It's all in the presentation, is what she would always say. It's no wonder I prefer my packages a bit odd, misshapen and slightly worn. They offer the promise of a story, a way in which they became torn! I enjoy humans with the same quality.
There's something disturbing about something so perfect in demeanor. It gleans a deep mortifying fear and stifled laughter.
Still, 'm dear, your packages I box so carefully, creasing the corners, using minimal tape and perfectly matched bows and tags. Wrapped so tightly they're nearly impossible to open. Like you and your heart shaped Pandora's box. Or is it me, this gift you've passed along so slyly.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Cell Memory, Organ Transplants and my selfish realization
The concept of cell memory has turned my life upside down. I've read about this before, but somehow an element unconsidered has since emerged. There is no rough proof that any of it is true, but there have been studies that show recipients of organ donations have experienced changes which related directly to the lifestyles and happenings of the donors.
In one instance a heart transplant recipient reported vivid nightmares about a girl being murdered, only to discover her donor was a 10 year old girl who was murdered. Another heart transplant recipient who had hated classical music found an intense love for it, yep, he received a heart from a young violin player who adored it. There are a handful of these tales reported. Here's one of many websites if you will...
If all of this is plausible, what does it even mean? Do parts of our soul attach to our bodies as we inhabit them? This idea is purely foreign to me. I've meandered through life as a fish out of water and subscribed to the idea that I am not my body, I'm separate from it. It's a nuisance. A shell that mocks my identity and chills my ghost.
So, these heart warming stories, they are, when told naturally, cell memory aside, have managed to inspire some notion of unity! It makes me think maybe its really my ego that hates this shell. Maybe my soul is currently attached to it and my cells drink up its' memories and thoughts like water and blood. It sounds outlandish, but now I almost want to receive an organ transplant so I can donate myself to research. (Knock on wood)
If you have a story about cell memory, we'd love to hear it! Please know you can share anonymously on odd numbered life, you're story will be reviewed and shared.
In one instance a heart transplant recipient reported vivid nightmares about a girl being murdered, only to discover her donor was a 10 year old girl who was murdered. Another heart transplant recipient who had hated classical music found an intense love for it, yep, he received a heart from a young violin player who adored it. There are a handful of these tales reported. Here's one of many websites if you will...
 |
| Fish out of water - source |
So, these heart warming stories, they are, when told naturally, cell memory aside, have managed to inspire some notion of unity! It makes me think maybe its really my ego that hates this shell. Maybe my soul is currently attached to it and my cells drink up its' memories and thoughts like water and blood. It sounds outlandish, but now I almost want to receive an organ transplant so I can donate myself to research. (Knock on wood)
If you have a story about cell memory, we'd love to hear it! Please know you can share anonymously on odd numbered life, you're story will be reviewed and shared.
Monday, March 26, 2012
more on Scorpio
Scorpio doesn't get enough credit. There's something so furtive about planets in this sign in a natal chart. One of the greatest pieces of planets in Scorpio is the willingness to face everything. A planet in Scorpio won't shy away from exposing a shadow in order to see the rawness behind it.
For examples sake; have you ever had a cold sore? If you've ever had one, you know how it feels to want to hide out completely until that sucker is gone. The thought of exposing it to the light for all to see is nauseating. But Scorpio will want to see it, point it out, look at it under fluorescent light and watch intently to know just exactly how that nausea feels. At best, Scorpio has a deep sense of empathy for the discomfort of exposure and admiration for courage in the revelation. At worst, you're being manipulated into exposing something for the sheer power they have over you and your weakness.
This double edged quality is exactly why Scorpio has the reputation it has. If you fear exposure, if you wear a facade, if you hide, they will know. That kind of intense quiet knowledge is treacherous if you'd rather not be found out to others or yourself for that matter. This level of knowing is absolutely necessary to growth on the Earth plane. To be able to look at yourself naked in the mirror without adjusting to the light to make things more beautiful; you gain the strength to accomplish anything you set out to. Or you see what you've let yourself become and access the formidable will power to change.
There's a little bit of Scorpio energy in all of us. Some more than others, but wherever it is, the opportunity to really reach into the center of the Earth and grab a fist full of worms and draw them to your face for a close look at the beauty within the disgusting is exactly what this world needs! If we are to learn the true powers of empathy and fully living to aspire to a better world, we have to see everything with fearless eyes and be willing to hold that steady impenetrable gaze and let the world know that we saw it. No matter how hideous, we accept it and draw real, deep and true energy from it to rise up and manifest a more authentic and palpable self.
