Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
A post to the damnable White House monkey and all his bastard soul sellers. Belledame fetches her axe
By The Clock. GCS, NYC baby
The sun is coming through my dirty window in a pretty, smudged sort of way and the cats are silent, finally. They are fed and have become two balls of sleeping animal making sure to leave more hair on my sheets.
Belledame222, Kristin, Antiprincess and I are getting together to de-blogger bond. Touch hands, hug, create togetherness and become wealthier for knowing one another.
Belledame222, Kristin, Antiprincess and I are getting together to de-blogger bond. Touch hands, hug, create togetherness and become wealthier for knowing one another.
Friday, September 29, 2006
bear country
There's someone I like....
She's an assistant director in Canada. We talk on the phone, Immediate Message, send each other videos (not that kind, dirty dirty minds) and she has a web cam, so's I's can see her cute face when's we talk.
Let me put that in past tense. We used to do all of that but since she started filming on a remote island near the Northwestern Territory we haven't been able to communicate on anything that requires a signal. She will occasionally find a spot where a miracle ray of signal happens to pass by her bear infested island and she can get on her laptop and write a line or two or text me on her phone.
I write to her too. Little emails, IMs and the very rare 35 cent phone text, knowing she's not going to get them for a month if ever. Our messages have become brief sad fits of 'I miss you, wish I could hear your voice, this sucks'. And we're feeling like temporarily star crossed lovers. Very dramatic, yeah so?
And last night, goddamn it, last night I'm fucking about on the computer, IMing with a friend and my phone rings. It says Unknown and I immediately think of this ridiculous client I have who often engages me in long conversations about how hilarious her dog/child is and the thought of listening to her and being polite was out of the question.
Why didn't I think maybe it was Unknown 'cause it was from a fucking pay phone in back woods, remote island, hunting lodge Canada..why? Why didn't I?
She's an assistant director in Canada. We talk on the phone, Immediate Message, send each other videos (not that kind, dirty dirty minds) and she has a web cam, so's I's can see her cute face when's we talk.
Let me put that in past tense. We used to do all of that but since she started filming on a remote island near the Northwestern Territory we haven't been able to communicate on anything that requires a signal. She will occasionally find a spot where a miracle ray of signal happens to pass by her bear infested island and she can get on her laptop and write a line or two or text me on her phone.
I write to her too. Little emails, IMs and the very rare 35 cent phone text, knowing she's not going to get them for a month if ever. Our messages have become brief sad fits of 'I miss you, wish I could hear your voice, this sucks'. And we're feeling like temporarily star crossed lovers. Very dramatic, yeah so?
And last night, goddamn it, last night I'm fucking about on the computer, IMing with a friend and my phone rings. It says Unknown and I immediately think of this ridiculous client I have who often engages me in long conversations about how hilarious her dog/child is and the thought of listening to her and being polite was out of the question.
Why didn't I think maybe it was Unknown 'cause it was from a fucking pay phone in back woods, remote island, hunting lodge Canada..why? Why didn't I?
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I ain't got zip
My powers of story telling have vanished. If you should see them scuttling down darkened street corners apprehend and I shall reward.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
A gift for myself. To mend
There is a reoccurring twitch that's setting up in my spine. An indication of an emotional breakthrough about to erupt. Whether it makes a scene or not is the question. It feels like drama and the stage is set so stand the fuck clear.
If I could only claim crazy occasionally then I could act a fool and get away with it. I could crack like the sad and discontented egg I am and fry. But most of all what I need to claim is the gift of how to give and stop caring so much about how to get. I am a selfish only-child at Christmas. I still have that picture of me surrounded by my loot. Hair brushed straight and white, hands folded like a little princess.
I wanted you. I wanted. And I can't have so fuck you.
Mean girl inside, useless strategy considering my soul is sooo soft. I am so soft, you'll never know. I am a contradiction. Able to shock the best of you who know me. Once she said, "Why are you so nice?" Then later she said, "Since you were so mean, I've done my best to detach."
I do not know how to make peace with the Want and the Give. I can't seem to drive that clear flat plain on cruise control. With all the enlightenment flickering around me like fireflies I fold my hands over my eyes, mouth and ears like a multi-armed Hindu goddess of ignorance. No officer I didn't see the signs..
I swear to god I'm gonna break and leave a wet smear on the subway platform. And people will walk by and say, "What the fuck? Did someone wretch?" But it will just be bits of me, not dinner. Bits of useless rage and childish self pity and the deep heart break of dreams deferred. As she sits in her forget. In her multi-colored bandana forgetting. Forgetting me.
