons insisted that I feel alone and miserable.
This year…this year I am pretty sure I am not alone. Yep, I see no end date on this one. That’s totally new and rather…new. It’s weird really.
Anyway, I find the winter holiday blues creeping in anyway. I am surprised that what I thought would remedy the situation hasn’t. I still want to crawl into a hole and die! The good news is this year I could argue I have very valid reasons for feeling so blue. Jobs, finances, economy, and the family disowned me AGAIN. In fact, I dare say I am glad I have actual life stressors ripping up my mood. I’m already feeling crappy, so might as well have actual sh!t go down to reflect the mood.
Is that a twisted way of looking at things?
Even with my wry logic though, those blues are creeping in heavy and thick. I find myself sleeping more. Motivation decreases and I am left wanting to sit all the time. Tiny thoughts slither about the brain saying things like “I might very well be a looser” and “You really should hate yourself you overrated ass.” And did I mention the mood? It’s blue and worn and I could so go for crawling into a hole and dying. Each day my focus becomes increasinly limited to the sheer motivation to get up and participate in life. :(. Not good.
Oh, don’t stress too much for me. I suspect seasonal mood something or other and my hippocampus probably is in a rut and needs one more season to get it through its thick brain matter that we don’t have to be depressed in winter. This means another season of reassurance I will be okay and that feelings are impermanent. I follow a simple montra for fighting depression, "Get up, move around, and just try and do the basics to living."
And in some ways I am grateful that here I am feeling sh!tty even though I have what I thought would fix the crap-a-de-crap-crap feeling I am currently experiencing. Why? Because this means that alone/loneliness feeling isn’t fixed from the outside. It really does stem from an internal makeover. I like that idea. I can do something with that. There’s less pressure. :)
Now excuse me, I have a hole to visit.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
So, here I am at my local coffee shop, scribbling a quick note. I love this place. Its been a few moments since I've connected words and a page. But something tells me its brewing again. I read my friend Jim's page about Proposal 8, and I feel a rhythm in my head starting to beat regarding the matter. It's always hard for me to really put out there the experience of being gay. Overall, its pretty well recepted and to be honest, I rarely grudge a person for not understanding as I have had times of ignorance. I just want to treat others as I hope they would treat me. So, the moment someone is an ASS HOLE regarding my gayness, it usually turns into an attempt to educate and understand. With that said, I think its time for me to write my experience within the mainstreams of living regarding my queerhood.
I'm your mediocre lesbian. I try and live within the middle class american melodrama, and yet, I have had some crazy sh!t happen to me. I have been in the bowels of Alabama listening to a man discuss the atrocity of "negros and faggots" while polishing his gun, been at bars where men have informed me all I needed was a nice fuck by a dick, and even been asked to be the spokes person for my queer culture answering questions about whether the L-Word is authentically lesbian culture. That one makes me smile b/c my answer is always "Does Melrose place reflect your social spheres."
Oh sh!t, my ride just called me. She's on her way and this babble on the page must be done now.
How about now.
K now. :)
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Anywho, I digress, I’m feeling frustrated heading home on the bus after job searches in the st@te I like to call the crapper of our economy, my head is swirling with doubts that pulse at my temples. I just want to get home and have decided fuck the bad back (I wrenched my back over a week ago) and the bad knee (see bike accident entry), I need to run. It’s either running or a g-d damn drink! That’s how bad I’m feeling. I figure drinking may not be the best answer to my stress since I have also seen first hand in my family and friends what can happen if you drink your sorrows away, so it’s running.
No sooner do I decide on this conviction when I see this gyrl running up the street, a few blocks away from the next bus stop. She’s fast. Real fast. Her legs stretch to their max as her body seems to float slightly above the ground. Still, it’s obvious that her speed isn’t fast enough to keep up with the bus and there is no way she is going to make it on time.
We, that is the bus, easily passes her, but she has my attention. I want to be doing exactly what she is doing. Running. Except, maybe not in a futile attempt to catch a bus. I was thinking on river trail for myself. I watch her trail behind in the fumes of the bus, until we get far enough ahead that I can no longer see her. We get to the bus stop and like I predicted, she is still a block or so away. My internal dialogue snarls a bitter “I told you so” to myself, as if I wasn’t in agreement with myself anyway, and I am resigned to the bus closing its doors and moving on.
Except it doesn’t. It doesn’t move at all! In fact, the bus driver waits. Apparently he saw her too and has decided to wait for her. I cannot even express the sheer delight in this unexpected act of kindness having seen a number of runners attempt to catch a bus with no avail, only to be left to eat the fumes of this city’s public transportation as it nonchalantly drives away.
My mood suddenly changes from a frustrated cantankerous b!tch who would give anything to give our current Lame (Ass) duck President the middle finger to sheer joy. I want to shout out to my fellow commuters, “He’s waiting! By g-d, the bastards waiting!” But I don’t ‘cause I know that just weird.
But you know what, it gets even better! See, as our runner steps onto the bus she realizes that in her furry to catch the bus, she has lost her wallet. She briefly fumbles through all her pockets and looks at the bus driver and says, “I lost it!” and then she turns around without response and gets off.
It gets even better though. The bus driver, he waits. Yes. Again, he waits. Our runner heads out, running once again backtracking all those steps she took and the bastard just waits. My fellow commuters get anxious and this overwhelming sense of confusion overtakes everyone. This gyrl sitting next to me is so confused she can’t help but turn her head left to right in this broken record repetitive sort of way. Left, Right, and then left again. She seems to be looking for someone to tell her why the bus isn’t moving.