See Venus in Scorpio for a creative representation...
For examples sake; have you ever had a cold sore? If you've ever had one, you know how it feels to want to hide out completely until that sucker is gone. The thought of exposing it to the light for all to see is nauseating. But Scorpio will want to see it, point it out, look at it under fluorescent light and watch intently to know just exactly how that nausea feels. At best, Scorpio has a deep sense of empathy for the discomfort of exposure and admiration for courage in the revelation. At worst, you're being manipulated into exposing something for the sheer power they have over you and your weakness.
This double edged quality is exactly why Scorpio has the reputation it has. If you fear exposure, if you wear a facade, if you hide, they will know. That kind of intense quiet knowledge is treacherous if you'd rather not be found out to others or yourself for that matter. This level of knowing is absolutely necessary to growth on the Earth plane. To be able to look at yourself naked in the mirror without adjusting to the light to make things more beautiful; you gain the strength to accomplish anything you set out to. Or you see what you've let yourself become and access the formidable will power to change.
There's a little bit of Scorpio energy in all of us. Some more than others, but wherever it is, the opportunity to really reach into the center of the Earth and grab a fist full of worms and draw them to your face for a close look at the beauty within the disgusting is exactly what this world needs! If we are to learn the true powers of empathy and fully living to aspire to a better world, we have to see everything with fearless eyes and be willing to hold that steady impenetrable gaze and let the world know that we saw it. No matter how hideous, we accept it and draw real, deep and true energy from it to rise up and manifest a more authentic and palpable self.
See Venus in Scorpio for a creative representation...
Sunday, March 25, 2012
ROXanne, you don't have to put on the red light
It's interesting how references to prostitution in music have changed over the years. Songs such as "Roxanne" or Bob Dylan's "How Does it Feel" had a more emotional tone, since replaced with Snoop Dogg and Warren G (amongst others, I'm a little out of that loops since the 90's.) I realize I'm missing the central fission between these extremes, but the core is better determined as such.
'Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight!' over 'We don't love these hoes' or 'pass it to the homey, now you hit it.' It says much, no?!
I wonder how much this business has changed over the years. Is it more dangerous and kinky or are we more aware that it's happening? Have fetishes really evolved or were they so far hidden they weren't common reference to the straight laced? I don't know what brings this topic to mind. I guess it's the reference of love and money, sex as business and how it relates to psychology.
The business itself is sort of fascinating. I grew up in Coon Rapids and Ham Lake, MN, so what do I know about this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That's why it's so interesting as are the customers. What is it they're after? Is it that moment in time where desire takes over all sense of reason and reality fades away? Kind of like a one night stand, but a lot of times those come with complications. A prostitute you send away right after. The ultimate reveal, but to a stranger who goes away. No chance for intimacy.
No idea, but I wonder. For reasons of being inside the mindset of how it all began and why. As well, is nothing sacred and everything has a price tag...
'Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight!' over 'We don't love these hoes' or 'pass it to the homey, now you hit it.' It says much, no?!
I wonder how much this business has changed over the years. Is it more dangerous and kinky or are we more aware that it's happening? Have fetishes really evolved or were they so far hidden they weren't common reference to the straight laced? I don't know what brings this topic to mind. I guess it's the reference of love and money, sex as business and how it relates to psychology.
The business itself is sort of fascinating. I grew up in Coon Rapids and Ham Lake, MN, so what do I know about this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That's why it's so interesting as are the customers. What is it they're after? Is it that moment in time where desire takes over all sense of reason and reality fades away? Kind of like a one night stand, but a lot of times those come with complications. A prostitute you send away right after. The ultimate reveal, but to a stranger who goes away. No chance for intimacy.
No idea, but I wonder. For reasons of being inside the mindset of how it all began and why. As well, is nothing sacred and everything has a price tag...
Saturday, March 24, 2012
I like the night life baby
Nothing quite like that first beer, at the bar. Not the beer itself, but the loosening debris. Chatter all around, blah blah nothing of interest on one side, constitutional rights and their lack of current presence on the other. Light flirting on one end, all out seduction in the smoking section.