Yesterday a great, fat wall of flesh stepped in front of me as I stepped off the train. Closing off my escape route, he did. I was on a mission, racing to get into my apartment. The slovenly beast lumbered to and fro too fat for me to move around. Too selfish, gloating to not enjoy his blockage of my freedom.
I squeaked between him and the wall and as I passed in a rage I raised my hand to the sky and shook it. Like a fucking 'jazz hand' move from an age 7-10 dance class and I knew then that I was on the fray.
If I could only claim crazy occasionally then I could act a fool and get away with it. I could crack like the sad and discontented egg I am and fry. But most of all what I need to claim is the gift of how to give and stop caring so much about how to get. I am a selfish only-child at Christmas. I still have that picture of me surrounded by my loot. Hair brushed straight and white, hands folded like a little princess.
I wanted you. I wanted. And I can't have so fuck you.
Mean girl inside, useless strategy considering my soul is sooo soft. I am so soft, you'll never know. I am a contradiction. Able to shock the best of you who know me. Once she said, "Why are you so nice?" Then later she said, "Since you were so mean, I've done my best to detach."
I do not know how to make peace with the Want and the Give. I can't seem to drive that clear flat plain on cruise control. With all the enlightenment flickering around me like fireflies I fold my hands over my eyes, mouth and ears like a multi-armed Hindu goddess of ignorance. No officer I didn't see the signs..
I swear to god I'm gonna break and leave a wet smear on the subway platform. And people will walk by and say, "What the fuck? Did someone wretch?" But it will just be bits of me, not dinner. Bits of useless rage and childish self pity and the deep heart break of dreams deferred. As she sits in her forget. In her multi-colored bandana forgetting. Forgetting me.
Yesterday a great, fat wall of flesh stepped in front of me as I stepped off the train. Closing off my escape route, he did. I was on a mission, racing to get into my apartment. The slovenly beast lumbered to and fro too fat for me to move around. Too selfish, gloating to not enjoy his blockage of my freedom.
I squeaked between him and the wall and as I passed in a rage I raised my hand to the sky and shook it. Like a fucking 'jazz hand' move from an age 7-10 dance class and I knew then that I was on the fray.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
leaf power
She asked, 'What happens to a dream deferred?'
Does it dissipate into useless energy that recycles into what's closest? Like that tree over there? Does it become leaf energy and is that leaf stronger than the rest for getting the lost dream, the dream on hold?
Or when dreams defer is it a slow letting? Like a hole in a balloon. Seeping out of me, spilling onto the seat I sit, The woman I bump, the door I push. Like dirty hands I spread germs of loss?
Whatever the way, at first they always have the stench of disappointment. If we're lucky they filter through and become clean, clear relief.
Does it dissipate into useless energy that recycles into what's closest? Like that tree over there? Does it become leaf energy and is that leaf stronger than the rest for getting the lost dream, the dream on hold?
Or when dreams defer is it a slow letting? Like a hole in a balloon. Seeping out of me, spilling onto the seat I sit, The woman I bump, the door I push. Like dirty hands I spread germs of loss?
Whatever the way, at first they always have the stench of disappointment. If we're lucky they filter through and become clean, clear relief.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Too White and Nerdy
A link to a link of a video that was a link from a friend of the link I'm linking you to.
Fetch Me My Axe
Fetch Me My Axe
My Pop Rocks
Go see my Dad. If you've been following this topic you'll enjoy this post.
My dad is fucking hilarious with the best dry, political wit ever. You have got to go wander through his posts.
My dad is fucking hilarious with the best dry, political wit ever. You have got to go wander through his posts.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Where are you?
Belledame222 and I hung out in the east village. We were supposed to hang out downtown, well I thought we were. We had decided to meet at The Strand bookstore.
At 11 I was there, at 11:15 Belle called said she was walking towards it, be there in a sec.
Five minutes passed.
I call, leave a message, "Hey, I think we're at different Strands. Call me."
Two minutes, Belle calls, "What Strand are you at?"
Me, "On Fulton, you?"
"12th and Broadway."
Me, "For fucks sake."
I get on the 2 train, get off at 14th, promptly walk in the wrong direction for five minutes. Call Belle, tell her I'm an asshat and will be there in 15 instead of 10.
Finally, we are together.
Belle and I are the picture of opposites. She is short with long, wild, shocking red hair. I am tall with boring straight, very short, brown/grey hair.
Belle is so cerebral and crazy smart that I have to listen with rapt attention to understand where she's going with stuff. She is a lesson in quieting the mind and listening carefully. She comes from a different angle of a subject than me. I have to walk around the object and get the full view.
