In his blog, "Exercise in Futility" (http://anexerciseinfutility.blogspot.com), Tommy wrote eloquently today about the murder of Mr. Idimytai Damour, a temporary employee at a WalMart in the village of Valley Stream on Long Island at 4:55 a.m. yesterday morning. My thanks to him for opening a dialog on this event, which shapes the mold of the stinking, hot, rapacious underbelly of a corporate-government-led society gone amuck in this country… "Stuff" on paper for the rich; “stuff” made of metal and plastic for the rest of us, but, as Robert McFadden and Angela Macropoulos report on today’s TorontoStar.com, even as the masses grabbed their shares off Wall Street through the year, other masses pressed and churned and finally broke through the glass doors of a brick-and-mortar yesterday before daybreak, simply marching over Mr. Damour, a 34 year old worker, until shoes and boots trampling his body left him dead [the exact cause of death is not yet published by a medical examiner]. To be sure, there are “reports” by “witnesses” who saw the horror, but we can be every bit as confident there are men and women of every size and shape who did not make it home before throwing into trash bins the Nike Cross-Trainers and the Crocs Bistros that reached deep into soft gut tissue or ground rib against sternum amidst the general dull roar and the overarching single scream.
The particular details of this event need to be richly imagined with all our senses. Mr. Idimytai Damour’s deeply humane soul needs to be brought into fullest relief against that grinding throng; the guilt and the shame of 2,000 plus people need to be examined before the horror of a nation…because there is a great dissimilarity between this incident (and others like it in recent years wherein bystanders insolently disregard persons being killed or tortured within feet on city streets) and the two in Mecca that Tommy mentions in his blog. In both of those incidents, the throngs were moving toward something they believed in so deeply that (as we have, sadly, learned through this decade) they were prepared to sacrifice lives to carry forth their mission. In this incident, it was not spiritual conviction but total self-interested greed that killed that young man…not so much as the common good of two or more people working for a united cause. This was a case of “each to his/her own”: fearing that the person in front or in back of him/her would claim whatever in the store “rightfully” belonged to that one person in line. Avarice killed Mr. Damour. Avarice to the power of 2000. Avarice on the part of the store who knew the crowd was dangerous and did not hire appropriate crowd-control. Avarice that reopened the store rather than leave it closed as a memorial to a man who died a horrible, needless death. Avarice not unlike that occurring all across the country yesterday.
Within 24 days of showing the world that America can work together in new and positive, progressive, potentially world-changing ways, we have ripped open our bowels in front of the world to expose the true diet of lust for the quick fix we feed ourselves. We are all accountable for this tragedy if we do not take the time necessary to reflect on what this incident means about our cultural values, our community values, our personal values, ourselves as members of the human family.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Excerpt from "The Truth About Men"
[Taken from an entry on my other blog, Anger Management]
I been distracting myself in every conceivable way in order not to see the big picture...how every single human being's neuroses just exactly, precisely, perfectly keep their just exactly, precisely, perfectly [unconsciously] chosen relationships from working out; and how, God bless me, I see men [all men] as being hobbled by their missing leg on that Y chromosome, enslaved by their piteously selfish, narcissistic myopia [the little Sun Gods] thinking their tiny penises are almighty when, in fact, they themselves are biologically inferior beings because: 1) their reproductive organs aren't even protected; 2) they have no hormonal protections against cancers, heart disease, osteoporosis, etc; 3) their role in reproduction of the species is minuscule; 4) their general stamina is sorely lacking over the course of a lifetime; and 5) genetically they're missing an entire leg...born amputees, as it were. NO WONDER they've had to take dominion. They're scared shitless of us!
What is the GREAT SADNESS is that we, the Strong Ones of the species, bought into it. The joke is on us. Obviously we can use them any way we like. As a group they are pitifully mindless--and are proud of it! They are ripe for manipulating. We really should take charge, be mindful as a group, and stop them from destroying the planet...family by family, tribe by tribe, race by race, country by country, armed conflict by armed conflict. They have just about done us all in with their incessant need to prove their power. If they had ever truly felt their power, they would have no longer been crazed by the need to display it.
