Thursday, January 27, 2005
if the phone doesn't ring
i'm fucked up enough to write a little bit about not talking. maybe it's me, i know i tend to lose touch with people, good people, friends to me and friends of mine, aquaintances, etc, but the thing is, it always seems so passive on my part. maybe that is the problem, as readers of this blog should well know that most what i say doesn't make sense, and less so to me of course. At any rate, i think there could soon come a time when i pull my dissappearing act again. at least it won't be like the last few times, cause this time i am not with that awful succubus. but pending the many obscure and ill-timed events of the next few days, we shall see how things go. i have it on good authority that soon there will be some good news in the next few months, and right now, i have other irons in the fire, so to speak. i think the key is expectation. we shall EXPECT (high drama in this) some good news, and someone to take a stab at stating what i think is the OBVIOUS (more high drama...) of another situation i have been daydreaming about.
(sometimes, i feel like such an ass...i swear, if people knew half of what kicked around in my head, i'd probobly be in an institution for the criminally inane. note, that is NOT a mispelling.) we're deep into it now, and depsite my recent descent into the lesser stages of mania, i feel confident things will, as always, work out to my satisfaction. it's amazing what a change of perception will do for you, sometimes i think it is all that stands in the way of utter domination. jim morris says "that's just the way it goes" and that is just the way it goes.
cf
(sometimes, i feel like such an ass...i swear, if people knew half of what kicked around in my head, i'd probobly be in an institution for the criminally inane. note, that is NOT a mispelling.) we're deep into it now, and depsite my recent descent into the lesser stages of mania, i feel confident things will, as always, work out to my satisfaction. it's amazing what a change of perception will do for you, sometimes i think it is all that stands in the way of utter domination. jim morris says "that's just the way it goes" and that is just the way it goes.
cf
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Thoughts on Paradise
I was relaxing with my back up against America, convinced in the righteous goodness of the warm trade winds blowing my hair back, warming my core with tidings of pineapple and coconut. The masterful mixture is intoxicating, brewed on a thousand palm tree lined islands, all playing in the roux. Tourist with island drinks, sporting tiny umbrellas and large clear ice cubes dance by as if pushed by some hidden hand. Everything is pleasing to every sense, and each subtle sensation is stronger, as if on a sensory binge. The vibe of the area is relaxed, sated in some strange way. We’re all already here, why be anything else? Nonsensical thoughts follow each other down my spine, and tingle my extremities. Synapse firing off in miscellaneous trail of images connecting to form the moving picture I am taking in off the veranda.
Boats are sailing across the harbor, trawling along at the pace of the flats surrounding this speck of landmass. Rough fisherman and proud natives one and all, serving the waters, and the fat white tourists, bleached from Our American Excess. We are down here now, and as much as it matters, we have always been here, and we always will. We sell the last truth you can find, and that is the truth everyone wants, because it is whatever you want it to be. Here in paradise, we sell in the passive, almost unaware we even do it, but, like most efforts, practiced in such a sublime manner as to be intoxicating and Beautiful at the same time. Everything is aesthetic here in paradise, mixed with soft and warm sand between our toes and the finest of fine in our hands.
From here, we can spit into the sea and throw epithets across deep divisions confronting us. Sunglasses and the sun work together, altering ever so slightly the perception to a shimmering Beauty that surrounds us, painting us in tequila yellow and a ragged and limp shade of blue never seen before. My own brown eyes light up, widening at the thought of perfection and hospitality, singularly transfixed on a star shooting across the sky, somehow visible against the bright lights of the sun, amazing in its antiquity. The smooth breathing runs ragged, and with the greatest of effort I roll my eyes slightly, to focus on the sparkling water and the dark outline of Manta Rays swimming across the waves.
It is my first time here in paradise, and I am unsure of how to act. To fit in with what I perceive to be the local custom, I drink rum and gin by the pool overlooking the sea. There is a bar in the middle of the pool, and to my own amazement, not a lifeguard in sight. There are several bartenders in sight. I charge the drinks to my room bill, and enjoy colorful drinks in tall glasses chilled with ice. Chasing the sun across the sky, my spirit soars, then returns, tired from the chilling night air. Soaking in the warm water up to my neck, I can barely move. The last vestige of worry floats away from my body and I am water. I flow around the pool, concerned only with oxygen and hydrogen in varying forms floating all around my body. My senses razor sharp and clear, I can feel paradise pulse against my skin, floating through me, cleansing me inside out from the worry of the world.