And in between thoughts, surrounding phrases catch the current of your consciousness and brew a stew until a large chunk of meat floats in and anchors it still. For a moment, the bartender becomes real and her laugh less so, more like a violent guffaw, and the $1.25 tips strewn in patterns note those who left just in time and the older man whose party just left is facing you in his bar stool, resemblance of vague from a character of Jerry Seinfeld.
And it's a buzz.
But in the morning, the buzz is cleft upon your chin and daylight laughs at the fraud. There's no middle between morning and bar life, outside of endless dues and the waiting for the highs on either side.
And in between thoughts, surrounding phrases catch the current of your consciousness and brew a stew until a large chunk of meat floats in and anchors it still. For a moment, the bartender becomes real and her laugh less so, more like a violent guffaw, and the $1.25 tips strewn in patterns note those who left just in time and the older man whose party just left is facing you in his bar stool, resemblance of vague from a character of Jerry Seinfeld.
And it's a buzz.
But in the morning, the buzz is cleft upon your chin and daylight laughs at the fraud. There's no middle between morning and bar life, outside of endless dues and the waiting for the highs on either side.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Over Salted Nonsense
Boiling motives.
Intricate red hot motives.
Like the coils of an electric stove.
DO NOT TOUCH they scream in promised agony.
And even as I write this, a 4 piece band at my favorite bar squeals Billy Jean by Michael Jackson, begging, willing me from touching the coils.
But these eyes; they eat.
Biting, tasting the world in ways unimaginable.
And we're driven by these sumptuous creme brulee'd experiences.
Staring at the coils of a burning grill; unconsciously desirious of throwing oneself on it like a roast.
Seared. Charbroiled. And eventually Burnt in skin, crispy and inedible.
But the band, like more appetizing things in life, draws me away.
But the eyes still rage with hope to eat the dangerous, sumptuous, tempting and over salted nonsense.
Intricate red hot motives.
Like the coils of an electric stove.
DO NOT TOUCH they scream in promised agony.
And even as I write this, a 4 piece band at my favorite bar squeals Billy Jean by Michael Jackson, begging, willing me from touching the coils.
But these eyes; they eat.
Biting, tasting the world in ways unimaginable.
And we're driven by these sumptuous creme brulee'd experiences.
Staring at the coils of a burning grill; unconsciously desirious of throwing oneself on it like a roast.
Seared. Charbroiled. And eventually Burnt in skin, crispy and inedible.
But the band, like more appetizing things in life, draws me away.
But the eyes still rage with hope to eat the dangerous, sumptuous, tempting and over salted nonsense.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Anaïs Nin on your face
I don't have much to say today, but if I did, I'd say it by wrapping the words of Anaïs Nin on my face so everyone I saw would see them. And even if they didn't read them they might catch a fleeting moment of what she was getting at. To boast her beautiful words across my forehead and nose would be beyond an honor, for she speaks a language that runs in my veins and inspires the very day to day in which I live.
To demonstrate a handful of her words for which I wish would crawl far more under my skin but right seeping into the blood:
"I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls."
"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."
"Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her."
And, that's really all I have to say right now and they're really somebody else's words.
To demonstrate a handful of her words for which I wish would crawl far more under my skin but right seeping into the blood:
"I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls."
"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."
"Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her."
And, that's really all I have to say right now and they're really somebody else's words.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Burning Xmas trees and Airsoft Gun Wounds
So, a few weeks ago I read this article called "I Want to Be a Red Neck" which I loved and over Saint Patrick's day I got to experience it full frontal. After spending most of the morning bar hopping in Nordeast Minneapolis with my new friends'
shamrock on my face (we'll call him Bobby for anonymity's sake), we took a sober up nap and headed to Zimmerman, MN for some true blooded red neck fun.
Immediately upon arrival, we grabbed a six pack of 16 ounce Coors Light and headed directly to backyard behind his backyard where we were greeted by a dried up Christmas tree tossed atop the largest living fire pit I've seen in my life. Bobby is greeted like he's some kind of legendary super hero and all the kids are screaming. Bobby, Hey Bobby, come see my new bow 'n arrow! Hey, hey! Kids running around screaming, Bobby's handing them fire crackers left and right and tossing a few at the now 12 foot high bonfire. Crack, snapple, pop, I Guess!