Of the topics we discussed, we concluded that coven witches need to not have control issues with their students of the craft. We decided this at the Ukrainian diner on 2nd.
We ambled down 2nd, into a too expensive Indian store, then a weird open lot behind an apartment building that was an old cemetery with vaults hung in the walls surrounding. A woman stood here in the open with her two standard poodles insisting we sign her guest book so the organization that maintained this open lot/cemetery could get more funding with a show of all its enthralled visitors.
At Houston, Belle suggested a movie. We saw Sherrybaby. Popcorn, Junior Mints and Coke.
There is discussion of a future meet up with Kristin and Antiprincess. I like.
It was a good Sunday afternoon.
At 11 I was there, at 11:15 Belle called said she was walking towards it, be there in a sec.
Five minutes passed.
I call, leave a message, "Hey, I think we're at different Strands. Call me."
Two minutes, Belle calls, "What Strand are you at?"
Me, "On Fulton, you?"
"12th and Broadway."
Me, "For fucks sake."
I get on the 2 train, get off at 14th, promptly walk in the wrong direction for five minutes. Call Belle, tell her I'm an asshat and will be there in 15 instead of 10.
Finally, we are together.
Belle and I are the picture of opposites. She is short with long, wild, shocking red hair. I am tall with boring straight, very short, brown/grey hair.
Belle is so cerebral and crazy smart that I have to listen with rapt attention to understand where she's going with stuff. She is a lesson in quieting the mind and listening carefully. She comes from a different angle of a subject than me. I have to walk around the object and get the full view.
Of the topics we discussed, we concluded that coven witches need to not have control issues with their students of the craft. We decided this at the Ukrainian diner on 2nd.
We ambled down 2nd, into a too expensive Indian store, then a weird open lot behind an apartment building that was an old cemetery with vaults hung in the walls surrounding. A woman stood here in the open with her two standard poodles insisting we sign her guest book so the organization that maintained this open lot/cemetery could get more funding with a show of all its enthralled visitors.
At Houston, Belle suggested a movie. We saw Sherrybaby. Popcorn, Junior Mints and Coke.
There is discussion of a future meet up with Kristin and Antiprincess. I like.
It was a good Sunday afternoon.
re-fart
It was Game Night, Cake Night last night, which is exactly what it sounds like. I arrived at M and S's apartment where Scrabble had already started. I enter the game two turns behind and start eating chocolate chip cookies with milk. (Cookies are an acceptable form of cake-ish food for Game Night, Cake night.)
The board is difficult as the words are all clustered to the bottom and there has been a struggle to come up with good words. My first word is made with just a P making POO, POOP. Nice.
We continue with DAILY, COMA and REHEM (re-hem is mine), which is questionable because it needs a hyphen but clothes can be re-hemmed and we're desperate for words so it squeezes by.
S and I look to the northern reaches of our board which is still uncharted territory with unlimited resources to be exploited. M and J start to sing Boy George's Karma Chameleon song with the words on the board. Coma, Coma, Daily Sex Rehem....Poop and Rehem...Poop and Reheeee'eemmm.
S is struggling with his shitty letters so he argues that technically re-fart is a word, just like re-hem. But it's not cause you can't re-fart. He gives his argument's example; Farting Contest. Contestant number two comes to the microphone, he tries to fart and is distracted by a screaming child in the stands and asks to try again. The judge says, "Contestant number two will re-fart."
Fair enough, it works in this example but it doesn't matter to M, J and I. One can not re-fart. One can re-hem as there is still a hem to redo but you cannot collect the already farted fart and re-fart. S is reluctant but concedes.
By this point I've eaten three cookies, a piece of organic cake with a glass of milk, most of the bowl of popcorn and a beer that N who just came in has brought.
Eventually we conquer some the of the unused northern board and in the end I win the game even after coming in late. I gloat about this now as I have very little formal schooling and my friends are all graduates of impressive universities and all are educators themselves.
We eat and drink more, laugh and joke. We move on to another game in the living room but I won't go into it's details as I didn't win, so what's the point?
The board is difficult as the words are all clustered to the bottom and there has been a struggle to come up with good words. My first word is made with just a P making POO, POOP. Nice.
We continue with DAILY, COMA and REHEM (re-hem is mine), which is questionable because it needs a hyphen but clothes can be re-hemmed and we're desperate for words so it squeezes by.
S and I look to the northern reaches of our board which is still uncharted territory with unlimited resources to be exploited. M and J start to sing Boy George's Karma Chameleon song with the words on the board. Coma, Coma, Daily Sex Rehem....Poop and Rehem...Poop and Reheeee'eemmm.