I’m completely ecstatic by the whole process. The foul funk of frustration that turned my mind into a Redneck’s wet dream of cuss words has dissipated and I feel like a child who still believes in the big red, Santa Claus. Well, a bratty little kid who still believes in Old Saint Nick because I couldn’t bring myself to tell the gyrl next to me what was happening. I just let her turn her head over and over again while a grin curled at the edges of my mouth.
About 3 minutes later, our runner returns, wallet in hand as she puts her money into the kiosk and takes her transfer. The gyrl next to me stops her head bobbing madness into a blank stare once again as the bus begins to move. The world seems to settle back into the normal routine of bus commuting. Me, I’m no longer frustrated. Sure, I still have to wait and see if I get call backs for potential jobs and will probably get frustrated tomorrow when I do the job search again. The economy is still a sh!t pan of despair and Joe and John Money will probably not be our resolution for the coming depression. With that said, I finish my own commute feeling like I just put a drop of delight into my bucket of life and even though EVERYTHING is uncertain for me, its enough for me to know I will be okay. ‘Cause you know what, sometimes life surprises you, and I guess that’s enough for me.
I’m sitting at a computer cubicle at the University. I’ve been here for over 3 hours, working on the resume and searching for jobs. I live in the economic sh!thole of the U.S. Though there are jobs here, too many people are bidding for them, and to top it off the jobs I want have been frozen for over a year due to st@te budget problems. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m ready to throw in the towel, except that gets me know where.
I’ve emailed my resume to 5 organizations. And you know what, I already got one response. “Sorry this position has already been filled.” Not a good start. Less then 45 minutes to get my first rejection. I have decided to not look at my email anymore today. Instead I will watch this video over and over again.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
I went to NYC this last week and the knee did just fine for being all broken and wounded. Unfathomable number of stairs climbed and descended, subway connections to get to, and parts of the city to explore, I was glad my lady friend was there to ice the knee at the end of the night. She was the reason for me to go to New York City. Well, okay she was the excuse for me to go to the city. Chuckle. I plan to post some pics from the experience and a few lines. No, seriously, I will.
For now, I am still catching up on my life back in town. I am notoriously a work-a-holic, which means I came back to a pile bigger then a heap of elephant’s excrements. There is the Groundbreaking for the new Meeting House for this Quaker group I hang with next week. I need to finalize a program for the event. Then there are a few follow-up calls and research projects I took on for a Social Activist Space I am a member of. Oh, and work. Must actually get paid to do something.
I will post soon though. I will… :)
Saturday, October 4, 2008
I’ve gotten use to the hobble of leg and knee murmuring the mantra “left leg up, right leg down” while getting on and off the bus because if I screw it up, I hurt. I hurt with the kind of pain that stings the eye when it flushes over the body.
I’ve been waiting to post, hoping my funny bone will….well find a way to make this sh!t funny, like when I accidentally rubbed Icey Hot on my woo. Alas, the only chuckle I’ve found in all of this is from friends who break out in laughter as they tell me I should get a Tricycle.
Or training wheels. Or this coworker/friend of mine who thought it would be funny to have me sign my own special “No Harm Contract” where I would agree to no longer ride a bike.
Actually, that was pretty hilarious.
For 2.5 seconds I actually thought of signing it though. Seriously. I mean, the number of bike accidents keeps increasing and I have to say so are the severity of the wounds. Ain’t that a helluvah foreshadow to stop all pedaling activities that will lead to my death or what?
In the end, I did not sign that contract. Nope. Even though I hurt all the time, my palms are burning sore with crusty scabs, and my right knee cap screams “WTF did you do to me, woman?” every time I bend it, I am not going to stop riding a bike.
Cause I am an idiot. Yeah, no. I am not going to even try and rationalize the decision to keep riding.
I am aware that I am an idiot.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
I sit on my porch, a Saturday early evening on the Eastside. The rains murmur a hazy sprinkle against the awning over me. I look up, holes pierce the vinyl like starlight in the night; I watch the constellation of holes increase. Still here I sit, hugging the receding dry spot of wooden porch shortly after the storm that passed. The earth is soaked with this harvest of rains today; the pungent vapors escape the plants drinking their feast.
and thenI finally yield to the rainy day. I grab my coffee cup that has begun to catch the drops from the constellation above. I head inside.
~Journal Entry, current book~
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
I find myself staring at the sky like a backdrop of fabric that is slowly turning from black to hew of pink and blue light. I am eager for the heat of the day to begin. I am eager to be done with the job too, which doesn’t end until 5pm as I have the freelance gig to walk into once this shift is done. I put hands to back, twisting my shoulders to crack their stiffness. I wish I could pull the sky down around me and wrap myself in it, imaging the ozone to be mole hair soft curled around my shoulders. I chuckle at these awakened fantasies of the mind. I think I need some sleep.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Strike out the ones you didn't like.
1 Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (Took a class, required)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (Desperately forced myself to read)
25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding (wtf?)
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White (First novel I read on my own – 5 years old ). 88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
I guess I'm doing good since I've read over 50% of the books. Whatevs, i heart reading. Most of these books were either childhood reads or forced reading in High School.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
It’s the smoke break. A puffed cigarette stains the air. Fireflies dance in the rings of smoke while Cicadas rattle the smoldering heat from this sweltering day. I ask the sunset my question as though those final shades of yellow bleeding from the sky will answer back. What is next?