Everyone's laughing, screaming, cussing and talking over each other. All across the neighborhood this laughter is far from muffled. Little kids are taking bottle rockets, sticking them in the ground standing right next to you to light them off, while the mother's are yelling "Hey, use the long lighter, you'll shoot your eye out!" (Exaggerated for greater effect) A little girl points at her mom and says "...because THAT ONE won't let me" with a smirk on her face. The parents of a 15 year old embarrass the EFF out of him with the raunchiest insinuations about what him and his girlfriend were up too in the house. Another Xmas tree goes on the fire, while across the street they're burning with gasoline and the flames double, maybe even triple the size of the dueling Xmas tree Exodus we got going over here.
One of the kids shot the neighbor guy in the stomach with an Airsoft Gun (still no clue what that is) and he proudly displays his 'third nipple' of a wound and the story is told with animated gusto. The little boy chimes in "He told me to shoot him!!" MORE BELLY LAUGHTER! "Yeah, I told him to shoot me and he didn't waste no time!" Giggling, cussing abound...
My heads spinning, I don't know where to look, it's coming from all sides and it doesn't matter, I suddenly have this sense that I don't have to focus on anything at all. I can just stand here in the dark and see completely free entertaining fun in action.
More neighbors come filing into the garage with a growler of home brew, and a baby monitor, only that's not all; the Growler has it's own cozy!!! Yes, a growler fucking cozy, which by now I've had a few, so I start gushing over the thing and my laughter gets big and robust like theirs. They pass tastes around the garage and there's food! They tell me to try the fawn. What?! As in Bambi? Baby Deer? Why yes, it's sooo good, they tell me. And you know something? IT'S DE-EFFING-LICIOUS. I can't stop, nor do I want too, and they make me feel no shame for digging my fingers in there to grab another bear sized bite. They tell me I have to try the deep fried Pheasant next time. Only they pronounce them 'Phe-Zaants,' intentionally and make sure you do too! So, I'm yelling, we're gonna go shoot some Phe-Zaants tomorrow! WooT!
Kids are running to and from the fridge getting the adults more beers. One kid is playing with a tennis ball thrower and chucks it towards the ground, the tennis ball hits the concrete and bounces directly back and smacks him in the eye. A quick "are you okay?" and everyone's rolling on the floor belly laughing, making fun of the kid and he just smiles, holds his eye and runs in the house to check out his newly acquired battle wound.
Across the street are the 21 year olds and more fire works. Bobby goes over there with the younger boys and gives them a roman candle. "No, aim it at the neighbors house!" he's yelling, in his warm commanding voice. The little kid can't figure it out so he runs up behind him and points it for him and shoots one right at the window. MORE LAUGHTER. MORE BEER. More delicious Fawn.
As the night progresses, the 21 year olds across the street bust out an axe and set to town on chopping beer cans into the yard, squirreling over how best to get 'er done. Bobby tosses a can into the fire and one of them says, "Hey! I was gonna smash that," and wouldn't you know he reaches his hand in there, pulls the can out, throws it on the ground and says, damn that's hot. Without another thought he grabs the axe and turns that can into what rather closely resembles an ear.
Then, as if the fire isn't big enough, nope, nope, they bust out a saw and take some branches off the neighbors tree and toss them into the mix of gasoline and from what I can tell boulder sized stumps. And they're sitting around, smashing cans talking about nothing, laughing and making fun of each other all the while.
In the morning all is ablaze already. Garage doors and lemonade stands are open. There's chalk and chalk buckets in the middle of the street. Kids and older kids on bikes and suped up dirt bikes roam the neighborhood. The neighbors holler over that they're deep frying up a turkey later and to 'Come on by!" (I think I most definitely will thank you very much) but first I've got to drop in on the parents of the Growler and Growler Cozy because they're brewing up some beer today! If I could, I would describe the contraption in the garage, but it's beyond me. All I know is that it was magical and they were as nice to me sober as they were drunk.
So and so's kids are gonna make 20 bucks watching so and so's dogs next weekend and everything is fine, free, dandy and littered with laughter and last nights hang overs and injuries. And I wonder. It's like a whole big giant family, where everybody's watching each others back and their kids! It's like a world all its own with down home fun and regular life. There's no false prefaces, these people know who they aren't and they compromise nothing of their rules and standards. Unabashedly slinging slang terms and the f-word and littering raunchy jokes around their kids, but some how it's so big hearted and real, it's hard not to fall right for it. And right into it, because once you're in (like Bobby) you're really IN! You've gained the siblings, cousins, creepy uncles, kids and aunts you never had, for better or worse. This is red neck culture.
