Monday, September 30, 2013

who is she how shall i hold

A Good Day

Saturday was a total depressing bust (nothing but in bed all day, listlessly channel-surfing, wondering why S. hadn't e-mailed me back, worrying about the laundry/dishes/shopping/work I needed to do). But SUNDAY I impressed myself with all the necessities done, plus I liked the day for the small pleasures...

Up at 9:15am. Laundry. (Ye who have washers/dryers within your own dwellings -- this isn't a big deal. For those of us, though, who share communal machines -- in my particular case, only 2 washers and 2 dryers for 50+ people -- it's always a big gamble. Nothing more annoying than packing up all your usually-heavy stuff to go to the laundry-room only to find the machines full; or, worse yet, to find cycles finished and people's stuff just SITTING there. At what point is it kosher to touch their stuff and dump it on the counter??) In my case this morning -- all empty! :)

In between laundry cycles, plucked scraggly eyebrows and got showered and blow-dried (so I wouldn't have to go switch the laundry with wet hair).

Both me and laundry finished by 11:30am. Out the door on the way to the bus-stop for grocery shopping (and to buy new monthly bus pass) by 11:45.

Once out of the grocery store, bus home came within 5 minutes! (For some reason, 90% of the time, I usually end up waiting 20-or-more minutes for the home bus. Not this time! And it was cool today! So nothing melted!)

Once home by 12:45pm, I turned on football for the background and started on dishes that had piled up for 2 weeks, started hand-washing the hand-washables that had piled up for 2 weeks, and started on a freelance assignment (no deadline) that'd been sitting around for 2 weeks.

By 5:45pm: dishes, hand-washing, assignment done. Once assignment e-mailed to boss, walked to nearby Tex-Mex place for my favorite cheap/good puffy-taco plate. At home: Ate, relaxed, bemoaned Cowboys' loss.

7:00pm: Big "Real Housewives of New Jersey" finale (+ post-show Theresa/Joe interview) on in the background while I worked on Joan site and Facebook updates.

10pm: Done with necessities, just goofin' around here.

Thanks, Universe! :)

Sunday, September 29, 2013

One more month...

...'til my current temp gig's over. I've held it since late June and the summer's been pleasant and things were A-OK up until we moved to a new building at the start of September. Up 'til that point, I'd been starting to wonder what I would do if they asked me to stay on full-time. As with the last 4-month gig that I had, last October through January, I don't at all like the secretarial work and how you're condescended to as a secretary, but it's easy enough, the people are (for the most part -- see below) pleasant enough, and the real job pays 50% more than I make with the temp pay (plus benefits, etc.).

But here's the thing: At the old building, I had a cube to myself. The three main office ladies were all nice to me, but I was happy to sit away from them. I didn't WANT to know anything about office politics there, etc. I'd announce my presence upon my arrival every morning, ask if there was anything I could do (and, if not, say cheerily "You know where to find me!"). And then I was pretty much left alone, allowed to read, surf, etc.

Now, I'm sharing an office with one of them. She is a super-nice lady, but...  For one thing, she's been there for 30 years. And I see why: She agrees COMPLETELY with anything anyone says to her. Myself included. So I can talk to her and think we're really on the same wavelength. But then I hear her having agreeable conversations about everything with everybody, which makes me start to wonder if she actually has ANY opinions of her own. Which is mildly irritating. I like to know what people really think and why.

Another -- this time literally to my nasal passages -- irritating thing: She smells VERY STRONGLY like she still uses spray deodorant. I remember that heavy, suffocating scent from my own use in junior high/early high school, before solids came on the market. (God, the two choices then were the spray and the roll-on -- the latter always gooey, never drying quickly enough, and so I always used the spray.) I've never been that sensitive to products that people use, but whatever she's coating herself with is almost nauseating to me. (I noticed it every time we'd chat at the old building, but there we were just meeting briefly in the break or elevator area so I could quickly escape the scent.)

This nice lady's agreeableness would never, of course, stop me from wanting to work there, but, seriously, the constant spray-smell would!

And there's one more thing about a different person: There's a 25-year-old Communications person there who's hyper-on-the-make for career advancement. For instance, at one meeting of the larger group, I was sitting with my boss and another office lady. The youngster comes in the room, looks at us and walks by us, calling back, "I can't sit with you because I already KNOW you!" Then she plops herself down at a table with some higher-up execs and starts schmoozing with them. I absolutely HATE that kind of sucking up. We also have a new COO (Chief Operating Officer), and this Communications girl is in the new boss's office EVERY SINGLE DAY. Again, at the old building, the layout was such that I didn't have to witness any of the sucking up. Now, it's right in my face.