Unfortunately, biologically, they have no power--and they know it. The truth is so simple. It is the dead elephant lying in the middle of every living room, conference room, war room in every country in the world: men run the show because they can't; they are driven to prove they have the control, the power they know they don't. They work as a group to keep out the other half of the tribe who does have the control, the power, the natural prowess, the longevity, the clear-headedness that prevails when rage does not dominate, the ability to reason over time. Men call that natural cycle something abominable while they simply dump their memory of their testosterone-fueled rage episodes into the void of collective male unconsciousness, or rather female consciousness, while they go about their plotting and pondering and exercising their powers of paranoia and grandiosity.
Meanwhile the women nurture the little people and the older people and the sick people and even the the men and make sure the planet holds itself together even as the men plot to destroy it.
No wonder the men come home at night, pour a tall one, and go off somewhere by themselves. As a group, they believe they are in charge. Individually, they have trouble looking us in the eye.
I been distracting myself in every conceivable way in order not to see the big picture...how every single human being's neuroses just exactly, precisely, perfectly keep their just exactly, precisely, perfectly [unconsciously] chosen relationships from working out; and how, God bless me, I see men [all men] as being hobbled by their missing leg on that Y chromosome, enslaved by their piteously selfish, narcissistic myopia [the little Sun Gods] thinking their tiny penises are almighty when, in fact, they themselves are biologically inferior beings because: 1) their reproductive organs aren't even protected; 2) they have no hormonal protections against cancers, heart disease, osteoporosis, etc; 3) their role in reproduction of the species is minuscule; 4) their general stamina is sorely lacking over the course of a lifetime; and 5) genetically they're missing an entire leg...born amputees, as it were. NO WONDER they've had to take dominion. They're scared shitless of us!
What is the GREAT SADNESS is that we, the Strong Ones of the species, bought into it. The joke is on us. Obviously we can use them any way we like. As a group they are pitifully mindless--and are proud of it! They are ripe for manipulating. We really should take charge, be mindful as a group, and stop them from destroying the planet...family by family, tribe by tribe, race by race, country by country, armed conflict by armed conflict. They have just about done us all in with their incessant need to prove their power. If they had ever truly felt their power, they would have no longer been crazed by the need to display it.
Unfortunately, biologically, they have no power--and they know it. The truth is so simple. It is the dead elephant lying in the middle of every living room, conference room, war room in every country in the world: men run the show because they can't; they are driven to prove they have the control, the power they know they don't. They work as a group to keep out the other half of the tribe who does have the control, the power, the natural prowess, the longevity, the clear-headedness that prevails when rage does not dominate, the ability to reason over time. Men call that natural cycle something abominable while they simply dump their memory of their testosterone-fueled rage episodes into the void of collective male unconsciousness, or rather female consciousness, while they go about their plotting and pondering and exercising their powers of paranoia and grandiosity.
Meanwhile the women nurture the little people and the older people and the sick people and even the the men and make sure the planet holds itself together even as the men plot to destroy it.
No wonder the men come home at night, pour a tall one, and go off somewhere by themselves. As a group, they believe they are in charge. Individually, they have trouble looking us in the eye.
and now for something completely different
I've been thinking again...about things like:
1. Why, when this country is so vast and so beautiful, so many people want to live on its edges falling of it.
2. Why cities that edge up to the ocean charge a full city sales tax. If you drive west on US Hwy 90 through Biloxi, you can't turn left, so right there you're missing half a city; ergo, why not half a sales tax...?
3. What is green? Can anybody explain green, really?
4. Am I the only person on the planet that realizes Mel Gibson's Jesus would have died, like, not even half-way through that scourging? Nobody has that much blood.
5. There are two kinds of people in the world: people who think there are two kinds of people in the world and people who don't.
6. I seem to be different from everybody I know, so what am I...the third kind?
Monday, October 20, 2008
the dance
At a thousand paces I smell a metallic stench
of drool at the wait to macerate my privacy
innocent request by screaming silent demand
until integrity lies beside me like shredded raiment.
Let you near to lick my sacred juices with your
hot rotting deceits?
I know you, velvet hammer,
You were born of Adam.
I am millennia older than Your cronies.
In the dawn before time you worshiped
my million mothers, who died
in your untold ontogenetic accidental arrivals,
until only the Virgin escaped your rapacious claim.
Now, you and I remain. I transform you
and wrap you around me like mail:
Bite me and spit out your own teeth.
I am of the Goddess.
of drool at the wait to macerate my privacy
innocent request by screaming silent demand
until integrity lies beside me like shredded raiment.