Declarations of insanity not withstanding, I mumble something incoherent about food and my desire to be filled with it, and the bartender has a hamburger rushed up from the kitchen, still steaming in the night air when it arrives, nestled against a kosher pickle on a bed of potato chips. I eat my king’s feast overlooking my temporary kingdom, convinced a week can last forever. The days stretch out before me; beckoning, inviting, warm and soft against the possibility of ever leaving this land, and I am unconvinced. I stare up at the night sky and see stars dance and the trade winds blow against my face again, sweet like nectar.
Boats are sailing across the harbor, trawling along at the pace of the flats surrounding this speck of landmass. Rough fisherman and proud natives one and all, serving the waters, and the fat white tourists, bleached from Our American Excess. We are down here now, and as much as it matters, we have always been here, and we always will. We sell the last truth you can find, and that is the truth everyone wants, because it is whatever you want it to be. Here in paradise, we sell in the passive, almost unaware we even do it, but, like most efforts, practiced in such a sublime manner as to be intoxicating and Beautiful at the same time. Everything is aesthetic here in paradise, mixed with soft and warm sand between our toes and the finest of fine in our hands.
From here, we can spit into the sea and throw epithets across deep divisions confronting us. Sunglasses and the sun work together, altering ever so slightly the perception to a shimmering Beauty that surrounds us, painting us in tequila yellow and a ragged and limp shade of blue never seen before. My own brown eyes light up, widening at the thought of perfection and hospitality, singularly transfixed on a star shooting across the sky, somehow visible against the bright lights of the sun, amazing in its antiquity. The smooth breathing runs ragged, and with the greatest of effort I roll my eyes slightly, to focus on the sparkling water and the dark outline of Manta Rays swimming across the waves.
It is my first time here in paradise, and I am unsure of how to act. To fit in with what I perceive to be the local custom, I drink rum and gin by the pool overlooking the sea. There is a bar in the middle of the pool, and to my own amazement, not a lifeguard in sight. There are several bartenders in sight. I charge the drinks to my room bill, and enjoy colorful drinks in tall glasses chilled with ice. Chasing the sun across the sky, my spirit soars, then returns, tired from the chilling night air. Soaking in the warm water up to my neck, I can barely move. The last vestige of worry floats away from my body and I am water. I flow around the pool, concerned only with oxygen and hydrogen in varying forms floating all around my body. My senses razor sharp and clear, I can feel paradise pulse against my skin, floating through me, cleansing me inside out from the worry of the world.
Declarations of insanity not withstanding, I mumble something incoherent about food and my desire to be filled with it, and the bartender has a hamburger rushed up from the kitchen, still steaming in the night air when it arrives, nestled against a kosher pickle on a bed of potato chips. I eat my king’s feast overlooking my temporary kingdom, convinced a week can last forever. The days stretch out before me; beckoning, inviting, warm and soft against the possibility of ever leaving this land, and I am unconvinced. I stare up at the night sky and see stars dance and the trade winds blow against my face again, sweet like nectar.
mercy hope, faith and love and treason...
The scene is set with the scent of fallen flower petals and the sounds of raindrops hitting the ground. The look in one eye, reflecting the Western sky against the setting sun and mountaintops, clear against the horizon remains still, shifting through raindrop cursed actualizations and focusing on my heart. Words will not intrude on this memory, nor will it be compromised by knowledge of what is to come. For this memory, little matters except the salve-feel of arms around my back, the silent notation of pleasure registered in an imperceptible smile and brought to life by a thousand positive replies.
There is always more to discover in the halls of my memory palace, etched into walls or pressed into momentary service as a rider on the storm, a cool place to watch the wreckage of cars, girls, and balls floating by. Every drug known to man struts by in an parade of unfeeling poses, masking agents to the harsh reality that the memory palace has limits, and these limits cannot be fractured, not by crystal javelins or tiny straws. Joe Henry sings in the background of the memory, protected as it were, a statue of an tough jawed Jersey girl still trying to figure out where to stick the saber between short ribs and rasped breath.