Another thing I dislike about the girl: We've now got a very small supply room. At the old place, she too was in a cube, but had room to put all of her conference materials in the large supply area. Now, she's got her own huge office, but still tried to squeeze her stuff into the tiny supply room. I was the one responsible for unpacking everything and arranging the new supply room; I moved all of her boxes into her office, after asking my boss (who is also the girl's boss) if that was OK for space reasons. My boss agreed with me. But when I returned after lunch, all of the girl's materials were mysteriously BACK in the supply room. Again, I moved them back into her office (when she wasn't there). This time, she came marching back to the supply room with her stuff while I was there unpacking: "This doesn't belong in my office." Me: "There's no room in here; I asked D----, and she said to put your stuff in your office. Go ask her." Humph, she humphed out. Long story short: Our boss finally decided just to let her have her way. And now the girl refuses to even look at me.

My revenge: When she sent out a newsletter last week, I printed it out and marked up every single one of the many grammatical/style errors, which I then took to the COO's office, saying "innocently": "I'm a professional copy editor; in the future, if you need me to, I can read any news releases ahead of time to make sure we get rid of all of these kinds of errors before anyone else sees them." HA!!  I mean, I say "Ha!" but in actuality,  I hate this kind of BS gamesmanship. I'll DO it, but I don't want to HAVE to do it.

The good thing for me: I don't NEED this job. My freelance boss (who pays me $27 an hour) just extended my contract through the end of December. That work's sporadic, some weeks 30 hours, some weeks 0, but it puts me in a position of being completely self-sufficient through next January or February whether this secretarial job continues past October or not.

My soul, of course, wants my mind/body to run, run, run away from such an environment, away from both the complacent "lifers" and the shallow career-advancers. Because these kill Soul. Pre-recession 2007, that's exactly what I used to do. It's a new work-world, though, and I can't be anywhere near as picky as I used to be. ("Dammit, Mind," says Soul. Shriveling ever-so-slightly, but still hoping...)

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Friday, September 27, 2013

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Handy Man

I got my first albums in 1977, when I was 12: The Bay City Rollers' "Dedication" was my very first; their debut album was my second. Shaun Cassidy's debut album was my third. (Shaun Cassidy was also my very first concert. The Rollers would have been my first, but their show in Fort Worth was cancelled due to lack of ticket sales.)

In the meantime, I'd been trying to figure out what else I liked. The Eagles, for instance, I'd been reading about constantly in magazines like "Rolling Stone" and I was very curious about them. Until my family went to a pizza place that had a jukebox; I was given a quarter for a couple of songs, and one that I picked was "Hotel California," just because I'd been reading so much about it. Once it came on, though, my 12-year-old self was horrified: I HATED IT! It was slow and pokey. I'd wasted my precious quarter!

My 12-year-old rock-mag reading, and listening to Kasey Kasem's Top 40 Countdown, also led me to requesting James Taylor's "JT" album as a present for some holiday or other. I'd heard "Handy Man" and "Your Smiling Face" on the radio a million times and loved them both. But once I tried the album as a whole... I HATED IT! It was slow and pokey. I'd wasted my holiday wish!

Still haven't ever learned to like The Eagles, but I just out of nostalgia purchased "JT" on CD for a miniscule $4 or something and listened to it again for the first time in 36 years... More conscious of FLOW this time... It flowed! It spoke thoughtfully about love and loss that I had not been aware of at age 12! I liked it this time! :)

Here's my favorite, "Handy Man":

Ellen Terry Apparel

Looking forward to getting the new "Ellen Terry as Lady MacBeth" T that I just ordered!

The below product, though, available from Zazzle, is a bit odd: an Ellen Terry TRUCKER CAP! (No, I didn't order one of these. Kinda curious as to WHO WOULD!) ;p

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Photos by Julia Margaret Cameron

Top is Ellen Terry; middle, unknown; bottom, Alice Liddell (the same "Alice" that Lewis Carroll knew as a girl, this time not fetishized). All shot 1860s-70s.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

"HE IS BONAFIED!!!" (aka "Aspirations")

I'm more dismayed at this point than mocking. After years of Facebook and blogs, I shouldn't be surprised at anyone's heartfelt proclamations for public consumption. (I've made a few of my own.)