S is struggling with his shitty letters so he argues that technically re-fart is a word, just like re-hem. But it's not cause you can't re-fart. He gives his argument's example; Farting Contest. Contestant number two comes to the microphone, he tries to fart and is distracted by a screaming child in the stands and asks to try again. The judge says, "Contestant number two will re-fart."
Fair enough, it works in this example but it doesn't matter to M, J and I. One can not re-fart. One can re-hem as there is still a hem to redo but you cannot collect the already farted fart and re-fart. S is reluctant but concedes.
By this point I've eaten three cookies, a piece of organic cake with a glass of milk, most of the bowl of popcorn and a beer that N who just came in has brought.
Eventually we conquer some the of the unused northern board and in the end I win the game even after coming in late. I gloat about this now as I have very little formal schooling and my friends are all graduates of impressive universities and all are educators themselves.
We eat and drink more, laugh and joke. We move on to another game in the living room but I won't go into it's details as I didn't win, so what's the point?
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Saturday Morning
Phone Call:
Ring tone, Cassie's Me & U,
It's J.
Me: In my best obnoxious British accent, 'cause J.'s English, "Hellooo Daaaaling!"
J: "Eggy Breky?" Translation, (Hey, want to go get breakfast with R and I?)
Me: "Yaaa"
J: "Bye"
Ring tone, Cassie's Me & U,
It's J.
Me: In my best obnoxious British accent, 'cause J.'s English, "Hellooo Daaaaling!"
J: "Eggy Breky?" Translation, (Hey, want to go get breakfast with R and I?)
Me: "Yaaa"
J: "Bye"
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Ass pat
Yesterday I watched this guy drive his car up the wrong side of the street. It reminded me of another time this happened at the same spot.
Last winter I was walking my dog in the morning and a cop came roaring up the wrong side of the street with sirens blaring and I smelled trouble immediately. I was on the rise of the hill and I could see in the direction they were coming that the light had just turned green and the cars were heading down.
I wasn't close enough to wave an alarm to anyone and sure enough the cop hit a car head on. I ran over and the guy who's car had been hit was not hurt and on his phone already. My dog and I rushed over to the drivers side of the cop car and the driver was in shock. She was panting and her partner was bleeding from his neck but mostly okay. So I sat with the driver and stroked her hair until the wall of alarmed cop cars came screeching up to save their fellows soldiers of the street.
When they roared in, jumping out of their cars ready to box whoever did this to their own, when it was thems that did it, I quietly stepped away and left.
But I didn't really leave because the moment I had with that cop was intense and it meant a lot to me. First the intense desire I had to soothe her was powerful and then the shear act of touching a cop in general was tweaking me out for hours after.
Maybe this doesn't translate. Maybe touching a cop seems like no big deal and maybe it isn't but here in NYC my experience has been different. On two different occasions I've seen people approach the po'lice, touching their arms and both cops stepped back and said, "Don't fucking touch me."
As I am a very touchy feely person I was instantly terrified and after these instances, every time I came near a cop I had to repeat, "don't touch the cop, don't touch the cop." Cause what I can't do I want more than anything. And now, desperately I want to pull the stray hair away from the eyes of Ms. Copper. Or give the biceps of Mr. PoPo guy a nice squeeze when I pass, maybe a pat on the ass. And what's worse is my compulsive urge to slide my fingers across their holster..
I'm so scared of myself near cops, when they're around I stay 6 feet away and look in a different direction cause, like dogs, (say it with me) If I don't see them, they're not there.
When police cars cruise by and I'm not paying attention my feet will jerk my ass across the sidewalk and walk me into it's path. I want to reach in and give Mr. Doughnut Eater a squeeze on the cheek. I'm sick and getting sicker over this. If I could meet a cop that I could touch then I would be cured.
Last winter I was walking my dog in the morning and a cop came roaring up the wrong side of the street with sirens blaring and I smelled trouble immediately. I was on the rise of the hill and I could see in the direction they were coming that the light had just turned green and the cars were heading down.
I wasn't close enough to wave an alarm to anyone and sure enough the cop hit a car head on. I ran over and the guy who's car had been hit was not hurt and on his phone already. My dog and I rushed over to the drivers side of the cop car and the driver was in shock. She was panting and her partner was bleeding from his neck but mostly okay. So I sat with the driver and stroked her hair until the wall of alarmed cop cars came screeching up to save their fellows soldiers of the street.
When they roared in, jumping out of their cars ready to box whoever did this to their own, when it was thems that did it, I quietly stepped away and left.
