politico

I voted today. absentee ballot. and it was great!

As I've said here before, I never wanted to vote. ever. But this season I found cause and actually got excited about politics (for the first time in my life.) I'm still not sure it will really make a difference, and in four years I might be bitching just as hard about John Kerry as I have been Dubya. And in four years, it might be time for another change.

So, with the elections forthcoming, C-bus is turning into a crazytown. John Kerry was here last night, down on campus and toting behind him the rock legend "the Boss," Bruce Springsteen. Tomorrow is Dubya's turn in Nationwide Arena with the Gubenator. And Saturday, the most controversial of all - Michael Moore - and, well, the Goo Goo Dolls. Somehow I think that Moore will probably draw as much protest as W.

I think this will be a good weekend to get out of town. . .
-d.

Scrambled-Eggs (Smothered and Covered) and an Addiction to Coca-Cola

I was planning on making one really huge post, but it was in the middle of lunch and the hunger-bug bit me so I clipped, posted it, and went and got something to eat.

So. . . if you want to read about Canal Street, it's down below this mess, but be warned - it's the same crap that I posted on the Orchard. So, if you read it there you probably don't need to read it here.

anyhooo. . . . .

Saturday I woke up expecting to do pretty much nothing all day long. GMoney and I hung around the house, watched the Buckeyes kick ass, and drank some wine. Around seven we decided to call up Kevin, this kid we've been hanging out with lately and Chica's upstairs neighbor. Kevin answers his phone and he and GMoney talk for a minute, but then the conversation just ends -- pretty abrupt. "Eh," says I, "what's Kevin up to?"

To which GMoney calmly replies, "Well, he broke his back in three places, put a gash in his head and is laid up in the hospital for the time being." And that's all we knew -- for the time being. Personally, I felt bewildered. I had only recently started to hang out with Kevin, and so I didn't know his personality all that well, but I had experienced a little tingle in the back of my head from time to time when talking to him (I like to call it my bull-shit detector) Yes, I thought Kevin was probably a bit of a habitual liar -- a lot of people are. I know because I used to be one of them. So, I tell G that I don't know what's going on, but if K-dog was just blowing us off he probably would have come up with a little better story than that and that he must really be hurt.

A little later on GMoney gets a call back from Kevin and they talk for a minute. Gary says that he and I will be over to visit, somtime tomorrow, and that's that. But as of now we get the full(er) story. As it turns out it, wasn't just a seizure and a fall down a flight of stairs that caused Kevin's swift demise, but cocaine and a whole lotta that.

**I'd like to take a moment from this story to tell you another. I've lost a good friend to coke. It's not a fun drug (not like drugs are fun) and I've seen it mess up a few people's lives. This kind of habit is the kind that makes theives out of honest people, and destitution out of abundance. The only thing it knows how to do is rape, steal, and kill.**

So, we go. And we hang out with Kevin. And the story changes at least three times in the course of an hour and a half. Of course, he's on a lotta pain medication, and muscle relaxers, and sleep inducers, and anti-inflammatories. So he's pretty much only half there, half of the time. But, it's apparent that Kevin has a bit of a problem. I mean when I asked him if he was going to do cocaine any more, he shrugged his shoulders and muttered "I dunno." After a seizure, three fractures, and splitting his head open he's not sure if he wants to give up coke. It infuriates me.

But I can't leave just him lie there. It's a BPD, you know? My heart too often trumps what my good sense is telling me, which in this case is "leave this shit to someone else, because it'll find some way of pulling you down too." Kevin needs help, but it doesn't necessarily have to come from this bleeding heart. But, like I said before, I can't. I can't leave him lying there, bleeding to death on the cracked pavement.

So, I've seen the kid every day now for the last few days. He's in good spirits and has a decent range of mobility. But I really think that he's going about the whole thing pretty loosey-goosey. He's not really paying any attention to what the doctors and physical therapists told him - moving around too much, not wearing the back brace nearly enough. But he did flush what he had left of the white monster. I watched it go down the drain and a little ball of hope sprung up inside of me.

. . . .sometimes I feel trapped in my compassion for others.
I'm often glad that I am.

-d.