The above head, with its original spelling, came from the Facebook posting of a favorite cousin I haven't seen in 30 years, in celebration of the fact that she just changed her status on Facebook to "In a Relationship":  

 "I tell you all !! Its been a rough 2 years, but I finally made it !!!" Aside from his being "bonafied," he's also "retired military, served 3 tours in Iraq, and now a teacher!!!"

I'm happy for her being momentarily happy. But then my sense of reality (negativity?) kicks in:

1) Is 2 years really such a "rough" or long time not to be in a relationship? Me, I'm on a 13-year stretch. It's not fun; it's pretty grim, in fact. So when I hear "2 years" described as "rough" I automatically think, "What an amateur!" ;p

2) RE "I tell you all!!": I'm pretty sure that I will one day have both sex and someone to watch movies with again. And when I do... Dear lord, let me right after NOT announce it on Facebook (or on this blog) with the triumphant preface "I tell you all!!" Same with if I ever decide to kill myself, per an old high-school acquaintance's public Facebook fade-out on Demerol a couple of years ago. May I have a greater sense of decorum in my ultimate moments is all I have to say/ask.

3) RE "retired military, served 3 tours in Iraq, and now a teacher!!!":  I know we're supposed to knee-jerkedly "respect" military personnel. I don't. I do singularly respect this particular man for serving 3 tours in Iraq because I understand that it was a physically, psychologically hard task. But "3 tours in Iraq" do not subsequently make for good husband material. (Everything I've read about returning Iraq vets indicates exactly the opposite, in fact, unless you find PTSD reactions and substance abuse comforting.) The being excited about landing a teacher... Apparently my cousin has led a hardscrabble life, and so being with a teacher would definitely seem an unthreatening place of refuge. (Me, I've never heard a teacher have an original thought, which is depressing as hell to me personally. But then, of course, most people expect things other than "original thoughts" when it comes to their idea of an ideal partner!) ;p

Saturday, September 21, 2013

The Rod Stewart binge continues............................

...for no reason whatsoever. I was 10 or 12 in his heyday! I just bought a "Hits" CD for cheap, though, and I've listened to it about 20 times in the past week............................................

You Wear It Well

"Madame Onassis got nothing on you."


Reason to Believe (1971)

And from a song of Stewart's more than 20 years later: "May you never love in vain."

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

I can't stop looking at this!

Currently up for sale on eBay. 


The man on the far right: In English class in 1980, I sat behind him and once dropped a wad of paper down the back of his shirt just so I could fish it out and lightly touch his shoulder-blades in the process. (Two years later, a girl would do the same to/for me with a leaf and I'd fall in love.) 
He was little and lithe then, his dad a local banker, with a head of bushy dark hair and short-sleeved knit shirts bought from Sears. 

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Hola! Holla! Hello!

Yesterday I'd just crossed the street after a long light and was about to heave up the last hill of the half-mile trek to my bus-stop home when I heard someone hollering my name. Weird! I turned and looked and looked and looked... And then: About a block back was my old library boss from 13 years ago peering at me and smiling.

"Hi T---!" I yelled and waved, then turned back around and continued the march to my stop. Feeling suddenly happy to have seen her, but then pissed off at myself: "What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you go back and say hello??"

2000, the year I left the library, was a definite turning point, a cut-off point, in my life. A pleasant environment, but a complete dead end. The pay so low, the hope for advancement so low, the lazy (yet annoyingly superior for no reason that I could see) attitude of most of the people there... Working there at that point felt utterly deadening to me -- I felt antsy, better, "destined for greater things." And I'd been there, off and on, since 1983; my first part-time college job was shelving books on the floor that I ended up supervising. 2000 was the year I left for good, to work for a publishing company. I never wanted to look back at that library-part of my life because I was so miserable during most of it.