And between this time and now something to me occurred, that maybe this is something real, like a tight knitting in the world's blanket and maybe I wanna be a part of it. (read South of the Border for more clues as to why). But beyond that, it was like an opening into things I've never really understood. I've always been fascinated by these kind of tight knit cultures where people share and laugh and give a damn about each other and play stomp the hat in the winter time or whatever. But, I've always kind of stayed on the detached side of things, like there's that fear of falling into the abyss and losing my identity or something. I'm not going to go all deep on this topic, although I definitely feel it worthy.
One thing I know for sure is it was one mother effing free wheeling, can smashing, shameless fawn eating, good time...
Immediately upon arrival, we grabbed a six pack of 16 ounce Coors Light and headed directly to backyard behind his backyard where we were greeted by a dried up Christmas tree tossed atop the largest living fire pit I've seen in my life. Bobby is greeted like he's some kind of legendary super hero and all the kids are screaming. Bobby, Hey Bobby, come see my new bow 'n arrow! Hey, hey! Kids running around screaming, Bobby's handing them fire crackers left and right and tossing a few at the now 12 foot high bonfire. Crack, snapple, pop, I Guess!
Everyone's laughing, screaming, cussing and talking over each other. All across the neighborhood this laughter is far from muffled. Little kids are taking bottle rockets, sticking them in the ground standing right next to you to light them off, while the mother's are yelling "Hey, use the long lighter, you'll shoot your eye out!" (Exaggerated for greater effect) A little girl points at her mom and says "...because THAT ONE won't let me" with a smirk on her face. The parents of a 15 year old embarrass the EFF out of him with the raunchiest insinuations about what him and his girlfriend were up too in the house. Another Xmas tree goes on the fire, while across the street they're burning with gasoline and the flames double, maybe even triple the size of the dueling Xmas tree Exodus we got going over here.
One of the kids shot the neighbor guy in the stomach with an Airsoft Gun (still no clue what that is) and he proudly displays his 'third nipple' of a wound and the story is told with animated gusto. The little boy chimes in "He told me to shoot him!!" MORE BELLY LAUGHTER! "Yeah, I told him to shoot me and he didn't waste no time!" Giggling, cussing abound...
My heads spinning, I don't know where to look, it's coming from all sides and it doesn't matter, I suddenly have this sense that I don't have to focus on anything at all. I can just stand here in the dark and see completely free entertaining fun in action.
More neighbors come filing into the garage with a growler of home brew, and a baby monitor, only that's not all; the Growler has it's own cozy!!! Yes, a growler fucking cozy, which by now I've had a few, so I start gushing over the thing and my laughter gets big and robust like theirs. They pass tastes around the garage and there's food! They tell me to try the fawn. What?! As in Bambi? Baby Deer? Why yes, it's sooo good, they tell me. And you know something? IT'S DE-EFFING-LICIOUS. I can't stop, nor do I want too, and they make me feel no shame for digging my fingers in there to grab another bear sized bite. They tell me I have to try the deep fried Pheasant next time. Only they pronounce them 'Phe-Zaants,' intentionally and make sure you do too! So, I'm yelling, we're gonna go shoot some Phe-Zaants tomorrow! WooT!
Kids are running to and from the fridge getting the adults more beers. One kid is playing with a tennis ball thrower and chucks it towards the ground, the tennis ball hits the concrete and bounces directly back and smacks him in the eye. A quick "are you okay?" and everyone's rolling on the floor belly laughing, making fun of the kid and he just smiles, holds his eye and runs in the house to check out his newly acquired battle wound.
Across the street are the 21 year olds and more fire works. Bobby goes over there with the younger boys and gives them a roman candle. "No, aim it at the neighbors house!" he's yelling, in his warm commanding voice. The little kid can't figure it out so he runs up behind him and points it for him and shoots one right at the window. MORE LAUGHTER. MORE BEER. More delicious Fawn.