Homemade Applesauce

Work has been super busy this week. Hell, life's been pretty busy lately, and I've been trying to write this 'toothpaste' entry for a while now - a lot has happened. This may be a long one, so bear with me, or skim through the boring parts. ;)

So, last friday night Chica and I drove down to Dayton to see my favorite band OtR play. Upon heading down I was fraught with a good mix of nerves and excitement - excited to see the band, and nervous to meet a bunch of people from the Orchard for the first time. I don't do all that well around new people.

It's not that I'm anti-social or anything. . .oh, wait. Yeah, it is.

I like people. I really do. It's just that I'm pretty introverted making it nearly impossible to communicate in a large group of people. I like 1-on-1 conversations much better, as I think it allows both parties to become better acquainted with one another. But these people weren't strangers (I've been talking to most of you every day for seven months now), and after having ants in my pants for half an hour in line I braved (with a push from Chica) going to chat it up with some Apples. And everyone was wonderful -- as I expected.

Well, actually KJ caught me walking down the street on the way to stand in line. She recognized me right away and didn't hesitate to lock me down in a hug. I stepped back to see the three beautiful women standing there and was immediately awe-struck. I said hello to Belly and shook her hand, and then KJ told her who I was. Belly dropped the shake in favor for another great hug. Again, I stepped back surveyed the women only to be dumbfounded once more. "Kylie Jo. Anna Belle. and. . .and." I couldn't even bring myself to say it. "Kylie, Anna, and. . .and. . .Michelle?" My eyes did not deceive me; Michelle had flown all the way in from Hawaii! Michelle and I exchanged hellos (and yet another wonderful hug) and we parted ways. The ladies headed back to Brixx and Chica and I trotted along to Canal St. Already, my mind was a little settled, and my heart had begun to swell.

Upon arriving at the line we were greeted by Bill and Bruce (two crazy cats if I've ever seen any), took our place among the quickly forming crowd and waited and talked. Soon enough Jeanne and Kevin showed up (ah, my nerves were settling still -- a mighty big thanks to Jeanne for getting me tickets at the last minute. You saved my night.) And finally KJ, Michelle and Belly showed back up, dragging a Nimrod in somewhere behind them.

Within minutes of stepping into the bar and talking with these great Apples I knew I felt like I had come home to a family. We don't share blood or genes or anything like that. What we share is found deep within each of our spirits; it is a love for great art and great music, a love for Over the Rhine. We talked and laughed and drank until it was time for the opening act to take his place. And then we were treated to one of the best OtR concerts I've been to.

I won't really say to much about the show, except that My Love is a Fever got me going (like it always does), and that the new songs were really good. Stella's Tarentella was a delightful mix of poetry and music, and the new one that Linford sang on was one of my favorite moments of Friday night. And Chica cried when they played Bothered, but I understand all about that. In fact, this time at CST was probably the first time I've not cried at an OtR concert. I think I was just too excited, too overwhelmed.

I left the evening feeling pleasantly drained - blissfully exhausted -and like I had the opportunity to connect with some of the greatest people in the world. Needless to say, I can't wait for December!

Taft, here I come!
-d.

runaway train

I really wanted to put something in this space today. But, alas, today was busier than yesterday.

So, I suppose that I'm going to have to be content with saying hello, promising more, and leaving you with a song.

That's the Way by Led Zeppelin

I don't know how I'm gonna tell you, I can't play with you no more,
I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me, My friend, the boy next door.
I can't believe what people saying, You're gonna let your hair hang down,
I'm satisfied to sit here working all day long, You're in the darker side of town.

And when I'm out I see you walking, Why don't your eyes see me,
Could it be you've found another game to play, What did mama say to me.

*That's The Way, Oh, That's The Way it ought to be,
Yeah, yeah, mama say That's The Way it ought to stay.

And yesterday I saw you standing by the river,
And weren't those tears that filled your eyes,
And all the fish that lay in dirty water dying,
Had they got you hypnotized?

And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,
But all that lives is born to die.
And so I say to you that nothing really matters,
And all you do is stand and cry.

I don't know what to say about it,
When all you ears have turned away,
But now's the time to look and look again at what you see,
Is that the way it ought to stay?