This boss, though, was always very cool. Smart, very good at her job, understanding, sympathetic. Doing her best to deal with both me and HER boss, whom I was constantly at odds with (because he was so illogical and lazy, let me say). We'd often spend hours talking in her office, about her family (and my shallow relationship problems) -- to this day I remember what really turns her husband on! :) I also remember hurting her feelings once when I was going on and on at work about a party I was going to have at my house that weekend. I didn't invite her because I thought she, with a husband and child, wouldn't be interested in coming. She, though, thought I didn't invite her because she was black. :(

When I gave my notice in 2000, she had been out for a month with medical problems. So her boss, the dumb/lazy guy that I did not respect, gave me my final evaluation. His evaluation was bad. My written response to it was bad. I left there hating him and the whole lazy-ass place, vowing to never look back. But regretting that I couldn't have parted with HER on better terms. I've thought about her many times in the 13 years since I left: how decent she was under difficult circumstances, how I didn't behave very well at work (me arguing constantly about EVERYTHING, even parking) because I was so unhappy with my life...

So now here we are yelling "hi!" at each other, 13 years later! :)  Today, I immediately e-mailed her (looked her up on the university directory), saying sorry for running off (had to catch that bus), but let's get together for lunch and catch up before my temp job ends in October. She e-mailed back, yes let's.

The first thing I will do when I see her again is apologize for how obnoxiously I acted when I worked there.


About the above: Just thinking about how, in general, we often wish (pray) we had a chance to go back and give something another shot. ("I'll do better next time, I swear!") Thing is, we're being kind of disingenuous: We don't exactly mean the quite reasonable "Just give me another chance." We mean, rather, the UNreasonable: "Just make everything perfect next time."

I had my second chance with my first girlfriend 7 years later. I had my second chance with Sandra 22 years later. Sandra had her second chance with Jim also decades later. What we all got was a re-hash of the un-ease of the first time. (Physical things and life situations of a person might change, but I don't know that the energy field around a person changes.) Hey, we all got the second chance per heartfelt request, though. That's completely fair. Thanks, Universe.

Breaking Bad / Ozymandias

Good lord, but Breaking Bad is in the air lately! I, though the show appears on AMC which I HAVE on basic cable, had only barely even heard of it, much less watched it, since its 2008 debut.

A few days ago on the bus, though, one mid-30s hipster with plaid shirt/beard got on and hailed another mid-30s hipster with plaid shirt/beard; after the perfunctory hellos, they immediately started in on whether each had seen the last episode of BB and what the true nature of Walter's relationship with his son was... I was thinking to myself, "OK, how cute that the hipster-dads are talking about their favorite TV show... This must be how schlumpfy hipster dads bond nowadays..." (As in, "Heaven forbid they should stay out 'til all hours drinking or something and bond over their shared thoughts during THAT.")

Then yesterday I came upon an in-depth interview with "Breaking Bad"'s star Bryan Cranston in a recent "The New Yorker." I'd never heard of the man. And I, without the magazine in front of me now, didn't take anything away from the article other than that his mother became, in his words, like Blanche DuBois after her divorce and that he now requires his wife and daughter to clean the house for one hour a week because he's a neat freak. (I.e., I learned about the bare-bones plot of the show from reading about its star, but nothing stuck other than the man's personal memories/quirks.)

Then just now I was logging in to Yahoo and in its breaking-news box was the word "Ozymandias." A poem by Shelley that I like a lot, about the dissolution of even the once-grandest of things. (A p.s.: I'll always like New York City because I once saw an ad on a guy's T-shirt for "Ozymandias Realtors" -- an actual realtor! I love that kind of perspective!) When I immediately clicked on "Ozymandias," was taken to a Time magazine story: "'Ozymandias': What does that Breaking Bad episode title mean?"

What the hell, Breaking Bad? Dang. I'll watch, I'll watch!


I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".

Monday, September 16, 2013

Id, Ego, Super-ego,_ego,_and_super-ego

Id, ego and super-ego are the three parts of the psychic apparatus defined in Sigmund Freud's structural model of the psyche; they are the three theoretical constructs in terms of whose activity and interaction mental life is described. According to this model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.[1] The super-ego can stop you from doing certain things that your id may want you to do.[2]


Funny how Freud's quaint theory was deemed so important for so long. (Is it still? I confess I don't keep up with current psychiatric theory.)  Reading about it today, it seems to me like nothing but Creationism or Fairy Tales... The guy had a good imagination and a scholarly background and a fatherly/authoritative fa├žade... And so everyone bought into what he was saying.

I think he was just trying to theorize about the trends he was seeing at the time in his own practice. There's quite a difference between trend-spotting and having some true insight. (As per much of the Bible: It was OBVIOUSLY written by guys sitting around making guesses as to the origins of the world, based solely on THEIR desert world. Dinosaurs weren't mentioned because they didn't know that they had existed. Other planets weren't mentioned because they didn't know that they existed. ET CETERA.)