What is next? Punch out and head home. Take off my shoes, my clothes, and shower away the layers from the long work day. I’ll fade into sleep; dreams become my sanctuary until the alarm clock pokes the mind awake. I push out my breath and the thick thought of routine, telling myself that is not my question.
What is next? Make a list of what I want from life; mark the edges with vines and flowers, wrapping my goals in chicken scratch sketches of hearts and hope. I’ll stop pushing this restlessness into tomorrow. I’ll take out my compass and pick a road, letting my list become guideposts for the next journey forward.
I chuckle at the burning embers floating between my fingers; here I go again pretending to be brave against the backdrop of departing light. The night sky takes residence, while introspection twirls in the final exhale of smoke. I snub out both and begin my pace back into the job.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
My fave Orper and writer I know. I was impressed with his character the moment I met him and have not been disappointed. I like reading his blog weekly for inspiration.
I met him at the after party for a spoken word artist we brought in under serendipitous circumstances. He works in lighting at Calvin Theatre and I was almost there once.
Spoken Word artist who opened for the fundraising house party for the community space. Kept everyone engaged the entire night. This artist is someone to check out live. He is rising.
We were students together in grad school and now we are coworkers. Nicest guy. Even me, the homo in his life, has a crush on his frickin adorable personality. Great character.
Bff in Jr high School. One of the most significant friendships in my life and yeah, we still keep in touch. She knew in 6th grade I wasn’t staying our hometown.
Blond curly sunshine hair, my first hair stylist who I trusted to work on my hair. She is an excellent song writer, she left her own stylist shop to pursue music.
Spoken Word artist who came to perform at the community space I volunteer with. Excellent poet, humorous, and insightful. I appreciate his work and wouldn’t hesitate to bring him back again.
i am a participant of x365.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Happy Pride! This made me so bust out. Remembering when I came out to my folks. They were wonderful in that they told me "no matter what, we love you." They drove me nuts in that my mother then replied, "But do you have to look gay, I mean, hun, you could be so pretty."
I came out after hours of my mother baggering me about shaving my head. Gay okay, bald head, apparently a heart attack waiting to happen.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Man, II. A quiet fellow, behind me typing away. Hockey player and guitar hero, he’s the weekend counterpart for the job. We always bust out when he finally speaks up.
113/365 Dr. Shaun
Who won’t let me forget he’s a doctor. Renegade psychologist, he strides in with his tongue loaded for chats. I can count on worthy advice and empathy for the wayward soul.
Fave nurse. We share our lives in 15 minute increments. There are few souls I know I have encountered in a past life that gives us such intimacy in this one.
115/365 Dan, The Man, I.
Blurry remembrance, stuck to the arteries, a clogged mess of time. They toasted his side gig in college; the one that leathered his face, robbed him of his hair and mind.
Vecino. A quiet sort, the last of the original crew that resided in my apartment complex, except for me. Always close to finishing that dissertation, he decided to move somewhere else.
Another neighbor friend, she makes me laugh. Reminds me to pace myself to my own experiences rather then social expectations, as she reminds herself. I am glad she moved next door.
A few doors down, she’s the fem in my life who appreciates a good bike ride to Golden Harvest and conversations over wine. I am totes sad that she moving away.
Friday, June 20, 2008
My anger, a resident of this helpless feeling, isn’t ready to count my blessings, isn’t ready to look at the brighter side of this current dilemma. There are things I need to do, places I need to be…like work, and I don’t have time for another problem layered on top of problems cracking my patience these days. I kiss my fingers and touch the tattoo above my heart, a celtic circle representing the maden, mother and crone; promising my anger’s frustration that soon we can release. A bike ride later in the evening once I can get to my own time, but until then I go inside, grab some change, the IPod, and walk to the bus stop. Its one transfer and at least 45 minutes on the bus back to work where the work car resides and I’ll need music to loosen my heart rate to something manageable for the time being. Another late night working.
I imagine the quicken pace of riding the bike, letting anger pump the muscles, snuffing out this piercing alarm going off in my head with sweat. I hope to exhaust this overwhelming sense of drowning with movement. Ah, but I am not there yet. Not even close. Other’s crisis on the task list, homeless individuals to attend to – the irony is I am traveling on the bus to focus on another crisis, while my own sits unmovable in front of my home. Whatevs, I cackle a grizzled laugh in my mind, I can deal with anything.
I figure my neighbors will help me move the car to the back, off the streets where the police ticket the stranded vehicles. I figure with the next paycheck I can get the ignition fixed, knowing a side street mechanic who might take pity. I figure that I have the bus, bike, and a work vehicle to get me through the next week. I figure I can get through this as I count the blessings laid out before me to help me get through. I add to the list empathy & compassion, as my experience offers me the grace to understand how difficult life can get with the simplest of problems – no transportation – for the clients I work with.
Anger doesn’t want clarity, doesn’t want to count those damn blessings, so I hold my frustration and tell myself I prefer to count opportunity and not problems as my guide forward, promising once again, anger will have its place on the bike, pushing as hard as it wants to.
I text my lover, tell her my woos, I add this opportunity to the list. She text me back thoughts of me lingering between cell phones. Modern day communication, another blessing, another resource.
I am completely aware of myself. 31 years has taught me a happy life doesn’t reside in what we have – those materials purchased – or among placid days where no problems lie, but with the ability to feel competent when sh!t hits the fan.