That's the way... That's the way it oughtta be
Oh don't you know now, Mama said.. that's the way it's gonna stay, yeah.

Hope you kiddies have a great night!
-d.

crazy good

I awoke to an excitement today. Today I am going to meet some Apples. Today I get to hear my favorite band play in one of my favorite venues ever. The cosmos shine on me.

And now it's the middle of the day, and I'm watching the clock crawl endlessly on towards the five o'clock toll. I'm getting anxious, too anxious to actually get any real work done, and so I'm here typing in this journal and listening to Bob Dylan sing his heart out. This is my favorite of all of Dylan's work - his first release, self-titled album. You can hear America screaming from his road-weary guitar and his rusty vocal chords. It's a voice that I think is very much alive today; some would even say that it's a voice reincarnated in the earthy music of Over the Rhine.

In my time of dyin'
don't want nobody to mourn.
All I want for you to do
is take my body home.

Well, well, well
so I can die easy.
Well, well, well
so I can die easy.

Jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.

Tonight I get to go to a place I like to call 'home.'

-d.

spoon-fed bullshit

I detest dishonesty. In any grain. and there are people out there, just full of it.

I know that we open ourselves up to be lied to, from the people that we know to the strangers that we just meet - especially in something as a anonymous as an online message board forum. But that's not really the point. I expect people to represent themselves fairly. Is that too much to ask? And why? Why would you lie to a bunch of strangers who are really trying to get to know one another. I know that's what I'm doing here. I like making new friends - even virtual ones.

And I was really looking forward to getting to meet you - a lot of you very soon. Now I'm pretty skeptical, at best. And I don't expect all the apples out there to be as rotten as this one. In fact, I've found more heart and soul in a bunch of virtual strangers than I've found in some of my real life friends and aquaintences. I've been happy to have met these new people, to be able to one day really possibly call them my friends, and hope that they'll call me the same.

::sometimes you just want to scream::

enough of that.
In the end, I guess it didn't really matter at all.

-d.

a case of the Mondays

I was very perky this morning, thanks to the coffee machine located conviently right down the hall. And now, with the rain and the heavy lifting and all the crap that is every Monday here at work I've turned into a little ball of sleepy. I would like very much to be left alone to crawl into a blanket and say goodbye to the world for a few hours.

me thinks a nap may be in store this afternoon.

. . .

The weekend was pretty good. I got to spend some time with friends that I've been neglecting. Rastaman turned 21 on Wednesday and so he drove up from Oxford and we went out to celebrate Friday night. and now I think to myself, "Self, why is that when your friends turn 21 - you have to drink like it was your birthday too?" Ah, well - that's what Saturday afternoons are for, I suppose. Saturday (late-afternoon after some good breakfast and a much needed shower) GMoney and I drove back home to spend some quality time with my family. When I was home a few weeks ago I installed XP Service Pack 2 on both my uncle's and my parent's computer. This, in turn, lead directly to both their system's crashing. Ah, my love for Windows! Fortunately, I was able to fix my uncle's computer. As for my parents - well, they're screwed. heh. Not really. But I also don't think that their problem has anything to do with the service pack, but with my father's incessant need to fiddle around with every PC he's ever owned until he breaks it for good. I suppose it isn't much help that the system is an HP. crappy computers.

:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:

This week looks as if it's going to be a busy one. I've got a new writing assignment (not like I ever finished the last one, but it's close!!!) and a few other things to get done before Friday. Hopefully I'll have time to check back in here too. I'm really starting to like this place.

-d.

in spite of the weather

It's grey and raining and cold outside today. But I feel great. Better than I've felt all week, anyway. Besides, I don't really mind this kind of weather too much. I've had a love affair with a rainstorm for quite a few years.

I'm not going to jump out and say that my funk is gone. It's not really. It's lingering in the back of my mind and in the recesses of my heart - but I've found some peace of mind and that's all that really matters to me right now. Maybe it's because I've been eating a little better and getting some more rest. or maybe it was that extra cup of coffee this morning. nah, it was probably because I sat down last night and began to deal with all the crap that I need to take care of. (queue BTO's Takin' Care of Business) Financial stuff sucks! I'm really really horrible when it comes to money. I guess this is part of becoming a responsible adult in today's world. A thousand raspberries blown to you, kind sir (or ma'am, whichever it may be.)