I think Freud got the common-sense personality concepts of "Id" and "Ego" right. Id, the subterranean. Ego, the functional part. Totally off on the "Super-Ego" part, though. (The Ego actually performing that role.)  At the time of his writing, Freud thought "the super-ego also takes on the influence of those who have stepped into the place of parents — educators, teachers, people chosen as ideal models." He meant this as a CONTROLLING force. Little understanding that, in fact, outer societal influences are often the means of PERMISSION rather than of control. At least today. 

Today there's the functioning-in-the-world Ego; the at-home-alone-with-your-own-thoughts Id; and the... (sadly seemingly necessary) WILD PROJECTION AND SALESMANSHIP OF IDEAL SELF. I figured out by high school that this last "salesmanship thing" might exist. My suspicion confirmed in college and in adult work/love life. In a few wonderful instances, there's no need for such salesmanship. But, unfortunately, the majority of the time, it's required.

I think trees are so cool because of their simply DUAL nature: the outer exhibition balanced by the equally intricate workings underground. They ARE and they ARE. There's no "not really, but let's make something up and SAY it's so until it's believed as true, then congratulate ourselves for fooling others while simultaneously castigating ourselves for being so phony." Therein lies the sickness. Freud didn't see this at all.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

"You're the warmest thing I've ever found..."

Rod Stewart, 1977.

A Scene from "The Bell Jar" (Conversation with the Dybbuk)


Hilda moved like a mannequin the whole way.

"That's a lovely hat, did you make it?"

I half-expected Hilda to turn on me and say, "You sound sick," but she only extended and then retracted her swanny neck.


The night before I'd seen a play where the heroine was possessed by a dybbuk, and when the dybbuk spoke from her mouth its voice sounded so cavernous and deep you couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. Well Hilda's voice sounded just like the voice of that dybbuk.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist. The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.

So I said, "Isn't it awful about the Rosenbergs?"

The Rosenbergs were to be electrocuted late that night.

"Yes!" Hilda said, and at last I felt I had touched a human string in the cat's cradle of her heart. It was only as the two of us waited for the others in the tomb-like morning gloom of the conference room that Hilda amplified that Yes of hers.

"It's awful such people should be alive."

She yawned then, and her pale orange mouth opened on a large darkness. Fascinated, I stared at the blind cave behind her face until the two lips met and moved and the dybbuk spoke out of its hiding place, "I'm so glad they're going to die."


"I know your stairs and your doorway"

Tom Waits' original version of "Downtown Train" 1985, and Rod Stewart's cover from 1989. (What cracks me up the most about the '89 version is the bizarre visual interpretation of "Brooklyn girls" as somehow being prim blonde models with French braids. Not quite what Waits had in mind.)

Outside another yellow moon
Punched a hole in the nighttime, yes
I climb through the window and down the street
Shining like a new dime
The downtown trains are full
With all those Brooklyn girls
They try so hard to break out of their little worlds

You wave your hand and they scatter like crows
They have nothing that will ever capture your heart
They're just thorns without the rose
Be careful of them in the dark
Oh if I was the one
You chose to be your only one
Oh baby can't you hear me now

Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
Every night it's just the same
You leave me lonely, now
I know your window and I know its late
I know your stairs and your doorway
I walk down your street and past your gate
I stand by the light at the four way
You watch them as they fall
They stay at the carnival
But they'll never win you back

Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
Where every night it's just the same
You leave me lonely
Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
All of my dreams just fall like rain
All upon a downtown train


Someone posted the below meme on Facebook, apparently seeking "Likes" for its, what, "Triumph of the Utterly Inane/Irrelevant"?:

Upon reading the above, I'm embarrassed for myself (born in 1965). Some generations can claim to have survived the Great Depression. Some can claim to have helped save the world from Nazism. Even the '60s gen can claim to have introduced concepts of equality and ecology into the mainstream of society. But... "We are the first who played video games" and "We traveled in cars without seat belts"? This is one of the saddest things I've ever read.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Somebody That I Used to Know

Artsy Youthful Angst alive and well in 2013!