Let you near to lick my sacred juices with your
hot rotting deceits?
I know you, velvet hammer,
You were born of Adam.
I am millennia older than Your cronies.
In the dawn before time you worshiped
my million mothers, who died
in your untold ontogenetic accidental arrivals,
until only the Virgin escaped your rapacious claim.
Now, you and I remain. I transform you
and wrap you around me like mail:
Bite me and spit out your own teeth.
I am of the Goddess.
At My House
I grew up between a carrot
and a stick.
Running this way and this way
I learned to dance with both feet
off the ground,
Play statue reading book while
Breathing Mozart and the
Lord’s Prayer from A minor.
Down the hall Papa kept his blue
socks separate from the black
and the liquor key busy
on some kind of schedule.
While I practiced my lines
and he was voicing his,
Mama did her part flying quiet,
supper on the table hot by six.
The food was usual,
conversation a surprise.
Some nights we ate carrots;
Some nights when the table jumped up
and smashed his fist, the silver shouted
and we all took showers from the milk glass.
and a stick.
Running this way and this way
I learned to dance with both feet
off the ground,
Play statue reading book while
Breathing Mozart and the
Lord’s Prayer from A minor.
Down the hall Papa kept his blue
socks separate from the black
and the liquor key busy
on some kind of schedule.
While I practiced my lines
and he was voicing his,
Mama did her part flying quiet,
supper on the table hot by six.
The food was usual,
conversation a surprise.
Some nights we ate carrots;
Some nights when the table jumped up
and smashed his fist, the silver shouted
and we all took showers from the milk glass.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
INTIMACY
He came up from the sofa as I walked in,
pulled me to him with a certain force,
turned up my face to his to kiss me
gently at first.
In the bedroom he took me so compassionately,
inhabiting me entirely,
gazing forever into my eyes
so devoted, so utterly in love with me.
Later we sat naked at the kitchen table
drinking coffee. When the phone rang
I knew after two exchanges it would be
a thirty minute conversation
with his hunting buddy about the deer lease.
I could have climbed into the freezer,
flown out through a wall, set myself on fire.
I had already disappeared in front of him.
I knew if I sat still, he might or might not see me
when he hung up. As it turned out,
he did and he didn't.
pulled me to him with a certain force,
turned up my face to his to kiss me
gently at first.
In the bedroom he took me so compassionately,
inhabiting me entirely,
gazing forever into my eyes
so devoted, so utterly in love with me.
Later we sat naked at the kitchen table
drinking coffee. When the phone rang
I knew after two exchanges it would be
a thirty minute conversation
with his hunting buddy about the deer lease.
I could have climbed into the freezer,
flown out through a wall, set myself on fire.
I had already disappeared in front of him.
I knew if I sat still, he might or might not see me
when he hung up. As it turned out,
he did and he didn't.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Critique
"When you write, my dear,
write either for yourself
or for your audience.
Words are little pictures."
See the clever man?
"You do have talent.
Images. And sense
of rhythmic flow.
But what exactly is
your goal?" Watch
the video: she curls
as if in utero.
"But if you want
to publish"...Yes?
"There's far to go."
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Journeying
Bellied up to the short end of the bar or in a singles' chat room, a woman who is ready meets that gem of the one-leg-shy half of humanity, the male who has experienced either a multitude of sorrows or a few profound losses. This man with the deep engaging eyes is not any longer King at War in his own country. He no longer has anything to prove but is thrilled at the prospect of everything to learn. His Princess Bride betrayed him years ago (at about the time he mysteriously lost interest in her anyway). He wouldn't mind having a new princess with whom to explore the remnants of his Kingdom (and kingdoms beyond). But he isn't into queen making and he's tired of the sword play required to gain approval from her royal family, her handmaidens, her mother's former suitors, her father's future pall bearers, all that. The discerning woman who is ready to meet this man knows that very little is required of her: no gamesmanship; no competitive spirit, no struggle. Only her authentic efforts in communication, honesty, discernment, proportion, and affection, served warm with a dollop of humor--all that she has been longing to give for quite a long time now.
If this singular man and this special woman were by chance to meet, say, as two "buds", they might well offer each other a unique season in which to bloom.