But I didn't really leave because the moment I had with that cop was intense and it meant a lot to me. First the intense desire I had to soothe her was powerful and then the shear act of touching a cop in general was tweaking me out for hours after.
Maybe this doesn't translate. Maybe touching a cop seems like no big deal and maybe it isn't but here in NYC my experience has been different. On two different occasions I've seen people approach the po'lice, touching their arms and both cops stepped back and said, "Don't fucking touch me."
As I am a very touchy feely person I was instantly terrified and after these instances, every time I came near a cop I had to repeat, "don't touch the cop, don't touch the cop." Cause what I can't do I want more than anything. And now, desperately I want to pull the stray hair away from the eyes of Ms. Copper. Or give the biceps of Mr. PoPo guy a nice squeeze when I pass, maybe a pat on the ass. And what's worse is my compulsive urge to slide my fingers across their holster..
I'm so scared of myself near cops, when they're around I stay 6 feet away and look in a different direction cause, like dogs, (say it with me) If I don't see them, they're not there.
When police cars cruise by and I'm not paying attention my feet will jerk my ass across the sidewalk and walk me into it's path. I want to reach in and give Mr. Doughnut Eater a squeeze on the cheek. I'm sick and getting sicker over this. If I could meet a cop that I could touch then I would be cured.
See President Bush as Gandhi. Dubya goes on a hunger strike for peace in Iraq
Get this video and more at MySpace.com
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
ugly
I've been a hurtful person lately. I have said some things that I meant, but in a cruel way because I was hurt. This has always been a problem. When really hurt, I often attack.
I'm feeling pretty bad about it. Bad indeed. And now there's nothing left to be done but realize I've caused permanent damage to the heart of someone. It's hard to make peace, in fact there's not much peace to be had.
The way it looks, neither will there be forgiveness. That which was of value between us isn't worth the hurt that sits heavy and large in the room.
I have to find the practice of restraining my reactions to the emotion of pain. To feel it yes, but not strike out like a cat. Causing maximum damage in a flash of time.
Today I wish to step gently. I'm so disappointed with me because really, this is the worst behavior I own and it's still alive and well.
**I have to find and believe that it's worth feeling all the pain caused me without striking out at the person who caused it, making them hurt too. Because isn't this on a large and small scale what it's about? What many of us so much want to see in the world? To feel the rage and not act out of it? Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., The Dalai Lama..
I want this strength for myself
I'm feeling pretty bad about it. Bad indeed. And now there's nothing left to be done but realize I've caused permanent damage to the heart of someone. It's hard to make peace, in fact there's not much peace to be had.
The way it looks, neither will there be forgiveness. That which was of value between us isn't worth the hurt that sits heavy and large in the room.
I have to find the practice of restraining my reactions to the emotion of pain. To feel it yes, but not strike out like a cat. Causing maximum damage in a flash of time.
Today I wish to step gently. I'm so disappointed with me because really, this is the worst behavior I own and it's still alive and well.
**I have to find and believe that it's worth feeling all the pain caused me without striking out at the person who caused it, making them hurt too. Because isn't this on a large and small scale what it's about? What many of us so much want to see in the world? To feel the rage and not act out of it? Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., The Dalai Lama..
I want this strength for myself
Saturday, September 16, 2006
2 cows, a chicken.
Click on the photo to get a better view.J, R and I were walking home from dinner passing one of J's favorite grocery stores. There are two cows and a chicken posing on the top of the store. There is always coversation being made about the chicken and how huge it is compared to the cows. He is out of proportion.
J keeps speaking about it, looking at it. And I keep saying, 'Yes, I know, I hate it.' She wants me to look but I can't. She thinks my reaction is amusing so I explain that the proportions are unacceptable and completely intolerable to my reality thus I must not look at it. And as with dogs, if I don't see it, it's not there.
A weird quirk has risen to my surface and J loves it so I explain a little something.
As a child I played with Barbies, cars and other little peopley toys. I enjoyed finding things that I could use in the lives of these creatures such as the little things they put in the pizza box to prevent the box from mashing onto the pie. These plastic protectors make great tables for little peopley characters (you know, the little Star Wars characters, etc.) but completely unacceptable with Barbie because it's way too small and that's just insanity.
A banana split boat from Dairy Queen is ideal for Barbie in the tub when she wants to float on the lake but it's way too big for the other peopley people and could not be used by them or sit anywhere near where they reside in my room.
Big Tonka bulldozers and dump trucks are awesome for Hans Solo and Chubaca as they fit inside but ridiculous for Barbie and Matchbox cars. And other children who mix are stupid and my patience and respect would quickly run dry. Leading me to wander alone to the monkey bars or another sand box where I could bring order back into life.