Compare to 1981 Artsy Youthful Angst:

Mad World (Tears for Fears, 1983)

What I liked about my mother was her acting out characters from my favorite cartoons and shows with me (how patient she must have been for my eternal need for "Wacky Races" reenactions, with me as Penelope Pitstop). I liked how clean and utterly un-chaotic our house always was (despite various houses and chaos between her/my father). I liked how she always made birthdays and Christmases special and nice -- always the wonderful lead-up, the decorations, then the pageantry of the actual day.

What I liked about my father... When I was a little kid, maybe 4, he'd come home from work and take his Air Force uniform and T-shirt off; my mom said I'd always go straight for the T-shirt and want to take it to bed with me; I liked how it smelled. She also told me that when I was little, I always called out for one parent after I'd gone to bed: If I had NOT wet the bed, I'd call for my mother; if I HAD wet the bed, I'd call for my daddy, because he was the one who wouldn't get mad... I also like the few times he took me swimming and bowling. And, later, near the end of the marriage, staying up and peacefully watching movies with him.

Friday, September 13, 2013

If you want more love, why don't you say so?

I just recently bought 2 John Mayer albums, 2008's "Continuum" and 2010's "Battle Studies." (The former after reading great reviews on Amazon; the latter after remembering hearing the songs "Heartbreak Warfare" and "All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye" back in 2010 and liking them a whole lot.)

"Continuum," despite its Amazon kudos, was horrible. Shallow, self-satisfied, generic, bland. In my mind, the musical equivalent of the movie "Beaches."

"Battle Studies," on the other hand, has a real vibe to it. I used to hate the very concept of John Mayer, how he presented himself -- as supposedly "thoughtful yet bold" without being anywhere near either truly "thoughtful" or "bold"... "Continuum" is, to me, the very epitome of why the general public thinks he sucks. With "Battle Studies," though, there's a real musical flow and an actual emotional/lyrical honesty. (He had me at "Red wine and Ambien / You're talking shit again..." and "Drop his name / Push it in and twist the knife again / Watch my face / As I pretend to feel no pain..." and "How come the only way to know how high you get me / is to see how far I fall"...)

I'm getting rid of "Continuum" as soon as possible. I can't wait to keep listening to "Battle Studies."

Lightning strikes
Inside my chest to keep me up at night
Dream of ways
To make you understand my pain

Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It's heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare

If you want more love,
why don't you say so?
If you want more love,
why don't you say so?

Drop his name
Push it in and twist the knife again
Watch my face
As I pretend to feel no pain

Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It's heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare.

If you want more love,
why don't you say so? 
If you want more love,
why don't you say so?

Just say so...

How come the only way to know how high you get me
is to see how far I fall
God only knows how much I'd love you if you let me
but I can't break through at all.

It's a heartbreak...

I don't care if we don't sleep at all tonight
Let's just fix this whole thing now
I swear to God we're gonna get it right
If you lay your weapon down
Red wine and Ambien
You're talking shit again, it's heartbreak warfare
Good to know it's all a game
Disappointment has a name, it's heartbreak, heartbreak.

It's heartbreak warfare
It's heartbreak warfare
It's heartbreak warfare

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Is agitation necessary?

Leo horoscope for 9/12/13:
Sometimes it seems impossible to express any feelings that do not come across as contrived, especially when you're seeking some artistic truth. You feel buried under such an unending cascade of myths and images that sometimes it feels as though you'll drown. Does the Age of Communication herald the End of Creativity?

True and not true. I'm decidedly NOT currently "buried under such an unending cascade of myths and images" right now. (Kinda wish I were. I miss them.)

No, rather, I've been feeling preternaturally calm for the past month or so, interacting calmly with real-life situations. My job is OK. Sandra and I are OK. There aren't fights and drama going on anywhere. "Does the Age of Communication herald the End of Creativity?" I wonder: I do feel kind of flat now that I'm not AGITATED about something! :)

Monday, September 09, 2013

Can't Hardly Wait

My love-song for a girl in '87.

I'll write you a letter tomorrow
Tonight I can't hold a pen
Someone's got a stamp that I can borrow
I promise not to blow the address again
Lights that flash in the evening
Through a crack in the drapes

Jesus rides beside me
He never buys any smokes
Hurry up, hurry up, ain't you had enough of this stuff?
Ashtray floors, dirty clothes, and filthy jokes

See you're high and lonesome
Try and try and try
Lights that flash in the evening
Through a hole in the drapes
I'll be home when I'm sleeping
I can't hardly wait
I can't wait...