Cannot find the spark
Running in the dark
Cannot find the comfort in this world
Thursday, February 25, 2010
snow and death
"It snowed upon the living, it snowed upon the dead" - James Joyce, in some short story.
The snow was melting yesterday, the water running into the drains like the blood in "Psycho." I thought of the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun" as winter strains against Spring. But I want everything frozen and covered over, like the real me that has been suffocated by pain, yet leaps to life the minute the terrible pressure in my body abates. For now, I want everything frozen until I can live again.
I can't breathe, I've found out. I have what is called sleep apnea, in which the throught is cut off from breathing by soft tissue which blocks breathing during sleep when relaxed.
That's right, relaxation is bad, and will kill me if I continue trying to sleep with blocked airways. Another doctor told me I had massive cholesterol levels. I am not long for this world, it seems.
This is too bad, for when I can get enough oxygen, I feel like me again. Confident, competent, and joking. The difference is night and day. If I had the confidence to know I could maintain it, what a wonderful world it could be. Otherwise, I have to resign myself to an early death or a nightmare half-life of suffering sleeplessness and pain. This is what I've dealt with for 20 years. I've had enough.
The real me, though, comes back so quickly when I can breathe that I miss normal life so much. To sleep deeply, to make love with enjoyment. To exist without pain, the ability to relax without penalty. This is all I ask. Yet somehow God or whomever above has chosen to deny it to me. What did I do to deserve this? I guess this is the eternal question of man.
So, with my 44th birthday approaching, I find nothing to celebrate. If and when I recover, will it be so late that anything approaching family, career, and children are out of the picture, or even a female mate? The sands of time, like the melting snow, are disappearing down the drain. Bring on the night, bring on the winter until I can feel a springtime in me for real this time.
The snow was melting yesterday, the water running into the drains like the blood in "Psycho." I thought of the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun" as winter strains against Spring. But I want everything frozen and covered over, like the real me that has been suffocated by pain, yet leaps to life the minute the terrible pressure in my body abates. For now, I want everything frozen until I can live again.
I can't breathe, I've found out. I have what is called sleep apnea, in which the throught is cut off from breathing by soft tissue which blocks breathing during sleep when relaxed.
That's right, relaxation is bad, and will kill me if I continue trying to sleep with blocked airways. Another doctor told me I had massive cholesterol levels. I am not long for this world, it seems.
This is too bad, for when I can get enough oxygen, I feel like me again. Confident, competent, and joking. The difference is night and day. If I had the confidence to know I could maintain it, what a wonderful world it could be. Otherwise, I have to resign myself to an early death or a nightmare half-life of suffering sleeplessness and pain. This is what I've dealt with for 20 years. I've had enough.
The real me, though, comes back so quickly when I can breathe that I miss normal life so much. To sleep deeply, to make love with enjoyment. To exist without pain, the ability to relax without penalty. This is all I ask. Yet somehow God or whomever above has chosen to deny it to me. What did I do to deserve this? I guess this is the eternal question of man.
So, with my 44th birthday approaching, I find nothing to celebrate. If and when I recover, will it be so late that anything approaching family, career, and children are out of the picture, or even a female mate? The sands of time, like the melting snow, are disappearing down the drain. Bring on the night, bring on the winter until I can feel a springtime in me for real this time.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
John Barleycorn Must Die
Barley is one of the chief ingredients in Beer and Whiskey. The British reformers who attacked it forgot that it is also a chief part of Bread.
In the personification of the struggles over alcohol, John Barleycorn was Beer and Whiskey. In the folk song, revived by some band in the 1960s, there is the central lyric:
"And these three men, they made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn must die."
Is this now the central aim of AA? After all, it is said that if alcohol were just discovered today, it would be outlawed. I wonder about Rambler, going against the great social lubricant of today. How to do it? Outdoor climates like Southern California make it relatively easy by providing alternatives to bars and pubs and the like, but there is still the temptation to supplement the high one gets from the relatively unobstructed freedom of the West.