As the night progresses, the 21 year olds across the street bust out an axe and set to town on chopping beer cans into the yard, squirreling over how best to get 'er done. Bobby tosses a can into the fire and one of them says, "Hey! I was gonna smash that," and wouldn't you know he reaches his hand in there, pulls the can out, throws it on the ground and says, damn that's hot. Without another thought he grabs the axe and turns that can into what rather closely resembles an ear.
Then, as if the fire isn't big enough, nope, nope, they bust out a saw and take some branches off the neighbors tree and toss them into the mix of gasoline and from what I can tell boulder sized stumps. And they're sitting around, smashing cans talking about nothing, laughing and making fun of each other all the while.
In the morning all is ablaze already. Garage doors and lemonade stands are open. There's chalk and chalk buckets in the middle of the street. Kids and older kids on bikes and suped up dirt bikes roam the neighborhood. The neighbors holler over that they're deep frying up a turkey later and to 'Come on by!" (I think I most definitely will thank you very much) but first I've got to drop in on the parents of the Growler and Growler Cozy because they're brewing up some beer today! If I could, I would describe the contraption in the garage, but it's beyond me. All I know is that it was magical and they were as nice to me sober as they were drunk.
So and so's kids are gonna make 20 bucks watching so and so's dogs next weekend and everything is fine, free, dandy and littered with laughter and last nights hang overs and injuries. And I wonder. It's like a whole big giant family, where everybody's watching each others back and their kids! It's like a world all its own with down home fun and regular life. There's no false prefaces, these people know who they aren't and they compromise nothing of their rules and standards. Unabashedly slinging slang terms and the f-word and littering raunchy jokes around their kids, but some how it's so big hearted and real, it's hard not to fall right for it. And right into it, because once you're in (like Bobby) you're really IN! You've gained the siblings, cousins, creepy uncles, kids and aunts you never had, for better or worse. This is red neck culture.
And between this time and now something to me occurred, that maybe this is something real, like a tight knitting in the world's blanket and maybe I wanna be a part of it. (read South of the Border for more clues as to why). But beyond that, it was like an opening into things I've never really understood. I've always been fascinated by these kind of tight knit cultures where people share and laugh and give a damn about each other and play stomp the hat in the winter time or whatever. But, I've always kind of stayed on the detached side of things, like there's that fear of falling into the abyss and losing my identity or something. I'm not going to go all deep on this topic, although I definitely feel it worthy.
One thing I know for sure is it was one mother effing free wheeling, can smashing, shameless fawn eating, good time...
Saturday, March 17, 2012
falling down-
I fell this morning. Slipped right out of my new flip flop and skinned up my knee on the sidewalk. It bled. Lots. And is now aided by a band. And I can't help but think there's something I'm not paying attention to, which is maybe why I fell.
There are these things (un)understandable. As though somehow standable is under? If we're capable of being conscious in our thoughts and actions, why then do we slip in fever to the unconscious? At this exact moment in time, I strive to be completely conscious, but little thoughts of a negative sleek form find their way into my mind and render me to a puddled mess on the ground. (as in the aforementioned falling)
How then might we determine the difference between looking for a warning and an actual warning? Or does it even matter? Is that a mechanism of trying to control something and if there's something wrong with that then what's the point of being conscious and in control.
It's a battle of flow versus will power and the day they meet, formidable will have a face, instead of a shadowy figure...
There are these things (un)understandable. As though somehow standable is under? If we're capable of being conscious in our thoughts and actions, why then do we slip in fever to the unconscious? At this exact moment in time, I strive to be completely conscious, but little thoughts of a negative sleek form find their way into my mind and render me to a puddled mess on the ground. (as in the aforementioned falling)
How then might we determine the difference between looking for a warning and an actual warning? Or does it even matter? Is that a mechanism of trying to control something and if there's something wrong with that then what's the point of being conscious and in control.
It's a battle of flow versus will power and the day they meet, formidable will have a face, instead of a shadowy figure...
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Bigger than the Beatles - Jupiter/Venus Conjunction
As you may have noticed, there are two very bright, large stars very close to one another in the sky right now. You know, or maybe you didn't. I'm here to tell you that they are actually planets. Jupiter and Venus if you want to be technical about it. Mars, Mercury and Saturn are also currently visible to the naked eye, but we're going to focus on Zeus and Aphrodite.
Jupiter and Venus are in the closest conjunction they've ever been, maybe that means something? Maybe it doesn't? I lean towards the direction my energies feel and I'm personally head over heels in on this configuration.