Sigh. Still a new car would be nice or at least the chance to occlude this bleeder car of mine. Phht. Until then, at least I have my blessings.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
even if my queen is taken.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
I have a guest coming into town this weekend. This meant spending time cleaning the home which turned into a home improvement project nightmare complete with box springs taking up my walk way in the sun room as I write this. I keep getting one thing done only to then need to do two more things. Whatevs.
The good news of the week is I have my car back. This allows me to go to Detroit tomorrow and pick up said guest, take her to this great Lake this State happens to have and take her back to Detroit when the weekends done. Woot! Am thanking the universe. Thank you. With said car back I might just have more energy to put into writing.
Then there is the job, which always seems to be in flux. I have one half of a settled job and another half that looks like a constant adjustment to schedules and tasks. Yeah, I know vague. It’s the price of being a Jedi…I mean social worker in a confidential settings. I just can’t tell you what I am doing in any kind of detail. Again, whatevs. All I know is, I had to pat myself on the back to be able to thrive in such a flexi state of living. Still I wish I had more certainty in this area. What I am certain is, I have work. I am not about to be laid off and no plans for it in the near future. Woot! That’s more then I can say for most folks in this State. I am lucky in a time of economic uncertainty.
Heck, I picked up another farming gig in July already to make sure I have cash coming in (just in case). I’m not a farmer; I just play a farmer’s hand apparently when I need the money. I always wanted to put farmer’s hand on my list of things I’ve done, so I guess I can check that off. I think I am going to put millionaire on said list…maybe just maybe I might find myself scoring a notch for that one too.
Yep, someday I may post again. My goal really is simply to get a handle on the X365 so I can say I have followed thru.
Till next time,
Friday, May 16, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
The downs of my life right now:
my car that is broke
paying for said broke car
still no second part-time job
my fatigue is back in full force
the Iraq War still commences while we get money back from the government
My Ups of my life right now:
I ride my bike everywhere!
The tax return that paid for said broke car
Primary part time job has given me 40 hours worth of work for the next month
My fatigue might have something to do with late nights conversations on the phone
I'm almost done with this blanket I have been knitting for 5 years!
That’s life right there. A blend of complicated experiences, I remember when I couldn’t feel the good stuff mixed in with the rough stuff. Not anymore. Somewhere I got the idea that if my life expectancy was half of what it could be; maybe I should embrace the ride. It’s just easier.
I seem to be an ever busy gyrl. By day I’m working on this homeless shelter project assisting mentally distressed individuals obtain and maintain housing, plus the clinical stuff I do at the crisis unit. By night, I seem to have something to do whether its coffee with friends, reading at open mics, or volunteering at this community center that embraces social change through activism. In fact, I finally booked a band to play a house party fundraiser the center will be having at the end of the month.
Then this weekend I finally had this yard sale I’d been blabbing about forever. Purged so much crap I feel lighter just by the experience. I learned through the process that I carry sentiment in everything! Pack of matches, a damn stuffed duck…none of it goes without the weighted nostalgia of experience. This makes it hard to sever the relationship between this self and the crap. I did though! Yep. Very proud. Made $80 bucks too. Cash vs. dusty stuffed animal? Holla cold hard cash, bye duck!
Um, what else. In a few moments I plan to go grocery shopping. I’m out of sweet potatoes, my new staple in my diet apparently. Ya’ll I don’t know what it is about me, but it’s like I have a favorite vegetable of the month that I can’t get enough of. This month it’s sweet potatoes. Last month it was zucchini. I know…weird sh!t.
That’s about it for me. I’m going to try and post the x365 each day this week until I catch up.
Motorcycle Momma. We sweated through the social work program together, into too many late nights. Its ‘cause of her randomly cops will blare their sirens, so she can get my attention.
Prof with tudinal flare. She taught me the basics in social work theory, plus some side trips into how we treat our aging in America. One of my faves. Merci, professeur
Another fave entrepreneur I know on the block. She’s the only raw foods restaurant around. Discovered Rumi on her bookshelves. I believe Emma Goldman would have felt home in her space.
Last time I saw him he was grilling for the Worker’s March, watching the young coordinators run around directionless and discombobulated. He gave patience and support, and wisdom with good timing.
Another social work program friend, we’d joke about everything inappropriate, me the outspoken rebel and she the milf. She came to the gay bars with us and her daughters painted this.
This year I am coming to K>>>>>Fest! She happens to speak the same language with the universe as I am at any given time. One of the funniest gyrls I know.
Owns the bookstore on the block. Kind smile and nice space. I use to go to the Quaker worship in the backroom of his store. Anti-war, like most store owners here.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
this has been a public service announcement. please stay tuned...
oh, check this out too.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Server at this tiny diner - GH. She made a point to know everyone’s name. So comfortable with her, we could serve our own coffee while we waiting for a table.
Policy Professor who worked us hard. Began the class hating policy, determined to learn it, she made policy worth the education. We classmates had to cram daily just to keep up.
i am a participant of x365.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Scary sh!t. I'd be considered a subversive because I believe lowering the flag half mass while our soldiers are dying is something we should be doing. Its as simple as that, folks. Radical Thought created our country and here we are afraid of it!
Check out the article.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Loved playing He-man with you, ‘cause you had all the figurines. You told the best jokes and you let me wrestle with you. Total Fun playing Ruler of the balance beam.