[one-leg-shy = X-Y]
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
When Serum Turns to Water
THE EMAIL I WROTE DID HURT HER FEELINGS...MADE HER SAD AND PUZZLED. BUT NOT ANGRY. SHE SAID I WAS RUDE AND INAPPROPRIATE. AND SHE WAS SAD AND PUZZLED. BUT NOT ANGRY. PUZZLING.
SHE WANTED TO HANDLE THE CONFLICT BY EMAIL. SO I WROTE AN EMAIL. A VERY LONG EMAIL. IT TOOK 3 HOURS TO GET IT JUST RIGHT.
THIS TIME I WASN'T TRYING TO GET IT TO READ RIGHT. I WAS TRYING TO GET IT TO WRITE RIGHT. SO THAT I WOULD BE SATISFIED THAT WHAT WAS IN MY HEAD WAS WHAT WAS ON THE PAPER.
NOW I KNOW THAT WHAT I HAVE ON THE PAPER WILL BE READ WITH A WHOLE SET OF ASSUMPTIONS AND BIASES THAT I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT, ANY MORE THAN I KNOW HER GLASSES PRESCRIPTION.
SHE WANTED TO HANDLE THE CONFLICT BY EMAIL. SO I WROTE AN EMAIL. A VERY LONG EMAIL. IT TOOK 3 HOURS TO GET IT JUST RIGHT.
THIS TIME I WASN'T TRYING TO GET IT TO READ RIGHT. I WAS TRYING TO GET IT TO WRITE RIGHT. SO THAT I WOULD BE SATISFIED THAT WHAT WAS IN MY HEAD WAS WHAT WAS ON THE PAPER.
NOW I KNOW THAT WHAT I HAVE ON THE PAPER WILL BE READ WITH A WHOLE SET OF ASSUMPTIONS AND BIASES THAT I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT, ANY MORE THAN I KNOW HER GLASSES PRESCRIPTION.
AND TO THINK...I THOUGHT I REALLY KNEW HER.
NOW I WAIT...
When Blood Turns to Serum
THERE IS NO FEELING IN THE WORLD MORE HORRIBLE THAN THAT FOLLOWING AN ARGUMENT WITH A VERY CLOSE FRIEND. WHEN THE SITUATION IS LEFT UNRESOLVED, WHEN I COME AWAY KNOWING THAT I DIDN'T BEHAVE ACCORDING TO HER EXPECTATIONS FOR APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR, AND WORSE, WHEN I HAVE ANGRY FEELINGS THAT I CAN'T GET OUT OF ME OR OFF OF ME, THERE'S A MISERABLE NIGHT AHEAD. I HAVE NO ENERGY TO DO ANYTHING; I CAN BARELY FEED THE CATS. I DON'T FEED MYSELF. I LIE IN BED, FALL ASLEEP, WAKE UP, SMOKE CIGARETTES, DON'T CARE ABOUT TELEVISION OR UNDRESSING OR BRUSHING MY TEETH. I SIT IN A VACUUM OF THE TIME/SPACE CONTINUUM UNTIL...
I HAD AN INSIGHT REGARDING WHAT SET ME OFF DOWN THE WRONG TRAIL INTO MY BLACK FOREST OF NEUROSIS WITH MY FRIEND. I WROTE HER AN EMAIL ABOUT IT LAST NIGHT. THE EXPLAINING WAS GRUELING WORK, WHAT WITH TRYING TO GET THE WORDING JUST SO, SO AS TO MAKE MYSELF CLEAR AND YET NOT HURT HER FEELINGS ANY FURTHER. IT'S BEEN 24 HOURS AND I HAVEN'T HEARD BACK FROM HER.
MAYBE I NEVER WILL. BUT I CAN'T GO BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS WITHOUT SOME ACKNOWLEDGEMENT FROM HER THAT IT REALLY WAS WHAT IT WAS. THAT WOULD BE WALKING WILLINGLY INTO THE PRISON AGAIN, AND I AM NOT READY TO DO THAT FOR THE SAKE OF THE FRIENDSHIP. MAYBE AFTER A LONGER PERIOD OF ABSTINENCE I WILL BE ABLE TO MAKE A SACRIFICE OF THAT MAGNITUDE. NOT NOW. NOT YET.