So here is me - trying to pull my shit together so that I can move forward with my life instead of just standing here waiting for someone to come along and tell me what to do next. I'm excited at what life has to offer, I'm just not sure of direction right now. You know, when I was unemployed seventh months ago I had a plan that would carry me into the next five years. And I'm not a planner. I've always been the bloke to fly by the very threads in the seat of his pants! And then I had employment bestowed on me (a nice change after five months being out of work) and let life get away from me again. I fall into poor spending habits like not saving any money and buying things that I don't really have any use for. Oh - and having fun. Fun is expensive!

Maybe I need to find some poorer friends. I mean, all my friends say that they're poor, but they're not. At least they don't act like it. Maybe it's just that Mom and Pop will cover their asses if they need it.

Ah well, the joys of being accountable.

./ ./ ./ ./ ./ ./ ./ ./ ./ ./

another note. ( and speaking of accountability)

I've recently put my views out for all to see, both here in this journal and on the Orchard, and have received both positive and negative comments for the things that I said. I'd like to take a moment to say that I don't think Michael Moore is perfect, or our savior or anything like that. As I've said time and time again, I am aware that his movie is stilted (meaning that he has parsed facts together to tell a tale that is of his conception.) I am also aware that our government over the last four years has also done a lot of this "parsing of facts." In fact I would say that they've delivered to the public a lot of "half-truths", and even a few "down and out lies."

That's really disturbing to me. Especially disturbing considering that the last president was impeached for perjury. hmmm....Clinton lied about getting head from an intern. Let's impeach him based on puritanical moral code and media hype. Dubya lied about reasons of going to war, committing our troops, causing several thousand casualties, letting the bad guys get away and did it all with a smile on his face. But there's no media. The media has been afraid to be a necessary critique because they would be labeled "un-patriotic" or "un-American." That, my friends, is horse shit. Dubya lied. He constantly lies. but as they say, money talks and bullshit walks.

Then again, I'm a stilted voice too. Because I'm a peacemonger and I hate the concept of taking human life for any reason. Because I am un-American, at least the pseudo-macho idea that is America with all the boom, hiss and hurrah. (and the "we have to be right 100%" kind of attitude.) Because I'm a humanist, who truly believes that we're all created equal and because of that we all reserve the right to live, and live in peace.

peace be unto you,
-d.

chips

And no, I'm not talking about the zany, seventies television show. I've been walking around this ball of rock with a huge chip on my shoulder for the last couple of days, and for that I must apologize. It's not really my nature to have this much cynicism locked up, or rather it hasn't been my nature for many years.

I should also apologize for my last entry. I'm not going to erase it - I think it's important to chronicle the waves that we go through: the good, the bad, and the ugly - but I should have prefaced it better. The feelings that I was going through - they are something that live inside of me, something that I don't address nearly enough probably. And that's why when they come sneaking to the surface I don't know how to handle them appropriately. What can I say? I guess that we all have demons and skeletons locked tidily away in our closets.

I wish that I could say that I was feeling 100% better today, but that would be a lie. My mind is still muddled, my heart in constant ache, but I have been concentrating on breathing. I have smelled the earthy aroma that is autumn and it gives me some ease. I have knelt down and asked for guidance. for strength. for peace. And I hope that tomorrow I don't wake up and feel like everything is better - because it's not.

. . . . .

On a side note.

I was very excited to watch the presidential debates on Friday night, and when the moment had finally come and gone, I wasn't disapointed. I don't know if you can tell from our getting to know one another or not, but I'm not a very big Bush supporter. I don't like to talk politics much, as people seem to have their minds made up and their judgements drawn in stone. I'm not much a fan of our form of government (or economy for that matter) and if I didn't think such a horrible wrong had been done in the world I would not be voting come November 2nd. However, like I said - I'm not a Bush supporter.

I don't really think much of John Kerry either, but I do kind of like his VP.