I still find things that would be ideal for Barbie but not Luke Skywalker or vise versa. I want to bring them home but that's just weird at this point in my life. And so is the chicken and the cows and I will not have my stomach lurching about with anxiety over them. I will not look and thus, they do not exist.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
What are you looking at and why are you writing in that notebook?
A story? hmm no, don't have one. But let's ramble and see where we end up, shall we?
Ok, thinking about my train ride but alas this is a worn topic, not for me but maybe you...
And the people on the train too. They're sick to death of me staring around sucking the energy out of the air, collecting samples to type up and spill out onto my blog. I see the angry stares now.
'Yo, white girl, don't you know my ass is trying to get home so's I can rest my weary bones? Back that vacuum you call a brain right the fuck up and leaves me alone. Damn girl, get a life.'
But you are my life.
'Then yo ass needs to be gettin some of that expensive thurrapy.'
Well maybe but I would much rather sit here across from you and adore you when you're not looking.
'Look I ain't no fuckin lezzy so gets yo crazzzy self the fuck on up and out. Now I ain't fuckin round, move yo skinny white ass.
Damn she on my last nerve yo...'
sigh...
Ok, thinking about my train ride but alas this is a worn topic, not for me but maybe you...
And the people on the train too. They're sick to death of me staring around sucking the energy out of the air, collecting samples to type up and spill out onto my blog. I see the angry stares now.
'Yo, white girl, don't you know my ass is trying to get home so's I can rest my weary bones? Back that vacuum you call a brain right the fuck up and leaves me alone. Damn girl, get a life.'
But you are my life.
'Then yo ass needs to be gettin some of that expensive thurrapy.'
Well maybe but I would much rather sit here across from you and adore you when you're not looking.
'Look I ain't no fuckin lezzy so gets yo crazzzy self the fuck on up and out. Now I ain't fuckin round, move yo skinny white ass.
Damn she on my last nerve yo...'
sigh...
my blog should be called, On a Train
I love this song so much I turn my IPod up to maximum volume and it strains and damages my already stressed ear pieces. They emit little shreaks and clacks with every drum beat and guitar reverb.
I must fill my head full with this song. If I don't, this train may jump it's track and I will never feel this songs beat, it's exhilaration again and then where will I be?
Somewhere without this song, that's where.
INCUBUS baby, INCUBUS
Get this video and more at MySpace.com
I must fill my head full with this song. If I don't, this train may jump it's track and I will never feel this songs beat, it's exhilaration again and then where will I be?
Somewhere without this song, that's where.
INCUBUS baby, INCUBUS
Get this video and more at MySpace.com
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
breast to breast, train lover o mine
On 9/11, Monday, I went down to the WTC site, took pictures and walked with the rest of the sad people. I'll show the pics and tell you about it in another post as I'm needing a break from thoughts of that.
On my way home I went to the Chambers Street A train station and it was still considered rush hour so a lot of people were waiting. The train was taking a long time coming, like a half an hour long. So by the time it ambled in there were maybe a hundred people boarding.
It was the most crowded train I've ever been on. The man to my right was mashed up against me, the woman to my left and I could have been lovers the way we were pressed. My back was against a glass barrier and to stay calm I kept telling myself at least I was taller and my head was above the crowd.
The train pulled away and at the next station there were hordes of people wanting on and very few on the train getting off. This lasted for most of the up and down length of Manhattan, as I live in the northern most part.
I told the lady, my temporary train lover that it was a good thing I loved people cause our intimacy level was really high at the moment. She laughed, said she didn't live here anymore and the situation was a little intense for her. She told me she lives in the suburbs of PA and I oooed and aaaed although the idea was excruciating to me. Anywhere but NYC is.
Train lover fell into silence and I hoped she wasn't thinking about freaking out since our bodies were all but fused together.
A fight almost broke out further up in the car and the ongoing rant of one of the perpetrators made the guy behind train lover tense and he muttered to himself.
Although it was a pain in the ass it was another train ride I loved. I can't help but find these moments of condensed focus on what's around me, of the press of people against me as metaphors for life in general. They are the quick versions of class. They're summer classes.
(I was able to take the pics after it got less crowded so it doesn't show the press at its worst but you get the idea. Sorry they're so blurry.)
On my way home I went to the Chambers Street A train station and it was still considered rush hour so a lot of people were waiting. The train was taking a long time coming, like a half an hour long. So by the time it ambled in there were maybe a hundred people boarding.