I can imagine being on the beach at Santa Monica, watching the sun set over Malibu. What could be better than a cool one to ice the day? Or should you just plunge yourself into the Pacific?
In the personification of the struggles over alcohol, John Barleycorn was Beer and Whiskey. In the folk song, revived by some band in the 1960s, there is the central lyric:
"And these three men, they made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn must die."
Is this now the central aim of AA? After all, it is said that if alcohol were just discovered today, it would be outlawed. I wonder about Rambler, going against the great social lubricant of today. How to do it? Outdoor climates like Southern California make it relatively easy by providing alternatives to bars and pubs and the like, but there is still the temptation to supplement the high one gets from the relatively unobstructed freedom of the West.
I can imagine being on the beach at Santa Monica, watching the sun set over Malibu. What could be better than a cool one to ice the day? Or should you just plunge yourself into the Pacific?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Money and Menace
There's a new book out (I'll find out the name later) that I flipped through that said New York has lost its character because of rampant real-estate development.
I must admit, Manhattan has lost much of its sense of place due to chain-development and the like. But it was an accident waiting to happen.
Real-estate pressures on Manhattan are immense, owing mostly to the lack of it and idiotic real-estate land-stealing through rent-control and rent-stabilized units.
But the real land-burst came with the city's plummeting crime rate. All of the sudden, neighborhoods that had been off-limits became open for development.
Anyone who knew NY in the 1980s knew the palpable sense of menace that started to overcome you, say, as you went further into Alphabet City. I remember my college roommate, an Upper Westsider, turning back on St. Mark's at about First Ave. because it supposedly got too bad "down there."
As I got bolder, I went more and more "down there" and enjoyed feeling like a badass simply by being in Tompkins Square Park with the "Anarchists" (read, apartment redevelopers before their time). My favorite place in the city was the intersection of 2nd and Ave. B, where there was this post-apocalyptic "gas station" where noise bands would play, surrounded by empty buildings.
So none of that is left. But a city is an organic creature, constantly reinventing itself. It is left for succeeding generations to create a new lefty/non-conformist-center, probably in Brooklyn. Don't look back.
I must admit, Manhattan has lost much of its sense of place due to chain-development and the like. But it was an accident waiting to happen.
Real-estate pressures on Manhattan are immense, owing mostly to the lack of it and idiotic real-estate land-stealing through rent-control and rent-stabilized units.
But the real land-burst came with the city's plummeting crime rate. All of the sudden, neighborhoods that had been off-limits became open for development.
Anyone who knew NY in the 1980s knew the palpable sense of menace that started to overcome you, say, as you went further into Alphabet City. I remember my college roommate, an Upper Westsider, turning back on St. Mark's at about First Ave. because it supposedly got too bad "down there."
As I got bolder, I went more and more "down there" and enjoyed feeling like a badass simply by being in Tompkins Square Park with the "Anarchists" (read, apartment redevelopers before their time). My favorite place in the city was the intersection of 2nd and Ave. B, where there was this post-apocalyptic "gas station" where noise bands would play, surrounded by empty buildings.
So none of that is left. But a city is an organic creature, constantly reinventing itself. It is left for succeeding generations to create a new lefty/non-conformist-center, probably in Brooklyn. Don't look back.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Winter Light
A classic from last year, and one of the best things I've written. It's to my love, a majestic maple in the backyard.
Reaching up toward the pale light
Branches grasping it
Is perfect
Bridges the whiteness
Between ground and air
earth and sky, unified
It is a child's picture of a tree
Painted by a master artist
When the leaves come
They are lush and full
For now it is asleep
Its towering majesty undiminished
It yearns to the sky
stripped to the bones
and for a moment,
brings my eye to heaven high
Reaching up toward the pale light
Branches grasping it
Is perfect
Bridges the whiteness
Between ground and air
earth and sky, unified
It is a child's picture of a tree
Painted by a master artist
When the leaves come
They are lush and full
For now it is asleep
Its towering majesty undiminished
It yearns to the sky
stripped to the bones
and for a moment,
brings my eye to heaven high
Monday, February 15, 2010
Teens Send Blowjobs to Haiti
A pack of US teens, struck by the devestation in Haiti, has vowed to travel to the be beleaguered country to give blowjobs in the earthquate-battered nation.