I also watched Fahrenheit 9/11 this weekend. I know that Michael Moore has a slanted view. I also know that every fact in the movie has been checked and rechecked and has come out clean on the other side. I don't want to talk to you about facts. I want to talk to you about Lila Lipscomb. I want to speak to you about that Iraqi woman crying for vengeance for her dead family - vengeance against us, that is you and me - for what has become of her homeland. I want to talk to you about questionable reasoning. I want you to watch the movie and then tell me that you're voting to re-elect.

For me it all comes down to this, as I've told many of my friends: I'm not electing a president, I'm firing one. I don't like the job the current administration has done (I find it on the bounds of treason) and so I elect a new administration to come in and fuck things up for the next four years. If it weren't such a big deal to me I would be voting for Ralph Nader and the Green Party. At least that man has some sense.

So to wrap up -- go vote come November. It's your sovereign right. So do your civic duty, and send that pile of shit packing.

-d.

infinite resignation

"It is not so with the knight of infinite resignation, he does not give up his love, not for all the glory of the world. He is no fool. First he makes sure that this really is the content of his life, and his soul is too healthy and too proud to squander the least thing upon an inebriation. He is not cowardly, he is not afraid of letting love creep into his most secret, his most hidden thoughts, to let it twine in innumerable coils about every ligament of his consciousness -- if the love becomes an unhappy love, he will never be able to tear himself loose from it. He feels a blissful rapture in letting love tingle through every nerve, and yet his soul is as solemn as that of the man who has drained the poisoned goblet and feels how the juice permeates every drop of blood -- for this instant is life and death. So when he has thus sucked into himself the whole of love and absorbed himself in it. he does not lack courage to make trial of everything and to venture everything. He surveys the situation of his life, he convokes the swift thoughts, which like tame doves obey his every bidding, he waves his wand over them, and they dart off in all directions. But when they all return, all as messengers of sorrow, and declare to him that it is an impossibility, then he becomes quiet, he dismisses them, he remains alone, and then he performs the movements."

"The infinite resignation is the last stage prior to faith, so that one who has not made this movement has not faith; for only in the infinite resignation do I become clear to myself with respect to my eternal validity, and only then can there be any question of grasping existence by virtue of faith."

Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling

"Once upon a time there was a woman, and she was wicked as wicked could be, and she died. And not one good deed was left behind her. The devils took her and threw her into the lake of fire. And her guardian angel stood thinking: what good dead of hers can I remember to tell God? Then he remembered and said to God: once she pulled up an onion and gave it to a beggar woman. And God answered: now take that same onion, hold it out to her in the lake, let her take hold of it, and pull, and if you pull her out of the lake, she can go to paradise, but if the onion breaks, she can stay where she is. The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion to her: here, woman, he said, take hold of it and I'll pull. And he began pulling carefully, and had almost pulled her all the way out, when other sinners in the lake saw her being pulled out and all began holding on to her so as to be pulled out with her. But the woman was wicked as wicked could be, and she began to kick them with her feet: 'It's me who's getting pulled out, not you; it's my onion, not yours.' No sooner did she say it than the onion broke. And the woman fell back into the lake and is burning there to this day. And the angle wept and went away."

Fydor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

I found out a couple of years ago that I didn't really posses any faith, at least not by Kierkegaard's standard. But I was pretty sure that I had found enough to resign myself infinitely. So I went off in a desolate place, centered myself and made my movements. Then I went out and got some scars to remind me that I was a human being and at the same time that I am so much more. I get to wear these scars every day - they are there to remind me.

As it turns out, forgetting has never been a problem. In fact, this creature has made me like a stone - stuck in a moment, neverending. I've found it an impossibility to turn away from the ideas that I married those years ago, and it's gotten to a point that I despise that which I worhship. I despise the ideas because they have trapped me here. Here in this cell of my own creation I have no means of escape, not a single moment that is free of this haunting.

Now don't get me wrong -- I don't always want to run and hide. The ideas that my infinite resignation reside in are the things in life that bring both joy and pain. And I really do think that I can find contentment here, somewhere among the demons.

I don't know. . .I'm being impatient and inconsiderate and selfish right now. I just need to stop.