So, when Jupiter and Venus get together what happens? Well, if you think of Jupiter as an energy that's expansive, wide open spaces, philosophy, truth, gambling, jovial, Santa Clause type benefactor coupled with Venus, lover of beauty, admiration, harmony, art, balance and love you come up with some pretty great stuff. Let's break it down, shall we?
Jupiter and Venus are in the closest conjunction they've ever been, maybe that means something? Maybe it doesn't? I lean towards the direction my energies feel and I'm personally head over heels in on this configuration.
So, when Jupiter and Venus get together what happens? Well, if you think of Jupiter as an energy that's expansive, wide open spaces, philosophy, truth, gambling, jovial, Santa Clause type benefactor coupled with Venus, lover of beauty, admiration, harmony, art, balance and love you come up with some pretty great stuff. Let's break it down, shall we?
- Truth seeking Love
- Harmonious Gambling
- Jovial Beauty
- Expansive Art
- Wide open Balance
- Philosophical Admiration
This is just key word bull shit to activate your own thoughts, but you get the point. These energies are auspicious and mirror the capacity of human nature to expand our ideas about love and philosophy. To look beyond the heel of the mundane and capture a little bit of that drama in a very big and heartfelt way. Now, this is not limited to interpersonal loving relationships, it's also the capacity to care for the downtrodden and neglected children and animals in a way that doesn't deplete the individuals. These planets together are always 'full.'
If you made it this far! I feel music is probably the easiest way to illustrate this, so.................yep, going a little bit country. Love this song, want this type of love in my life and the video is simplistic magic. Here you go.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
venus in scorpio
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| link |
she speculates
without modest judgement
spying some radiant morphine stain
what her eye sees is quietly sealed in mystery
to be restrained by her patent; silence
in between the conscious
the ubiquitous depths are cued
tee'd neither high nor low
rather keenly aligned with skill
a stratagem to keep that which is hidden safe
but impose the expose on another
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Monday, March 12, 2012
(un)trivial
There are some things in life which should never be compromised. Your true self is one. Hard losses and lessons may be learned, but to sacrifice your truth is a crime. A crime upon yourself and humanity because your unique worth and gift to the world will no longer be given...
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Hysteria
I long to eat the guitar riffs from this song and drink the lyrics elixir.
To feel the rumbling excitement drown my throat and unsettle my stomach.
Let the drum sticks beat and stab my belly to a state of creative pregnant kicking doom.
To avenge and digest the arts from a primal state on the inside
And be one with the delirious energies of dynamic inception in a single moment in time.
Side note, this video is deliciously creepy.
To feel the rumbling excitement drown my throat and unsettle my stomach.
Let the drum sticks beat and stab my belly to a state of creative pregnant kicking doom.
To avenge and digest the arts from a primal state on the inside
And be one with the delirious energies of dynamic inception in a single moment in time.
Side note, this video is deliciously creepy.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
'tis a far better deed
The other day I posed a question on Facebook asking people if they'd ever gone out of their way to help a stranger and if so, what did they do? It makes my insides feel fuzzy and soft when I hear stories such as these. I've done a handful of deeds in my day, but sometimes the overwhelming need within the world is hard to stomach. Like driving down the street seeing someone in a wheel chair without legs waiting in the cold for the bus, or stray animals abandoned for whatever shameful reasons.
Enough about the sadness. When I was 22 I was driving home from having dinner with some friends and it had been snowing, it was really icy! I was driving my Dad's pickup truck, but as I pulled in to the turn lane off the highway I slid off the road and on top of a giant snow pile with a yield sign about a foot from the hood. Scared the shit out of me.
I got out and thought, ah (exploitive) now what. I stood there for a second thinking I'd just walk home and see if my brother could help me out or call a tow truck when a really old Dodge Ram pulled over and asked if I needed help. Inside were two dudes. I explained I only lived up the road and they offered me a lift and said if we had tow ropes they'd help pull me out. I got in the truck only to discover that one of these dudes had some sort of injury. His leg was wrapped up with gauze and he was bleeding. I said, seriously, you don't need to help me, this guy looks like he should see a doctor. But they insisted. They drove me home where I then insisted that I would call a tow truck.
But seriously! I couldn't believe these men stopped to aid me under these circumstances. They were also very nice, albeit a little rough shod. Did I think maybe they were going to drive me off somewhere and murder me? Well, maybe for a second, but I lived to tell, eh?