Knowledge and understanding grab me tightly, throwing distortion aside, and I see a girl with blonde hair in a green dress dance in the sunlight. The concordance of her movement towards me, ever closer, always Always, clear to me as the first glimpse of grass at Fenway, a sliver through the opening of the entranceway to the field. For a moment those arms are real, those lips still call against the better judgment of the sanest aphrodisiac, the freedom to choose from amongst the many possibilities that shout my name. Her avatar strikes me, and I can smell the sun and wind, mixed with her perfume and shampoo, and feel the dust kicked up by the Western winds against my face. Faster they seem to murmur, ever faster, ever farther.
The scent, falling off the engraved image like specs of gold pushing through the air to my nose, is warm, pleasing, totally ensconced by the positive associations pin wheeling through my body. Nascent tones overwhelm me, and for a moment I am standing in front of a ramshackle white clapboard house, holding something to my chest, pressure of a thousand hugs gone sour, battery acid in my mouth and on my lips. The house vanishes in a blaze of fire and smoke, masking the Western skyline rising from behind. The sun, for a moment so warm and inviting, a late afternoon nap or the tangled embrace of your missionary lover, fades against the darkness brewing from your house, there’s nothing I can do anymore.
Seconds later, my tears dry and the scene is replaced, the memory again safely stored away. The true nature of bittersweet reaches my heart, and for a brief moment, I wish I could be split in half, right down the middle, seizing some 19th century notion of ripping the evil out of the good, but this leaves me dissatisfied, and all I desire now is to leave the memory palace before it gets too late.
My own indiscretion at arousing this particular memory stands tall before me, and the innocence of the participants is only found in residual traces, scattered along empty doorways and blowing out open windows on winds I can’t even feel. My past selves cry out in agony, angered and saddened to be presented here to current me, living somewhere in a shell just beyond Appalachia. Each asks stinging questions that I can’t answer, all beginning with why’s and how’s, demanding Answers, and I have nothing to give but shamefaced looks and guilty smiles. A skeleton crew comes round to sweep this hallway of my palace, and I know it’s time to leave. The crew grunt past me, grimacing skull faces eternally cleaning up the drooping bits of blues and greens that swirl and eddy in the memory current, pushing in on each other, mixing precious symbols into paste, and rot delineations to nothingness.
My eyes opened, I am sitting in my chair, surrounded by things with clearly defined edges and sharp corners. There is a solid formation here, the remains of trees and ore, everything tangible in the sensation of touch. The sun is slightly lower in the sky, but still present, and waking appendages at me from a distance. A woman walking her dog by my window notices the strains of Joe Henry climbing through the air, and smiles to herself, never really considering what she saw.
There is always more to discover in the halls of my memory palace, etched into walls or pressed into momentary service as a rider on the storm, a cool place to watch the wreckage of cars, girls, and balls floating by. Every drug known to man struts by in an parade of unfeeling poses, masking agents to the harsh reality that the memory palace has limits, and these limits cannot be fractured, not by crystal javelins or tiny straws. Joe Henry sings in the background of the memory, protected as it were, a statue of an tough jawed Jersey girl still trying to figure out where to stick the saber between short ribs and rasped breath.
Knowledge and understanding grab me tightly, throwing distortion aside, and I see a girl with blonde hair in a green dress dance in the sunlight. The concordance of her movement towards me, ever closer, always Always, clear to me as the first glimpse of grass at Fenway, a sliver through the opening of the entranceway to the field. For a moment those arms are real, those lips still call against the better judgment of the sanest aphrodisiac, the freedom to choose from amongst the many possibilities that shout my name. Her avatar strikes me, and I can smell the sun and wind, mixed with her perfume and shampoo, and feel the dust kicked up by the Western winds against my face. Faster they seem to murmur, ever faster, ever farther.
The scent, falling off the engraved image like specs of gold pushing through the air to my nose, is warm, pleasing, totally ensconced by the positive associations pin wheeling through my body. Nascent tones overwhelm me, and for a moment I am standing in front of a ramshackle white clapboard house, holding something to my chest, pressure of a thousand hugs gone sour, battery acid in my mouth and on my lips. The house vanishes in a blaze of fire and smoke, masking the Western skyline rising from behind. The sun, for a moment so warm and inviting, a late afternoon nap or the tangled embrace of your missionary lover, fades against the darkness brewing from your house, there’s nothing I can do anymore.