-d.

re-reflections

I started out to write this great long post yesterday, but I couldn't. I searched and searched for the perfect quotations to preface my thoughts, from Fear and Trembling and The Brothers Karamazov, and then I sat and stared at them. I must have read those six pages at least fifty times. And at first I was afraid to write what I was thinking - afraid of sharing that with the world, even though I don't really tell many of my RL friends about this place. It's like a fellow apple just wrote, I just don't feel comfortable sharing all those thoughts. It can be dangerous to a friendship sometimes, just letting the words fly. But I've been breaking that rule lately. and I've told a few people about this space. and I'm sure that a few of them could have figured it out anyway -- I go by taliendo pretty much everywhere on the web.

In the long run, I'm glad that I didn't write what I wanted to say. Most of the time it's not like that, but I had a bit of time last night to rehash with some old ghosts. It was a barrage of spirits that I thought I had laid waste to years ago. They tend to stick around, silent most of the time, and then start whispering in my ear. When I finally fell asleep last night, there was distinct feeling of discombobulation hanging in the air. and whenI awoke this morning there was a heaviness, weighed on my heart.

I'm kind of unsure where to take all this. I know this is just another thing that's going to pass, be it in a day, a week or a month. I feel weak today. weak and unsure of myself. I want to draw a line in the sand - I'll stand on this side and you on the other.

hmmm...maybe a four lines. I'll make a box and sleep there tonight.

-d.

secrets and lies

My best friend is going to be a sister. After 22 years of being an only child, Chica found out last night that her Mom is going to have a baby.

this affects so many things. . .

I really hope that God is with MA through this difficult time. I know that it's going to be hard giving up smoking and carrying a baby when you're nearly 50 years old. I know that she'll do fine, and that we're all going to love that baby to death!

life is so beautiful.

more tomorrow!

sweet nothings

Do you ever just write to hear the familiar tapping of the keys? or even to have the feel of a pen move across a page? These are the things that are musical to me. It is a great comfort when I knowingly sit down to expel the voices in my head. This is their incarceration. The sentence: to hold my thoughts for as long as this minute rambling might last, and perhaps even be remembered by a few individuals who actually take a moment to read and digest my thoughts. It seems like we've been having a fun time getting to know one another.

I've really struggled with writing over the last few years. I can remember a time that I would sit down and write stories by the pound. I was diagnosed with having an overactive imagination as a child (that meant that I lied a lot and got away with it most of the time. heh.) Fantasy and reality were mingled to where, at times, even I didn't know whether I was speaking the truth. And I wrote. Mostly for fun though. The times when I had to write for assignment, I turned out the same tedious papers as other students. But then there was drama class and I wrote my first one act, and the teacher liked it so much she received permission to put on the small production for a portion of the school. It was about drugs and aliens and I got to direct - fun stuff. I didn't really think a whole lot about it in highschool. Hell, since the fourth grade I had assumed that I would become a physician. It was a life long dream. And then college came and I realized that the schools of math and science were full of suck asses. I'm definitely not a suck ass. I just couldn't put up with all the bullshit these people were putting themselves through -- especially not for a couple of dollars.

So I decided that I would become a writer. of some sort. And since then I've struggled with this conundrum between myself and the art -- and financing it. I really have this ethical issue with being paid for putting words in sequence. There's no justification in my mind. (plus I really loathe the fiction that reeks of money.) And so I've considered writing academically. I'm a decent non-fiction writer, especially if I'm passionate about the subject matter -- and this would fall into a larger plan of continuing academically until I'm no longer the student but the professor. But then there's that financing bug again. So, how do you pay for all this? And so I write. without much of an outlet.

Idealistically I would get an old press and make my books from scratch and give them away to the world to read. But that's dreaming. and I am a dreamer. My mother likes to warn me that if I continue with the mindset that I currently hold that I'll probably end up "living in a van down by the river." And I like to tell her that as long as I'm happy and writing and getting read that it won't matter to me at all. That I would like to live this life completely serving others - to hell with myself. heh. That gets her fundamentalist thinking in a bind. Anyway, I guess that I just wanted to tell you that words have become so important to me lately. And in a way, I suppose they always have been.

I don't really have a way to tie up my thoughts at all, so here's a thought from a fellow poet:

"Every word that we utter was given to us by another; it is the assemblage of those words that makes them our own."
~August West

-d.