Southern California, where the teen blowjob craze begun, has offered its adolescent girls up to give comfort to the males of the storm-wracked island.
"We saw on the news that people are suffering here," said Mandy Pepperidge, 17, of Simi Valley, " we thought that it's the least we can do, given the fact that we're on our knees pretty much 24/7 here."
The teens realized that the oral sex would not guarantee them a place in Showtimes movie of the week. Nontheless, they were rushed to Catholic hospitals in hastity put-together schoolgirl outfits.
"They said the uniforms would be a huge turn-on on the net, so we all changed into the skimpy tartan outfits," said Auruara Snow, sex kitten of the next 24 hours on Justbarelywithmuffschool.com.
The males of Haiti were reportedly appreciative of the unexpected attention, and posted their activities on the net with the girls as soon as possible. "It is, how you say, unusual for California teens to treat us with such great respect and comfort," said Pierre Jones-Hugenout, beneficiacy of the US aid.
Some on the island said that men had been praying to the Voodoo Goddess Angelique Boutique for the aformentioned favors. "Angelique has answered our prayers," said one man, "the entire island has gained release with appreciation."
However, Elaine Mables, author of the book "Don't Go Back to Cocksville," has maintained that showcase projects like the Haiti effort simply reinforce the status quo.
"For God Sake,we've got an entire generation for whom the blowjob is equivalent to a firm handshake," she said. She suggested alternatives such as bowing and scraping.
"Someday soon in this country the assfuck is going to be the greeting of choice," she said. Let's make sure everyone is safe in performing this soon-to-be-pleasantry, she said.
Southern California, where the teen blowjob craze begun, has offered its adolescent girls up to give comfort to the males of the storm-wracked island.
"We saw on the news that people are suffering here," said Mandy Pepperidge, 17, of Simi Valley, " we thought that it's the least we can do, given the fact that we're on our knees pretty much 24/7 here."
The teens realized that the oral sex would not guarantee them a place in Showtimes movie of the week. Nontheless, they were rushed to Catholic hospitals in hastity put-together schoolgirl outfits.
"They said the uniforms would be a huge turn-on on the net, so we all changed into the skimpy tartan outfits," said Auruara Snow, sex kitten of the next 24 hours on Justbarelywithmuffschool.com.
The males of Haiti were reportedly appreciative of the unexpected attention, and posted their activities on the net with the girls as soon as possible. "It is, how you say, unusual for California teens to treat us with such great respect and comfort," said Pierre Jones-Hugenout, beneficiacy of the US aid.
Some on the island said that men had been praying to the Voodoo Goddess Angelique Boutique for the aformentioned favors. "Angelique has answered our prayers," said one man, "the entire island has gained release with appreciation."
However, Elaine Mables, author of the book "Don't Go Back to Cocksville," has maintained that showcase projects like the Haiti effort simply reinforce the status quo.
"For God Sake,we've got an entire generation for whom the blowjob is equivalent to a firm handshake," she said. She suggested alternatives such as bowing and scraping.
"Someday soon in this country the assfuck is going to be the greeting of choice," she said. Let's make sure everyone is safe in performing this soon-to-be-pleasantry, she said.
Our Place in History
I like to name a post something portentous, like that above. That being said, I can witter on like a crack-headed bird-brain for the rest of the post.
But I'd like to say about Gen-X, are we finished already? Is Nirvana the best we can do? Technology has turned the world upside down (or is it right-side up) since we graduated from college. Most of it sucks.
Don't take me for a Luddite, but Facebook? Porn for all for free? Even mapquest is redundant if you take the time to study a decent map. But Google, god of all and everything, has turned your ordinary barroom controversy into certitude.
