Let me just say... I definitely judge workplaces, and my life, by the atmosphere in which I take smoke breaks.
Pre-2007: Fucking depressing parking lot.
In NYC 2007-2010: Times Square, Battery Park, SoHo.
Post-2010: Fucking depressing parking lot.
I hate where I am. I understand that hating where you are is not politically and psychologically correct, but... I hate where I fucking am. I miss New York. (And I miss Weehawken.) I like Austin "OK," but...
Austin was my town from '83 to '93 or so: Les Amis, Liberty Lunch, the Varsity theater, the Union theater, Senor O'Brien's, the Cactus Café... Today? Who gives a fuck about Formula 1 or SXSW? My cats' graves on Rainey Street have long been paved over by either bars or high-rises (I haven't ventured down to Rainey to check, though I've heard stories).
I'm disgruntled. I'm not going to do something rash and stupid. But what I MIGHT do is carefully plan a job search and move. (Probably WON'T --- I LIKE having furniture and a steady job and being able to buy whatever I want on a small scale, but... New York and Weehawken were beautiful. I've got to assert: I didn't leave there because I WANTED to. It was a recession, I was broke, and I couldn't ask my mother for any more stop-gap money to keep me there.)
There is something left unsaid: for wounding eyes
a cut of silence bled for washing clean.
In frequent deep, voices unwed; lone
divers, careless in this wet sky,
a stroke above the clouds that
part their waves to meet god.
She swims to this sign,
a glass-winged girl
and flooding deaf horizons
with the brook's gurgle, a babble
academy loosing its flow, dismissing what may shatter stone.
There is no fear of drowning, no caution at the water's edge. All is safe
I will say, in sinking to the sea below.
Spent the weekend not drinking a thing, just reading the 2-volume Elvis bio by Peter Guralnick. The lengthy innocuous detail was mainly tedious -- I was looking for some grit. What I learned: (1) He was a humble but enlightened person; he was spooked by his "enlightenment." (2) Elvis mainly wanted to kiss and cuddle in bed. (3) He was on a spiritual search, and his main source was "The Impersonal Life" by Joseph Brenner. I went to order this on Amazon, but then realized: If THIS was Elvis's spiritual guide... it didn't work so well.
I was also pruriently interested in his relationship with Linda Thompson in his last 4 years. She was described as being extremely "nice" and "understanding." She went on to marry Bruce Jenner in 1981.
I always liked my mother's wrists. This deck of cards was the same we played with when I was growing up in the '70s. I believe the cards initially came from Braniff airlines in the late '60s/early '70s.
Walking/bussing around today on a lovely Spring day in Austin, was reminded of Sylvia Plath's mother's late-1950s words to her from "Desiderata" when her daughter had obviously been feeling low:
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
I cannot stress how much negativity has surrounded me, beginning with my parents. The core of ME trumpeted out: "Wow! I see more than others! I must be special." But my parents both treated me like shit, although I was lucky enough to be recognized in grade school and high school for being smart. When I got to college, I was suddenly being judged not for my insight but because I read "Time" magazine (i.e., I hadn't been reading the correct things). In personal relations, among men, I was too smart; when I came out in 1987 --- among butches, I was too smart.
In other words, my natural enthusiasm and intellect has been completely tamped down. Except by myself, of course. :)
Anyway, today I was doing stuff on my own on a very pretty day in Austin... And I thought of Aurelia Plath's words to Sylvia Plath, that I was indeed a "child of the universe," that I had a right to be here... It didn't matter that I was unloved --- I had a right to be here, enjoying the pretty day, just like anyone else.
After months of arguing with my mother and brother about WHERE IN THE HELL WAS MY BAY CITY ROLLERS German version of their "It's A Game" album supposedly stored in one of their houses... I finally just gave up investigating and ordered the damn German version of the album on eBay! :) I hadn't realized that a mere $10 spent online could shut up the whole stupid argument!
p.s. The above video from the TV show, I actually saw on German TV. In the summer of 1977, my mom and me and my brother had "escaped" for 6 weeks to Germany to get away from my abusive father back in Texas, thinking that the "break" would calm him down. It didn't. Upon our return, a few weeks later, he shot at her, and she only then, after 15 years, filed for divorce. (Thank god. Some kids are disturbed by divorce; I thanked god that my nasty father was out of our lives.)
Watching "The Decline of Western Civilization" right now on TCM. Getting a familiar feeling from it... What IS IT?? Oh yeah... the Donald Trump Feeling. Like spitting on things and saying they're stupid. (They are.) I don't think people get how PUNK Trump is --- not "A punk" or "a punk-ASS" as today's Ivy League or token "urban" bloggers on various political websites hired to be "edgy" refer to the man -- but truly PUNK. As in MESSY and DISRUPTIVE and CHALLENGING and...having a very legitimate point about so many areas of bullshit today.