Seconds later, my tears dry and the scene is replaced, the memory again safely stored away. The true nature of bittersweet reaches my heart, and for a brief moment, I wish I could be split in half, right down the middle, seizing some 19th century notion of ripping the evil out of the good, but this leaves me dissatisfied, and all I desire now is to leave the memory palace before it gets too late.
My own indiscretion at arousing this particular memory stands tall before me, and the innocence of the participants is only found in residual traces, scattered along empty doorways and blowing out open windows on winds I can’t even feel. My past selves cry out in agony, angered and saddened to be presented here to current me, living somewhere in a shell just beyond Appalachia. Each asks stinging questions that I can’t answer, all beginning with why’s and how’s, demanding Answers, and I have nothing to give but shamefaced looks and guilty smiles. A skeleton crew comes round to sweep this hallway of my palace, and I know it’s time to leave. The crew grunt past me, grimacing skull faces eternally cleaning up the drooping bits of blues and greens that swirl and eddy in the memory current, pushing in on each other, mixing precious symbols into paste, and rot delineations to nothingness.
My eyes opened, I am sitting in my chair, surrounded by things with clearly defined edges and sharp corners. There is a solid formation here, the remains of trees and ore, everything tangible in the sensation of touch. The sun is slightly lower in the sky, but still present, and waking appendages at me from a distance. A woman walking her dog by my window notices the strains of Joe Henry climbing through the air, and smiles to herself, never really considering what she saw.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
no rest for the wicked
3 good beers and you know what comes next. i'm just so thankful the good lord jesus whom I haven't let into my heart and soul decided to grace the earth with drugs. Sometimes, I swear, I just want to fall to my knees and tell the good Lord how much he means to me and how important it is for everyone to pray and be thankful for this perfect world. Other times, I think that we should just BURN THIS MOTHERFUCKER DOWN....
pensive and confused, but still alive and kicking,
cf
pensive and confused, but still alive and kicking,
cf
Monday, January 10, 2005
if i can just get off of this LA freeway....
Wow, what a wasted day. I am getting the distinct impression that things are so in flux right now that I am no longer here. I mean, physically, of course I am in Blacksburg, but emotionally and spiritually, I think I flew the coop some time ago. My only problem is that I don't really know where I am, and until I have resettled, preferably South of here, and closer to the sea. I spose the challenge is to try and ignore the idea that my time in Blacksburg has put me no closer to wherever it is I am going in life. Or maybe I shouldn't ignore it. It is liberating to say, and seems right. Of course, if I am proven wrong, so be it. Either way....
Not much to say tonight. I got nothing done today, but whatever, we'll write it off to the tao and smile about it later on. I managed to shower and shave before 6, but it was pm, not am, so no good boy points there. Smoked a few cigarettes, watched some TV, and played GTASA. A good day no doubt, plus, I read some cool shit about BIlly Joe Shaver and got some new tunes from Cory Morrow and Pat Green, so the day was not a total loss as all are fucking great and should be listened to by anyone who likes REK or David Alan Coe and the like. Good tunes.
"It's A Great Day To Be Alive" is the only song running through my head right now. That and "Live Forever" which has a really sad story to it. Oh well...
cf
Not much to say tonight. I got nothing done today, but whatever, we'll write it off to the tao and smile about it later on. I managed to shower and shave before 6, but it was pm, not am, so no good boy points there. Smoked a few cigarettes, watched some TV, and played GTASA. A good day no doubt, plus, I read some cool shit about BIlly Joe Shaver and got some new tunes from Cory Morrow and Pat Green, so the day was not a total loss as all are fucking great and should be listened to by anyone who likes REK or David Alan Coe and the like. Good tunes.
"It's A Great Day To Be Alive" is the only song running through my head right now. That and "Live Forever" which has a really sad story to it. Oh well...
cf
Saturday, January 08, 2005
beatles music is an aphrodisiac...
Perfume (a draft)
Staring into space,
recognizing brief scented wind,
falling across my face,
alone at night among the channels
and light switches
the scent is lazy perfume
the scent of a woman
getting ready to go out
on Friday night in
the old town,
the scent takes me back in time,
living north of here,
out among the western
green hills reaching for clouds,
snowy passes guarding small towns
in the desert
the scene flashes,
replaced by fuzzy outlined afterimage
darkness, scented wind
blown away,drifting back, coming around again
Staring into space,
recognizing brief scented wind,
falling across my face,
alone at night among the channels
and light switches
the scent is lazy perfume
the scent of a woman
getting ready to go out
on Friday night in
the old town,
the scent takes me back in time,
living north of here,
out among the western
green hills reaching for clouds,
snowy passes guarding small towns
in the desert
the scene flashes,
replaced by fuzzy outlined afterimage
darkness, scented wind
blown away,drifting back, coming around again
Thursday, January 06, 2005
deep lake by bruce cockburn...