102/365 Robert’s Mom
Still remember you coming into our 2nd grade class and singing Puff the Magic Dragon while strumming your guitar. You looked like “Mrs. Keaton” to me and acted like her too.
i am a participant of x365.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
A cackled laugh echoing in the hallway, her shoe slipped off while running. Her friend dared her to run after, chasing dreams hung in sunbeams outside these office walls. She conceded racing for the doors until the shoe went furling into the air, bouncing off the marble walls like a cue ball ricocheting off the edges of a pool table; she hits the corner pocket – that gapping mouth of the garbage can.
Bus Stop Suicide
Overheard conversations aren’t always fun as she sits next to me expressing pain so deep she actually threatens to cut herself to the anonymous someone on the other side. If that someone left, she’d be so lost she might kill herself. My mind winces, swallowing back anger for letting her chaotic sh!t spew out beside me. I just wanted to skip out on my professional duties and become Ann Landers on her a$$, telling her that not loving yourself isn’t the best selling point to get others to love her.
The early morning air is crisp with the smell of Hyacinth’s somewhere growing. Nostalgia hits me like waves of nausea, my noise fills with the scent of you. Remembering sunsets flushing the sky beautiful while we planned our futures, separate but always together. Youth’s love is always the hardest as I turn the corner of time long since grown into someone else and here I am struck sick by the thought of you.
Bus Stop Lovers
He takes his hand and puts it on her back rubbing the bump where her wings could have grown. He whispers sweet somethings into her ear and she smiles back. Two foreheads tilt together as they wrap themselves into each other. I imagine they are lovers who decided to keep going.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Elementary School Maintenance guy, you would make me smile. Kindness permeated everything you did. I respected who you were in our community. Taught me a good soul must be strived for.
99/365 Charles (5th Grade Teacher)
You’d yell “Hooooooo” to call us in from recess. My one quirk, you constantly compared me to your son because we were both tall. Predicted I’d marry Ray T. Didn’t happen.
100/365 Bike Man (every neighborhood should have one)
Had his own bike shop in his garage in my hometown neighborhood, layers of old bike parts. We’d take our bikes there to get fixed. Every Saturday he’d have bike sales.
i am a participant of x365
Friday, April 11, 2008
I found this awesome photography randomly one day. Canlidostlar makes my mouth water. Located in Turkey I believe, I have no clue what this artist is saying, since I don’t speak…Turkish?, but who needs words when you have such beautiful photos. I know I’ve seen a particular one in a magazine somewhere. I cannot say enough about this page!!!!!!!
Cubed Coffee? What.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Came with us for beers. Funny. He sifted out information through casual conversation, we surfed age, career, and stability between the lines. Yeah, kudos to me that I past the cut.
Dig this merch. Met her at festival, never thinking she’d take over the music company gig after I was gone. Now, we dish about the scene and which shows to see.
Another philosophical lover living life. Story –“I can’t give you back the sign.” Listened to your jazz segment on Mondays, you’d play Nina Simon for me. We still need to play chess, buddy.
He has a love affair with music really. Finding new bands worth the listen, I check in just to see what he’s found. Nicest guy too, good taste. Can’t sing though. :)
i am a participant of x365
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Below is a sketch, inspired by Melissa Ferrick's new song John's Field:
Life layered, she’s the most complicated thing I know. Life. A perpetual cycle of happiness, sadness, joy and pain. Life, she brings suffering and balance. Life, she brings love and loss. Life, she knows how to keep it interesting at the very moment the interest might get lost.
I could say that life is high maintenance. ‘Cause she is you know. She asks me to spend my time working to live and she asks me to live between the working. She throws grief at my feet while I walk this path simultaneously perfuming the air with love. So h.m.!
Ah, but I’m getting how to deal with her. Let her be complicated while I take in the simplicity in it all. Its basic really – just love her, as is. Do not change life. Do not critic her, but accept the beauty of her, even when we travel through the muddy mess of these layers called living.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Now I am staring at the staleness of these cubicle walls, wondering why bureaucratic offices use the blandest colors of them all. I’m trying to hold the peace of mind, I was holding onto last week – that life is a kick ass journey and it’s okay to make mistakes. Though I don’t believe I made any, I do believe in time, the chances that this GoGo takes will push me away from fine.
Someone once told me that every story must be told, we are brilliant novels that will naturally unfold. Now me, I’m just trying not to rush through the pages, skipping chapters because I can, it’s not the best story if I only want to skim ahead. But I want to skip ahead.
I want to read the chapters where the heroin has her epiphanies, and yeah, when she’s certain it is love. Where all answers given feel like blessing from above. Ah but someday I will stop this need to quicken my pace, trying to race beyond all those mistakes before they’ve even begun. Yeah, I’ll be the type a gyrl who won’t give risk a big ass shove, and let all things happen “for the just because…”
And I’m really writing babble in couplets for the fun. Inspired by Adam Ezra and his Greg Brown song. ‘Cause what else is this GoGo gonna do, but make up her own verses in chapter 31.
Shuffling old man, too brittle to carry your own tray, I walked you to your seats. There to reconcile with son, you died in his arms, while I tried to resuscitate.
Totally the coolest person I knew in 2nd grade. So in love with Prince, a photo in your desk, you showed me often. Totally loved hand clapping, round robin with 4.
The weird softball year, I was too young to play on the team with my friends, so I joined your team. I remember little, only your sweet smile, encouragement and patience.
i am a participant of x365.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Upside. I got to see Melissa Ferrick play a house concert yesterday. Tell me I'm not a lucky bastard... :).
Go ahead, tell me.
And I'm going to Feist this week!
Heavy sigh. I have such a hard life.