It was the most crowded train I've ever been on. The man to my right was mashed up against me, the woman to my left and I could have been lovers the way we were pressed. My back was against a glass barrier and to stay calm I kept telling myself at least I was taller and my head was above the crowd.
The train pulled away and at the next station there were hordes of people wanting on and very few on the train getting off. This lasted for most of the up and down length of Manhattan, as I live in the northern most part.
I told the lady, my temporary train lover that it was a good thing I loved people cause our intimacy level was really high at the moment. She laughed, said she didn't live here anymore and the situation was a little intense for her. She told me she lives in the suburbs of PA and I oooed and aaaed although the idea was excruciating to me. Anywhere but NYC is.
Train lover fell into silence and I hoped she wasn't thinking about freaking out since our bodies were all but fused together.
A fight almost broke out further up in the car and the ongoing rant of one of the perpetrators made the guy behind train lover tense and he muttered to himself.
Although it was a pain in the ass it was another train ride I loved. I can't help but find these moments of condensed focus on what's around me, of the press of people against me as metaphors for life in general. They are the quick versions of class. They're summer classes.
(I was able to take the pics after it got less crowded so it doesn't show the press at its worst but you get the idea. Sorry they're so blurry.)
Sunday, September 10, 2006
9/11
I don't know what to say about this post. I've spent all night looking at videos to find the right ones to put here and it doesn't really matter anymore it's all the same horror and death. Despite how intense and uncomfortable it may be I wish you would watch every video as whatever you'll feel for the next ten minutes is nothing like what was felt by those there.
Please click here, this is beautiful
Then this happened...
And I remember this. Too many volunteers, too many donations. They would put us to tasks like 'move this box over there', 'put those gloves here.' There were so many of us. This is where the good came back and through all of this horrible tragedy this amazing strength grew in everyone in this city because of 9/11.
Sonja was in the park next to the first tower when it fell.
She told me yesterday she was reading where a fireman said if he had run south or west from the falling tower he would have died. She ran east, if she hadn't I wouldn't know her or have a clue of her existence today. She has a profile on myspace. Please go over, read her blog entries, see her video. She very much wants us to never forget.
Sometimes I feel foolish for how affected I was by this horrible event as my story isn't near as terrifying as so many others but I have one, here's a little piece of it:
Tori sang this on David Letterman right after 9/11. I laid on the couch with K. in misery. I remember Letterman trying to make a show despite the hell that had just happened. I was hardly functioning, hardly aware. And the sound of Tori's voice rose up and spoke to my pain. And now I can't hear this song and not think of 9/11 and that night on the couch. This post is for those who died, for those who survived, for Sonja who survived and changed her life because of it.
Get this video and more at MySpace.com
Please click here, this is beautiful
Then this happened...
And I remember this. Too many volunteers, too many donations. They would put us to tasks like 'move this box over there', 'put those gloves here.' There were so many of us. This is where the good came back and through all of this horrible tragedy this amazing strength grew in everyone in this city because of 9/11.
Sonja was in the park next to the first tower when it fell.
She told me yesterday she was reading where a fireman said if he had run south or west from the falling tower he would have died. She ran east, if she hadn't I wouldn't know her or have a clue of her existence today. She has a profile on myspace. Please go over, read her blog entries, see her video. She very much wants us to never forget.
Sometimes I feel foolish for how affected I was by this horrible event as my story isn't near as terrifying as so many others but I have one, here's a little piece of it:
Tori sang this on David Letterman right after 9/11. I laid on the couch with K. in misery. I remember Letterman trying to make a show despite the hell that had just happened. I was hardly functioning, hardly aware. And the sound of Tori's voice rose up and spoke to my pain. And now I can't hear this song and not think of 9/11 and that night on the couch. This post is for those who died, for those who survived, for Sonja who survived and changed her life because of it.
Get this video and more at MySpace.com
roots
There was a guy at my friends brunch party who was telling us about a family reunion he went to yesterday. It was on the land owned by his family for four generations.
His great-grandparents were from Hungry. They came here, bought land and created a farm and a hotel which the family ran for, I think, two generations.
He remembered his grandmother talking about how her parents died when she and her siblings were very young. The kid's aunts and uncles cared for them as they continued to work the farm and the hotel.
There was a big tree that sat near the lake. The kids, missing their dead parents and grandparents designated this tree to be their grandmother. They would each take turns sitting between it's roots, leaning into it's trunk pretending to be held by her.
These children are now very old and they still tell people their grandmother was a tree who sat near the lake on the land their family owned.
His great-grandparents were from Hungry. They came here, bought land and created a farm and a hotel which the family ran for, I think, two generations.