I remember one night, when I lived there, and you were asleep. The radio played Bruce Cockburn's "Deep Lake" quietly, and the open window let in a slow breeze that kept the night cool. You were on your stomache, leg askew against mine as I sat up in bed. I watched the shadow pattern twist with the opportunistic lights of the cars that drove by our window. In the dark, I can smell that mix of perfume, shampoo and sweat of your day, the scent I loved to know at night. Every last detail of the quiet night is etched in my mind, and while I know you will probobly never read this, I had to write it. I want you to know what you took, and those forever images that stick with me, images I can't burn with a lighter or destroy with my hands. Now you live somewhere behind my eyes, always just over the next rise, where the river disappears around the bend. I want you to know all this, so when you wake up some quiet night, leg pressed up against whoever took my place with soft music playing, maybe a guitar carried across the room, as some shadow dances behind everything you said and did, you'll know, same as me. You'll know I may be sad to let this overwhelming sadness go, but that won't stop it from happening. There is no end to the wind, it circles the planet, and I will catch it next time around. Goodbye, farewell, and amen.
aloha,
cf
----------------------------------------
"I've seen a high cairn kissed by holy wind
Seen a mirror pool cut by golden fins
Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities
The mad whose blessing you must accept without pity
I've stood in airports guarded glass and chrome
Walked rifled roads and landmined loam
Seen a forest in flames right down to the road
Burned in love till I've seen my heart explode
You've been leading me
Beside strange waters
Across the concrete fields of man
Sun ray like a camera pans
Some will run and some will stand
Everything is bullshit but the open hand
You've been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?
You've been leading me
Beside strange waters"
Strange Waters
by Bruce Cockburn
cf
aloha,
cf
----------------------------------------
"I've seen a high cairn kissed by holy wind
Seen a mirror pool cut by golden fins
Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities
The mad whose blessing you must accept without pity
I've stood in airports guarded glass and chrome
Walked rifled roads and landmined loam
Seen a forest in flames right down to the road
Burned in love till I've seen my heart explode
You've been leading me
Beside strange waters
Across the concrete fields of man
Sun ray like a camera pans
Some will run and some will stand
Everything is bullshit but the open hand
You've been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?
You've been leading me
Beside strange waters"
Strange Waters
by Bruce Cockburn
cf
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Ia ora te natura e mea arofa teie ao nei....
"I know I don't get there often enough
But God knows I surely try
It's a magic kind of medicine
That no doctor could prescribe"
Ah, the last of the winter holidays, at least for me. As per usual, I'm glad to see them go and regular life can return. It's a good day to think about what I really want from life, since as far as I know, I have never written much about that, so I have spoken to people about it a lot.
So, without further ado, what is it that I want? Sand. Sun. Blue clear waters lapping my feet and a cold Caribe or Red Stripe in my hand and something to write on. Yes, the Caribbean. And, after grad school and my docotorate have been obtained, I will beo nt he first plane or tramp steamer down south. Perhaps I won't fit in any better down there than I do here, but at least I'll be in the Caribbean. It's the best move I can make for me, and besides, it is the only place I have ever felt at home. So, to the fine bartenders at Skinny Legs Bar & Grill, keep it cold, I'll be back shortly, and even shorter if I don't get in to grad school....
So, this birthday won't be ruined by a ringing phone, I will be getting as intoxicated as possible tonight. Unfortuante there isn't a decent sporting event on my day, but shit, this is the 25th straight birthday without real sports action to entertain me, so perhaps I'll just pop in my Sox or Pats CHAMNPIONSHIP DVD's and enjoy. (I know, the college football thingy is on tonight, but can we be honest and admit minor league football has become much bigger than it really deserves? Ladies and gentleman, check out the NFL or MLB, both feature athletes at the top of their game and possesing the highest of athletic skills. Sorry, rant over!)
As for me, aside from a few small things still up in the air, I think it is time to enjoy a little treat. Before I go, I just wnted to write a small list of the good things that happened while I was 24. (Someone gave me this advice a long time ago, and I guess this is a good time to test it out. (Thanks R!)