Friday, April 4, 2008
There is that striking of heals again. Somewhere someone is walking. I can tell by the beat the shoes are high heels, probably stiletto width. It doesn’t sound like running, but a quick pace. Is this high heel wearer okay? I see no danger around me and my car. I came to the spot to rest, to sleep before I head out again. Seems safe. I still don’t see the owner, though the sound ricochets off the cars around me, towards me. Am I hearing heels? What else sounds like stilettos kicking it with the cement?
And there she is – a late night wonderer, coming across my path, high heel stiletto boots none-the-less. She sees me and her clacking turns into a shuffle – from toe to heal to heal to toe. The staccato pace gone. She passes, eyes weary of this gyrl sitting in her car – writing, and then as soon as she passes my view, her pace quickens and she is off again beating the pavement one pointed stiletto beat at a time.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
I want to write about finding my way back to South Street in Philadelphia. The last time I was in Phillie, I was 19 or 20 years old. I was with her and came into town to see Bob Dylan and Patti Smith at the Electric Factory. We went to South Street to shop. I had time after leaving NEW JERSEY before my New York shows to go back and remember. Finding a random stranger to travel through the stores was an extra bonus.
I want to write about taking photos and turning them into postcards. It cost me less then $4 to do so (not counting the digital camera I own and memory card). I want to write about giving one in particular away to someone with my name and number, something I don’t do lightly these days, with the hope that she’d contact me, and then driving through the night afterwards wondering if she would. Hoping is the word.
I want to write about the last show I did where I locked my keys in my car. About how by that point in the evening all I could think about was getting home into my own bed. About hoping on my return I would have a new job waiting for me and then the bittersweet day I had upon my return because I did not get the job, but she did contact me all in the same day. What did I last write? I trust that the universe will give me what I need, perhaps not always what I want. Well, this time around everything is turned around and discombobulated because I didn’t get the job, but…
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
House manager with the best smile. We awkwardly talk over each other, repeating it’s nice to meet you. We went out for beer complaining about New Jersey. I hope you call.
Hotel Clerk who comp’d my room ‘cause there was a riot in my hotel. Hilariously funny, she actually made fun of my Michigan accent, which apparently sounds snobby. Very funny woman.
85/365 New Jersey
What up people. I’ve traveled all over the U.S., getting lost rarely and then I hit your State. Suddenly I can’t make it 10 minutes without loosing my way. It sucked!
Music Hall Employee from West Reading, PA. Waited with me for the tow truck to unlock my car ‘cause I locked my keys in. Your kindness kept me from feeling alone.
87/365 Dude in Reading, PA
Asked for directions, but you didn’t speak English so I asked in Spanish. You laughed, gave me directions in English and then asked me out. I said I didn’t speak hetero.
SHIR manager. Her kindness permeates from her like perfume. She always makes sure I have a set list and am fed. She got the group to autograph a program for Max.
Solicited his Mom to help sell at the show. He took 5 minutes and had the rap down, efficient, and right there working hard. Went above and beyond for a kid.
90/365 Kate (Philadelphia, PA)
Yellow rays of thought, like sunshine, you saw me walking down South Street and decided to see what I was up too. Thanks for playing with me in Phillie. Very fun.
i am a participant of x365.
Friday, March 28, 2008
You’re a liar. You say your coffee shops are 24 hour, but no they are not. Driving at night, needing joe’s boost, I believed your signs. I’m never trusting you again.
Hall Manager, collecting her cut, nice woman. Overwhelmed her senses with the amount of music I sell, boxes and boxes, until she just agreed to do cash box count. Its easier.
My turn was cut off by a fleet of officers blocking the way, I decide to stop and take photos. He told me that someone threatened to blow up the Y.
i am a participant of x365.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
I am a lucky person. I have jobs. Some folks in Michigan don’t have any. I also found great places to work with good people. Technically I am at the St@te job temporarily until I find that “Other” part-time job to supplement my part-time mental health job I have with insurance. Yeah, I know I’m a lucky bastard to have a part-time job with health insurance and beni’s. That’s why I can look for a second part time job that I want to do, not have-to-do...there is a difference. I also do not have to work a 40 hour a week job either…though technically I am working over 40 right now. Confused? Me too. I am not a fan of the 8-5pm workday. It eats a chunk out of life and inevitably I have to take time off of work to see the doctor or go to fun things. Having two 20 hour jobs gives me more flexibility….trust me.
A few weeks ago, I got a name plate at the temporary job. I’ve been here so long folks need to know who I am. Ugh. I like the peeps here, I am bored as hell with the stapling, so I decided it was time to call in a favor from the universe to “get the change” happening. I believe the prayer went something like this:
“I’ve been at the St@te since November. I have a name plate. They put me on the cleaning list! I needed out now”.
Wham, bam, and this is why I heart the universe, I think I may finally have a job that I want. I don’t know yet. I even wonder if it’s taboo to talk about this until I do know for sure, but whatever, I need something to post about. I appreciate the grace of knowing things can work out as long as we do our part in “the working it out process”. In my world, I see most things like this:
Me: Conviction, plan, resources, positive outlook after brooding.
Universe: Provides exactly what I "need" once I stop brooding.
Um that's need not want.
I don’t know if I have the job. But it feels like the right job, the one I have been waiting to get. It’s certainly in the direction I am looking for, which is social advocacy at the community level working with lower income communities. It’d be hard work, but I learned a long time ago that the universe gave me the exact skills I needed to deal with hard. Trust me on this.
My patience is worn though. I really want this job. I think I’d be disappointed if I didn’t get it. More so, I think I might explode from another few months of stapling.