He remembered his grandmother talking about how her parents died when she and her siblings were very young. The kid's aunts and uncles cared for them as they continued to work the farm and the hotel.
There was a big tree that sat near the lake. The kids, missing their dead parents and grandparents designated this tree to be their grandmother. They would each take turns sitting between it's roots, leaning into it's trunk pretending to be held by her.
These children are now very old and they still tell people their grandmother was a tree who sat near the lake on the land their family owned.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Why and what?
I've seen a lot of silly shit in the city.
I've seen a woman dressed in a clown suit who honked her horn at people when they commented on her outfit. I've seen a junky pull her pants down and pee as if she were in her own bathroom (which I suppose she was) right on the corner of 109st and Broadway.
I unfortunately walked up on a woman sitting on a park bench blowing a man who casually stood over her with one leg on the bench mechanically moving in and out of her mouth. Sorry, too much visual.
But notice how I don't erase it.
And every day, there is something else but usually just a different version of the thing before.
But I have to say, I've not seen this before.
I am taking a poll.
Why is he there? And what the hell is he thinking?
I mean doesn't he know how many dogs have shit and peed on that very spot? I should know, I'm a dog walker.
I've seen a woman dressed in a clown suit who honked her horn at people when they commented on her outfit. I've seen a junky pull her pants down and pee as if she were in her own bathroom (which I suppose she was) right on the corner of 109st and Broadway.
I unfortunately walked up on a woman sitting on a park bench blowing a man who casually stood over her with one leg on the bench mechanically moving in and out of her mouth. Sorry, too much visual.
But notice how I don't erase it.
And every day, there is something else but usually just a different version of the thing before.
But I have to say, I've not seen this before.
I am taking a poll.
Why is he there? And what the hell is he thinking?
I mean doesn't he know how many dogs have shit and peed on that very spot? I should know, I'm a dog walker.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
where?
I don't know where to put the litter box. It doesn't fit anywhere. I don't want it in my bedroom cause the smell isn't conducive to sleep or love making. The frggin bathroom hasn't a spot for it and it's not going into the kitchen or the livingroom...that leaves the hallway/entryway. This is a great place as I enjoy letting people into my apartment and having their first impression be the faint odor of cat pee.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I would pay for the moving truck
I'm listening to Homer beg for sex from Marge on the Simpsons.
I'm also listening to the twit who lives above me thump around her apartment like a 200 pound man. I want to slap the stomp right out of her.
I'm a teensy grumpy, I could really go for a good beat down. Some unassuming white girl, say my upstairs neighbor..
I would wait till she left her apartment. I would slip down the stairs after her and follow her past 204st .When we got to the side gate of the old Dykeman farmhouse I'd pull her ass into the opening and knock the desire to live right out of her and tell her she's too loud and too stupid to get away without being mugged at least once in NYC.
Then she would move.
I'm also listening to the twit who lives above me thump around her apartment like a 200 pound man. I want to slap the stomp right out of her.
I'm a teensy grumpy, I could really go for a good beat down. Some unassuming white girl, say my upstairs neighbor..
I would wait till she left her apartment. I would slip down the stairs after her and follow her past 204st .When we got to the side gate of the old Dykeman farmhouse I'd pull her ass into the opening and knock the desire to live right out of her and tell her she's too loud and too stupid to get away without being mugged at least once in NYC.
Then she would move.
...
I can't think of anything interesting enough to tell you about.
I've fucked off long enough regarding the unpacking of boxes. Could someone come over and help? This sucks.
I've fucked off long enough regarding the unpacking of boxes. Could someone come over and help? This sucks.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
fat boys with big bowls of miso soup
I'll have you know I was a runner up in Izzy's caption contest.
I won a tee shirt. It says something like Smart and Sexy on it and according to Izzy is a great boob shirt.
Winner and other runner ups are listed at the bottom of this post.
Honesty, I think Mom-101 shoulda won.
I won a tee shirt. It says something like Smart and Sexy on it and according to Izzy is a great boob shirt.
Winner and other runner ups are listed at the bottom of this post.
Honesty, I think Mom-101 shoulda won.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Its all about timing
Forcast,
Today: Periods of rain. High near 66. Windy, with a east wind between 29 and 33 mph, with gusts as high as 47 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%. New rainfall amounts between a half and three quarters of an inch possible.
I'm moving today.
Today: Periods of rain. High near 66. Windy, with a east wind between 29 and 33 mph, with gusts as high as 47 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%. New rainfall amounts between a half and three quarters of an inch possible.
I'm moving today.
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