1. Red Sox WS Champs!
2. Pats win SB XXXVIII
3. The good friendship of my roomate and her fiance/Reuniting with LZ/J&M MNF nights/Paul & Manh Do in WA/
4. Rediscovering friendship with my bro
5. Everyone at the Rivermill B&G
6. Bud Light.
7. Bud not light...(you figger that one out!!!)
8. The possibility of future Buffett & Springsteen shows (will one of you fuckers get some tour dates out already??!!!)
9. All the other friends that I have lost touch with and will find again (Columbia, MD and Berkely, CA)
10. Roadtrips, drugs, concerts, games, and all the shit I am gonna git into this year. Cars unlocked and gas is cheap, see ya out on the road. (HEY JIMMY, OPEN THE BAR, I'M COMING ON DOWN!!!)
aloha,
cf
ps - "Rusty Old American Dream" by Pat Green, "Feelin' Good Again" by REK, and everything Buffett ever wrote, cause once again, buffett is key.
cf
But God knows I surely try
It's a magic kind of medicine
That no doctor could prescribe"
Ah, the last of the winter holidays, at least for me. As per usual, I'm glad to see them go and regular life can return. It's a good day to think about what I really want from life, since as far as I know, I have never written much about that, so I have spoken to people about it a lot.
So, without further ado, what is it that I want? Sand. Sun. Blue clear waters lapping my feet and a cold Caribe or Red Stripe in my hand and something to write on. Yes, the Caribbean. And, after grad school and my docotorate have been obtained, I will beo nt he first plane or tramp steamer down south. Perhaps I won't fit in any better down there than I do here, but at least I'll be in the Caribbean. It's the best move I can make for me, and besides, it is the only place I have ever felt at home. So, to the fine bartenders at Skinny Legs Bar & Grill, keep it cold, I'll be back shortly, and even shorter if I don't get in to grad school....
So, this birthday won't be ruined by a ringing phone, I will be getting as intoxicated as possible tonight. Unfortuante there isn't a decent sporting event on my day, but shit, this is the 25th straight birthday without real sports action to entertain me, so perhaps I'll just pop in my Sox or Pats CHAMNPIONSHIP DVD's and enjoy. (I know, the college football thingy is on tonight, but can we be honest and admit minor league football has become much bigger than it really deserves? Ladies and gentleman, check out the NFL or MLB, both feature athletes at the top of their game and possesing the highest of athletic skills. Sorry, rant over!)
As for me, aside from a few small things still up in the air, I think it is time to enjoy a little treat. Before I go, I just wnted to write a small list of the good things that happened while I was 24. (Someone gave me this advice a long time ago, and I guess this is a good time to test it out. (Thanks R!)
1. Red Sox WS Champs!
2. Pats win SB XXXVIII
3. The good friendship of my roomate and her fiance/Reuniting with LZ/J&M MNF nights/Paul & Manh Do in WA/
4. Rediscovering friendship with my bro
5. Everyone at the Rivermill B&G
6. Bud Light.
7. Bud not light...(you figger that one out!!!)
8. The possibility of future Buffett & Springsteen shows (will one of you fuckers get some tour dates out already??!!!)
9. All the other friends that I have lost touch with and will find again (Columbia, MD and Berkely, CA)
10. Roadtrips, drugs, concerts, games, and all the shit I am gonna git into this year. Cars unlocked and gas is cheap, see ya out on the road. (HEY JIMMY, OPEN THE BAR, I'M COMING ON DOWN!!!)
aloha,
cf
ps - "Rusty Old American Dream" by Pat Green, "Feelin' Good Again" by REK, and everything Buffett ever wrote, cause once again, buffett is key.
cf
Monday, January 03, 2005
take another road...
Almost 25. That seems strange, but another birthday is a sunrise away and I am stuck in town. (Lack of funding, lack of reliable transportation, etc.) So, instead of sitting around and smoking my birthday away, I will change tactics and drink until the bar closes. A side note: It has always been strange to have a birthday during winter break, mostly cause there is really never anyone around, but I don't think I will have to try to hard to get the barmaids attention, and lets be honest, all I want, aside from tasty waves and a cool buzz is cold Bud Light (thanks Paul!) and some scenery to look at. Good conversation is nice, but hard to find, and tomorrow I will be in no mood to rehash the last year. So, if you desire to buy me an ice cold one from the Bar, I'll be at Rivermill as long as I can drink for. (The Rivermill is a fine local drinking establishment, and dare I say it, the best bar in town. It also has a pretty far out staff, and a crack team of bartenders that pour drinks directly into glasses and can all, as far as I know, dispense Bud Light with World Champion calibre bartenders.)