Whatever. Thank you universe for always giving me what I need…now please send me the right kind of gyrl (someone i'd actually date) and not women who tell me things like "I'm going to F$%K you so good, you’ll think I’m g-d.” Seriously, I prefer that kind of language after we…I don’t know go out to dinner not the first SECOND I MEET YOU! I deserve better then this, so, Universe, consider this one in writing.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sketch: Beauty's Art Gallery
She wore her lovers like an art gallery showing me each portrait she took. Her fingers rubbing the matt finish, she had only one thing to say, her voice a soft coil bouncing, “Look how pretty.” Over and over, the glistening brightness of lovers capture in a moment, her portfolio of experience. She catalogued them all under beautiful, a priceless collection of aesthetics, her two-dimensional homage to love. A tribute to how beauty finds her, I couldn’t help but want to scratch below the surface. Flecking the sheen, it was so brittle, exposing conflict without much resolution. Though her lovers were beautiful, the relationship wore an ugly tinge, and as I walked her art gallery, her master pieces became copies of the same theme – Venus could have lived among those walls and all I could see was her master piece to her insecurity.
Explorer of life’s stories, he sang to me on the over night job while we pined for dawn. Even wrote me my own song. Our shoes will anonymously clink together someday.
Wrote me into a comic strip, this Mighty Mandu. He answered, “magic box,” guiding us through our trip that spring night around campus. Appreciated sentiments remembered under the sediment of time.
Created his own successful zine. His smile a left over from childhood, he seemed so innocent when happy. An archipelago nature, he had the ability to bring scattered eclectic masses together.
i am a participant of x365.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
I don’t know his first name! Irish red, beard scruffily to the touch, smelled of Old Spice and wore suits while driving a Cadillac. Died within a year after Grandma, heart-broken.
Great Aunt. nimble fingers, blacken ash hair, grew up a Tennessee Ridge-runner. Taught me the statement “I’ll respect you if you respect me” is “a cock’s shit”. Respect intertwines with integrity.
Punk gyrl scientist neighbor, she spent her days dividing cell nuclei and her nights partying. Her spirit like breath on the nape of the neck, she taught me my Name's Day.
i am a participant of x365.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
My insecurities don’t work for me anymore. Here I am trying to find my beauty under all that ugly heaped on me from my past. There ain’t nothing like growing up in a misogynistic society, where the construct of a woman is in how she looks, even among us women folk we’re measuring acceptance on the sliding scale of pretty. Yeah, I never measured up. That’s okay though, I’m 5’11” and too tall to fit into those social norms. So, I spent my time creating my own norms. I suppose I can do that since I am always taller and become the biggest object around, I have used my own gravitational pull to attract those I want in my revolutions.
This GoGo can be friends with the prom queen and the punk rock chick solely because I want to these days. In that caveat of searching for acceptance, I realized we are all right there dangling, forced to appreciate our last fruit plucked before the end. If you know this, then suddenly social pomp and circumstance becomes irrelevant and you are not alone as women dangle all around. Damn, those tigers are getting a good meal.
Accept I’m still trying to find acceptance from women higher up on the ledge. Mental metaphor getting twisted here, I find myself wondering if a women falls will it feed the tiger’s appetite and save me? What an ugly thought not perpetuated by an ugly past, but my own need to be vanity’s best friend, I justify the thought like Whiteman Joe who thinks its just the way it goes, if I am stuck in this system I just want to be on top. And here I am morally incontinent while hanging off the ledge.
And my stomach turns from the thought. See, I can justify my insecurity from a really fucked up past, passing into my present because of something someone once said, “You are not meant to be loved.” I spent so much of my time trying to prove the contradiction, I got caught up in the same game I’ve never been able to win – acceptance on that sliding scale of pretty. Except, what does that say about security? Doesn’t sound right for me to invest my security on the same damn thing that got me stuck on the side of a cliff in the first place, does it.
So, how do I get down? I’m not prone to accept my slot in society letting go and diving head first into the gullet of a beast. And yet, waiting for all the other women to fall while I yank on the backs of others higher then me isn’t working either. Can I just be me, as is, rotating my life around my own sense of beauty and be fine? Can I convince all of us women to come together and build a ladder for all our safety? I do wish we could.
Or perhaps it’s as simple as twisting this twisted mental metaphor again and see my insecurities dangling, my integrity their last meal, my gift to them before they simply let go and get devoured…
Just a mad mess of a rough draft.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Spite fire tongue loaded with righteous indignation for our government and our soldiers dying. I helped her rebuild a house, she was in her 70s, scrubbing and transforming her new home.
She picked out her engagement ring even before knowing the guy, so she could tell him where to buy it when ready, taking a photo with her cell to show us.
I don’t know her. What I do know – this weekend, someone she was flirting with didn’t like the fact that she wasn’t “pretty” and planned malice intentions towards her as consequence.
Performed Jack revivals at Christian camps. Taught me palm reading. Good storyteller; his laughter cackled darkness away. Last words, “I ain’t got no more bullshit to feed ya. Love ya, Kiddo.”
i am a participant of x365.
Friday, March 14, 2008
I’m not sure, AGAIN, what I am doing with this page. If I write anymore, I have to keep it hidden away from here so that I can submit work. Though this page use to be nothing more then random scribbles about my life, there were things in those scribbles and pieces that I realized I could use for something else. Now when I write a piece, I have to pause and decide if I want to rework and submit. I do. Still I miss just writing head to finger and then posting instead of collecting every scrap of words and hording them in hopes that I can suck out the marrow in each line and apply it to publishable work. Damn ambition.