But everything subservient to technology, even books? This is the Roman empire being sacked by the Visogoths. People with e-books swear they are the best, but will they last? Will they be treasured by generations to come? Will they gather dust as prestige items its owners never read anyway? Trophy cases for the urban upper=middle class? Civilization teetering on a bookcase, over the extra-large screen TV?
Egalitarianism sucks. There were reasons that newspaper and magazine pundits could weigh in on quite quite weighty subjects. They knew what they were talking about.
And no, any jack-off king in his basement reading blogs is not the same as George Will. And Will benefited from this arrangement, meaning that those in high office responded to his request for interviews were returned asap.
When I worked for the Trenton Times, state officials would get back to me whenever I told them to. This was not because of me, but because I represented 100,000 people, and they damn well better get back unless they wanted someone else to crucify them.
The power of the press, it was said, belongs to those who own one. Now that everyone has one, who'll grant power to the powerless?
But I'd like to say about Gen-X, are we finished already? Is Nirvana the best we can do? Technology has turned the world upside down (or is it right-side up) since we graduated from college. Most of it sucks.
Don't take me for a Luddite, but Facebook? Porn for all for free? Even mapquest is redundant if you take the time to study a decent map. But Google, god of all and everything, has turned your ordinary barroom controversy into certitude.
But everything subservient to technology, even books? This is the Roman empire being sacked by the Visogoths. People with e-books swear they are the best, but will they last? Will they be treasured by generations to come? Will they gather dust as prestige items its owners never read anyway? Trophy cases for the urban upper=middle class? Civilization teetering on a bookcase, over the extra-large screen TV?
Egalitarianism sucks. There were reasons that newspaper and magazine pundits could weigh in on quite quite weighty subjects. They knew what they were talking about.
And no, any jack-off king in his basement reading blogs is not the same as George Will. And Will benefited from this arrangement, meaning that those in high office responded to his request for interviews were returned asap.
When I worked for the Trenton Times, state officials would get back to me whenever I told them to. This was not because of me, but because I represented 100,000 people, and they damn well better get back unless they wanted someone else to crucify them.
The power of the press, it was said, belongs to those who own one. Now that everyone has one, who'll grant power to the powerless?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
I can't help it
Nobody reads anything, that's for sure, but it doesn't slake the subconscious compulsion. I like the written word. I thought I was through it but I'm not.
Goddamn it, Rambler, explain to us your love affair with LA, a city we'd always thought you'd hate for its superficiality and its population of known idiots, vacuous muttonheads, birdbrains and morons. Is Jay Leno only joking when he finds these people who don't know what century the civil war took place in, and where is the Indian Ocean? (bad grammar, I know).
And paper cuts on her hands (I can't help it), how do I goddam link up to people? I know I'm a techno-moron but somebody throw me a line. Just because you're better than me at these idiocies doesn't mean you're smarter (hint to everyone: I can quote political theory from the ancient Greeks onward; Am I smarter than you or just chose something archaic to study?)
Because in the end, political theory is about how to best govern societies. Is everyone staying home and broadcasting their stupid and untested theories really the best way to do so? Let's all stay in our basements, wack off to mass produced and ultimately boring porno, and offer lame shots across the political bow instead of really working for change.
Fuck You,
Tourguide
Goddamn it, Rambler, explain to us your love affair with LA, a city we'd always thought you'd hate for its superficiality and its population of known idiots, vacuous muttonheads, birdbrains and morons. Is Jay Leno only joking when he finds these people who don't know what century the civil war took place in, and where is the Indian Ocean? (bad grammar, I know).
And paper cuts on her hands (I can't help it), how do I goddam link up to people? I know I'm a techno-moron but somebody throw me a line. Just because you're better than me at these idiocies doesn't mean you're smarter (hint to everyone: I can quote political theory from the ancient Greeks onward; Am I smarter than you or just chose something archaic to study?)
Because in the end, political theory is about how to best govern societies. Is everyone staying home and broadcasting their stupid and untested theories really the best way to do so? Let's all stay in our basements, wack off to mass produced and ultimately boring porno, and offer lame shots across the political bow instead of really working for change.
Fuck You,
Tourguide
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