So, aside from that, it will be your average Tuesday. With the playoffs coming this weekend ( or next for those of you in NE or PA!!!!) plus school and mailing out those appy's, it would seem things are going well. Though I worry about what to watch in the sporting world post SB XXXIX (is that 39? Fucking romans...) I suppose like most things, that matter will resolve itself without too much impetus from me. It would seem most problems are like that. Every day, the past has less of a hold on me and the future digs in. That seems to be progress, and we can't have enough of that in this blasted country.
SKIP THE STUFF BELOW IF YOU DONT LIKE PHILOSOPHICAL RAMBLINGS!!!!
OK, it has been postualted by many that Might (as force) can not only eluciate a positive long term cessation of hostilities as well as a peaceful world. Before answering this claim of might as right specifically, it will be good to think about humanity in a more clear eyed and realistic way. In this case, I refer to the organized society of cultural clash and the factors precipitating this clash. I think it can be safely said that the underlying cause of conflict is the continued assurance of existence. This means life first and foremost, and secondly, the continuation of specific cultural-centric behaviors adopted by individuals to conform (in many varying degrees) to an established identity. The premise here is that the factors that sustain life (food, water, shelter, clothing, et. al) must be protected at all costs. Now, many might ask me "What about religous/ethnic/gender/racial conflict? What role does that play in your theory?"
My reply is simple. None. Each is a smokescreen for an organizing tenet of identity, the very symbolic and often manipulated poles of control that develop the shared symbology I referred to earlier. Don't be confused, I'm not saying there are not specific actions directed for and against individuals on this basis, but each is supported and acted out in large part by both leadership and following acting on a base of unity over shared identity. In the case of protecting the needs of the community, this violence often takes on the aspect of competition for the ultimate prize: Survival.
It has been argued mankind is past the age of struggle for the future. Current events says otherwise. Now, obviously, this need not be so. The continued development of technology would allow for some form of sustenance for the entrie world, so the wars now fought are often coated angain as societal conflict. Localized conflict over resources is more common today than any other warfare, for instnace, see the conflict between Israel and the rest of the Middle East. A fight for water in the desert that is cloaked as ethnic and religous hatred. (Christians, I am not leaving you out here. Y'all have done your fair share of killing and torture, just like EVERYBODY ELSE.)
So back to might as right. The reason this postulate fails as a practical idea is becasue of the variance of cultural primacy. This means who fucks who, and for how long. Every human being should know by about age 20 or so that sometimes, you're the one who controls the tunes, and sometimes you dance to someone else's rhythm. This is as true for nations as it is for individuals, and those that forget that they won't get to play the music forever are usually doomed to get fucked. I'm sure the last few Roman emporers and the current crop of American, British and UN leaders would have a lot to talk about. Shit, there is a reason Tony Blair licks at W's boots.
At any rate, all I am trying to say is that it seems easier to find some peaceful coexistence centered on fulfuilling the basic minimums of existence. I think the governments of the world have all failed equally in this sense. This lack of cooperation between nations and peoples is a sad comment on humanity. But in a country that is so sexually repressed the mere thought of gay marriage incites the more "fundamentalist" among us to knash their teeth and demand that faggots be punished, it is no surprise that the "good christian people" as o'connor might say, cannot do more than talk about charity and demand continued fealty to the man in the sky while making sure to reward "good behavior" with the promise of heaven.
Whew, got really off subject, but someday I will post a more clear and concise explanation of where I am going with this. until then, just know I think might makes right is a glaring example of short sighted and selfish philosophy that will probobly end up costing a lot of people their lives before the planet drops into the sun. But I'll already be gone, so no worries!