I think I still want to just jot down my life though. Why not. It keeps the fingers nimble and the mind engaged with my own story. I like you reading it too.
I’ve been trying to get comfortable writing about politics, social commentary, and the lot. Though behind this veil, I am a social justice advocate, a collective member of an anarchist info group, and actively pursuing change in our legislative system; this is a part of my life I like to just do and not bring into the writing. Guess you could say I am shy. Yeah, me. Don’t worry I hide it like I hide my social anxiety, with a twist of wrist and beautiful blue eyes. Chuckle. Seriously, I thought that if this damn public page could make it easier for me to write prose for the public view, why not try it for this area of my life. It’s not working, yet. I want to recede to just writing about daily life…and hope I bring in that part of my world too.
I like this page. I like writing. Let’s hope I can get back to feeling comfortable with it. That somehow an innocuous page among millions is a good thing for me. So excuse me if I randomly talk politics (I’ll always reference a better writer and commentator here) between random spouts about coffee drinking and living the life of a GoGo. And well, then there is the music.
Whatever. Its not like millions of us aren’t doing exactly what I am doing.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
March 20, 2003. Know the date? That was the first day we invaded Iraq, in order to "to disarm Iraq of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), to end Saddam Hussein's support for terrorism, and to free the Iraqi people."(1) How we doing with that do you think?
Five years now we’ve invested our soldiers into this invasion on Iraq. Its $720 million dollars a day to keep up this relationship, and that doesn’t include the cost of medical care for soldiers returning mamed and mentally scarred. Whatever, they should be strong enough to blow up people and not be affected in our names. What do they expect anyway. Their civic duty is to go off and do what they are told, dieing if the need arises. And why should they expect us at home citizens living the life of freedom to care that its been five years now and soldiers are still dying. Our sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, our cousins, and friends who are over there, knew what they were getting into. If Bush says it’s the right thing, who am I to quiver.
But I quiver.
We are coming up to our anniversary, people. 5 years in Iraq. Five years of sending our family members off to war. Five years of soldier’s bodies coming quitely back without flags lowered half mass. Remember the whole debate about patriotism and supporting our soldiers? Division lines were made between those who supported the war and those who supported our soldiers coming home. Ironically it was more patriotic to salute a dead man then question why my brother was going off to die anyway.
But here we are, five years later, and we’re about to quietly pass by the day when this all began. Bush promised us there were weapons remember? We send our citizens across the sea to stop the evil in this world. The USA Good Ole Boys against the devil himself until we snapped his neck and went after his minions. I know most of us didn’t agree with what was happening. Didn’t believe our president even before he could mispronounce the words mass destruction.
What gets me is we passively ate the spoon fed bull shit. It was so easy to pacify the lot of us. Divide and concor, label any kind of protest anti-patriotic, so even lowering a flag in the name of a dead soldier becomes a radical thought too volatile to claim in the name of the soldiers dying.
We are coming up to the anniversary where we asked our military to go off and fight in our name. Whether you agreed with Bush, whether I agree with Bush, these soldiers are dying in all our names. We are in a public relation mind fuck too and we passively point at our governtment and say they’re doing it, not I. But here I am writing, its been 5 years now. So many of us disagree with what is happening and yet only a few of us our speaking out about it all…and even fewer are truly honoring the soldiers across the sea in our names.
There have been 3987 American deaths since the start of our invasion, 3,848 of them since “mission accomplished” on 5/1/03.(2) The returning wounded is between 23,000 to 100,000. This doesn’t include any soldier coming back with post tramautic stress because it does affect you when you have to kill someone. This doesn’t include the over a million Iraqi citizens who have died too. Disportionate, don’t you think.
We are coming up to our anniversary. The sad thing is, I expect the motivated few of us will protest the war, taking to the streets, while our most patriotic spend their Thursday doing whatever happens on Thursdays – working and hopping I suppose. I know who will be in the streets with me. I’ve seen them every year. I just wish I had the words to motivate the rest of us, still pretty certain this war is wrong, to go out and at least honor the soliders by remembering the day they began to die in the name of Bush’s War. In our names. To do a little more then hold out like passive little puppies for our next president to make it all better.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
She came into the coffee shop I worked at for a sneeze. Small iced Americano with a shot of caramel and chocolate, whip cream on top. She serves me at Spe^dway.
Still have the picture of us, heads sticking through the plywood, bulging faces over a western theme. What was the theme of senior night? Happy Trails to you. We loved it.
Jr. High bully who loved to remind me my class. Couldn’t bear to know a redneck hick was in AT classes. My sheer presence could flush your neck red. I loved every minute.
67/365 Josh (Junior Year, High School)
He wrote an article – homosexuals were monsters. I stood up, walked his work to the trash and tossed it to a mouth gapping room and a teacher who couldn’t stop smiling.
Introduced me to civil disobedience and self-reliance. An irreverent English teacher – wore jeans and tweed jackets with elbow patches. He’d intentionally say I was a good writer in front of Charlie.
69/365 Joe (summers in high school)
Doped-up from institutionalization, he thought he was Hitler. He’d bring you a stick and say “Shoot me” until you went bang, then he’d fall down and get to be Joe again.
69/365 Joe (alternative)
He went from Hitler to TooToos between summers, standing up when the clowns came announcing he was Dorothy and began to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” We rooted for his happiness!
i am a participant of x365.