I HAD AN INSIGHT REGARDING WHAT SET ME OFF DOWN THE WRONG TRAIL INTO MY BLACK FOREST OF NEUROSIS WITH MY FRIEND. I WROTE HER AN EMAIL ABOUT IT LAST NIGHT. THE EXPLAINING WAS GRUELING WORK, WHAT WITH TRYING TO GET THE WORDING JUST SO, SO AS TO MAKE MYSELF CLEAR AND YET NOT HURT HER FEELINGS ANY FURTHER. IT'S BEEN 24 HOURS AND I HAVEN'T HEARD BACK FROM HER.
MAYBE I NEVER WILL. BUT I CAN'T GO BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS WITHOUT SOME ACKNOWLEDGEMENT FROM HER THAT IT REALLY WAS WHAT IT WAS. THAT WOULD BE WALKING WILLINGLY INTO THE PRISON AGAIN, AND I AM NOT READY TO DO THAT FOR THE SAKE OF THE FRIENDSHIP. MAYBE AFTER A LONGER PERIOD OF ABSTINENCE I WILL BE ABLE TO MAKE A SACRIFICE OF THAT MAGNITUDE. NOT NOW. NOT YET.
Friday, February 8, 2008
On Writing
I write this business hoping for something. Hoping that somebody will read it and think, "My goodness, that comes from the mind of a creative, witty, thoughtful person whose ideas I'd like to know more about."
EVERYBODY ON THE PLANET WRITES A BLOG WITH THE THOUGHT THAT MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL READ THEIR BLOG AND THINK,
"My goodness, that comes from the mind of a creative, witty, thoughtful person whose ideas I'd like to know more about."
Subject matter.
Style.
Context.
Don't matter.
ONE THING MATTERS.
"My goodness, that comes from the mind of a creative, witty, thoughtful person whose ideas I'd like to know more about."
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Discourse Between Ex-Spouses
HE WRITES:
New Year Exercise Routine
You might want to take it easy at first, do it faster as you become more proficient. It may be too strenuous for some.
Always consult your doctor before starting any exercise program!
SCROLL DOWN...
NOW SCROLL UP..
That's enough for the first day. Great job!
SHE WRITES:
Hi!
As you know, I'm a slow unpacker.
So I just now got to this email. [I won't tell you when I got to my "foundations"]
Anyway. I made it through the first part of the exercise!...but really that part was so strenuous, I'll have to wait, what? is it 2 days they say now?...to try to do the whole thing.
But I really do like it! Thank you for thinking of me!! It's right down my alley!!! Expecially since I don't bowl anymore. But I do stream-of-consciousness pretty well. They don't let me outside to those kinds of streams...mostly the ones in old converted bowling allies...like the French were in WWII.
I have to go now...time for my EST. You can read all about it in Ch. XXIII of the Text Book of American Psychiatry as Practiced from 1912 to 1951.
P.S. [Don't tell them I said this] child was very grateful for the 'green help' you sent him [so am I!] I got him some burgandy Vasque boots--just like the ones he wore to Anasazi--that's what he wanted--for his new job as a window washer. I'm really proud of him.
New Year Exercise Routine
You might want to take it easy at first, do it faster as you become more proficient. It may be too strenuous for some.
Always consult your doctor before starting any exercise program!
SCROLL DOWN...
NOW SCROLL UP..
That's enough for the first day. Great job!
SHE WRITES:
Hi!
As you know, I'm a slow unpacker.
So I just now got to this email. [I won't tell you when I got to my "foundations"]
Anyway. I made it through the first part of the exercise!...but really that part was so strenuous, I'll have to wait, what? is it 2 days they say now?...to try to do the whole thing.
But I really do like it! Thank you for thinking of me!! It's right down my alley!!! Expecially since I don't bowl anymore. But I do stream-of-consciousness pretty well. They don't let me outside to those kinds of streams...mostly the ones in old converted bowling allies...like the French were in WWII.
I have to go now...time for my EST. You can read all about it in Ch. XXIII of the Text Book of American Psychiatry as Practiced from 1912 to 1951.
P.S. [Don't tell them I said this] child was very grateful for the 'green help' you sent him [so am I!] I got him some burgandy Vasque boots--just like the ones he wore to Anasazi--that's what he wanted--for his new job as a window washer. I'm really proud of him.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
I'm always there at just the wrong time
I was in Grand Central Station on February 24, 2003. For a Texas girl it was a thrill to walk through that huge hall that I'd seen (but not smelled) in so many movies! But my Day of Glory missed this Day of Frozen Glory by five years, eleven months, and 24 days:
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