Well, off to go find food and smokes, wearing shorts on Jan 3rd!!!!
cf
ps - Songs! "I Don't Know (Spicolli's Theme)," "Take Another Road" both by Jimmy, and "Blue Telescope" by John Hiatt. You may never have heard of John Hiatt, but trust me, you have heard his songs. Everyone has covered John Hiatt, but always let a songwriter speak or sing for himself. Trust me, it's the only way to get to the truth of the matter. "Hey Mr. Paperman, I think it's time to go home...."
cf
So, aside from that, it will be your average Tuesday. With the playoffs coming this weekend ( or next for those of you in NE or PA!!!!) plus school and mailing out those appy's, it would seem things are going well. Though I worry about what to watch in the sporting world post SB XXXIX (is that 39? Fucking romans...) I suppose like most things, that matter will resolve itself without too much impetus from me. It would seem most problems are like that. Every day, the past has less of a hold on me and the future digs in. That seems to be progress, and we can't have enough of that in this blasted country.
SKIP THE STUFF BELOW IF YOU DONT LIKE PHILOSOPHICAL RAMBLINGS!!!!
OK, it has been postualted by many that Might (as force) can not only eluciate a positive long term cessation of hostilities as well as a peaceful world. Before answering this claim of might as right specifically, it will be good to think about humanity in a more clear eyed and realistic way. In this case, I refer to the organized society of cultural clash and the factors precipitating this clash. I think it can be safely said that the underlying cause of conflict is the continued assurance of existence. This means life first and foremost, and secondly, the continuation of specific cultural-centric behaviors adopted by individuals to conform (in many varying degrees) to an established identity. The premise here is that the factors that sustain life (food, water, shelter, clothing, et. al) must be protected at all costs. Now, many might ask me "What about religous/ethnic/gender/racial conflict? What role does that play in your theory?"
My reply is simple. None. Each is a smokescreen for an organizing tenet of identity, the very symbolic and often manipulated poles of control that develop the shared symbology I referred to earlier. Don't be confused, I'm not saying there are not specific actions directed for and against individuals on this basis, but each is supported and acted out in large part by both leadership and following acting on a base of unity over shared identity. In the case of protecting the needs of the community, this violence often takes on the aspect of competition for the ultimate prize: Survival.
It has been argued mankind is past the age of struggle for the future. Current events says otherwise. Now, obviously, this need not be so. The continued development of technology would allow for some form of sustenance for the entrie world, so the wars now fought are often coated angain as societal conflict. Localized conflict over resources is more common today than any other warfare, for instnace, see the conflict between Israel and the rest of the Middle East. A fight for water in the desert that is cloaked as ethnic and religous hatred. (Christians, I am not leaving you out here. Y'all have done your fair share of killing and torture, just like EVERYBODY ELSE.)
So back to might as right. The reason this postulate fails as a practical idea is becasue of the variance of cultural primacy. This means who fucks who, and for how long. Every human being should know by about age 20 or so that sometimes, you're the one who controls the tunes, and sometimes you dance to someone else's rhythm. This is as true for nations as it is for individuals, and those that forget that they won't get to play the music forever are usually doomed to get fucked. I'm sure the last few Roman emporers and the current crop of American, British and UN leaders would have a lot to talk about. Shit, there is a reason Tony Blair licks at W's boots.
At any rate, all I am trying to say is that it seems easier to find some peaceful coexistence centered on fulfuilling the basic minimums of existence. I think the governments of the world have all failed equally in this sense. This lack of cooperation between nations and peoples is a sad comment on humanity. But in a country that is so sexually repressed the mere thought of gay marriage incites the more "fundamentalist" among us to knash their teeth and demand that faggots be punished, it is no surprise that the "good christian people" as o'connor might say, cannot do more than talk about charity and demand continued fealty to the man in the sky while making sure to reward "good behavior" with the promise of heaven.
Whew, got really off subject, but someday I will post a more clear and concise explanation of where I am going with this. until then, just know I think might makes right is a glaring example of short sighted and selfish philosophy that will probobly end up costing a lot of people their lives before the planet drops into the sun. But I'll already be gone, so no worries!
Well, off to go find food and smokes, wearing shorts on Jan 3rd!!!!
cf
ps - Songs! "I Don't Know (Spicolli's Theme)," "Take Another Road" both by Jimmy, and "Blue Telescope" by John Hiatt. You may never have heard of John Hiatt, but trust me, you have heard his songs. Everyone has covered John Hiatt, but always let a songwriter speak or sing for himself. Trust me, it's the only way to get to the truth of the matter. "Hey Mr. Paperman, I think it's time to go home...."
cf