That's really all I have to say right now. It just amazes me how kind and generous the world can be at times within the gamut of all the violence and hate. It glimmers of bright shiny hope.
If you have stories, we'd love to hear them! Feel free to share. You can comment anonymously on my blog :)
Enough about the sadness. When I was 22 I was driving home from having dinner with some friends and it had been snowing, it was really icy! I was driving my Dad's pickup truck, but as I pulled in to the turn lane off the highway I slid off the road and on top of a giant snow pile with a yield sign about a foot from the hood. Scared the shit out of me.
I got out and thought, ah (exploitive) now what. I stood there for a second thinking I'd just walk home and see if my brother could help me out or call a tow truck when a really old Dodge Ram pulled over and asked if I needed help. Inside were two dudes. I explained I only lived up the road and they offered me a lift and said if we had tow ropes they'd help pull me out. I got in the truck only to discover that one of these dudes had some sort of injury. His leg was wrapped up with gauze and he was bleeding. I said, seriously, you don't need to help me, this guy looks like he should see a doctor. But they insisted. They drove me home where I then insisted that I would call a tow truck.
But seriously! I couldn't believe these men stopped to aid me under these circumstances. They were also very nice, albeit a little rough shod. Did I think maybe they were going to drive me off somewhere and murder me? Well, maybe for a second, but I lived to tell, eh?
That's really all I have to say right now. It just amazes me how kind and generous the world can be at times within the gamut of all the violence and hate. It glimmers of bright shiny hope.
If you have stories, we'd love to hear them! Feel free to share. You can comment anonymously on my blog :)
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Humans like veins of the Earth
I remember the first time I watched ants and thought how amazing it was that these miniscule creatures could build an entire city and society below ground. In this rumination it brings me to humans like veins of the Earth. My mind weaves them around an image of Earth under its translucent skin, as though we are veins pumping organs supplying the gravity and oxygen. Planets and animals like tendons and ligaments, water appears as the muscles.
And if it all were to cease? The dead skull and skeleton of Earth appears vivid in eye. Multi-system dysfunction leading to the end. There'd be no next day headlines, but CNN would likely wind slowly down with the decay, resistant to give up the sultry report prior to the autopsy...
What the eff am I talking about? No idea. It's just the happenings of what I saw in my mind, like a quick Indie film in fast forward. Or the way survivors describe near death experiences; like watching your entire life in a moment of Earth time while experiencing every emotion of every person in your life, along with everything you find you now regret.
The jolt back to 'reality' life brings an insatiable desire to share it, to give it away and such is the desire of this imagination whose been in lock down all day, full of intense need to purge it's imagery.
If I were an artist I'd plaster the translucent human veins under the Earth's skin on the walls and in a mirrored fashion it's dead, lifeless skeleton below. But I'm not, so I hope to have painted you a picture from the mind's eye.
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| From here |
What the eff am I talking about? No idea. It's just the happenings of what I saw in my mind, like a quick Indie film in fast forward. Or the way survivors describe near death experiences; like watching your entire life in a moment of Earth time while experiencing every emotion of every person in your life, along with everything you find you now regret.
The jolt back to 'reality' life brings an insatiable desire to share it, to give it away and such is the desire of this imagination whose been in lock down all day, full of intense need to purge it's imagery.
If I were an artist I'd plaster the translucent human veins under the Earth's skin on the walls and in a mirrored fashion it's dead, lifeless skeleton below. But I'm not, so I hope to have painted you a picture from the mind's eye.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Masses as Copyright Infringement
If you were a creator
masking in 'real' life
would you commit the most popular crime with your life?
Would you run fruitlessly amok
bound by cufflinks
Would you deter from a route
if lost was the known result?
Would you watch the gains and losses
CNN fleshy light reams in your dreams?
Would you dress all up on the code
and swallow humbly in some residential abode?
an unsolvable crime, a jury never selected
no room in this 'prison' for the masses wandering about
living this death sentence
called a life
that's really just
copyright infringement
masking in 'real' life
would you commit the most popular crime with your life?
Would you run fruitlessly amok
bound by cufflinks
showering in sulfates
not looking any way but like you and you and her?
not looking any way but like you and you and her?
Would you deter from a route
if lost was the known result?
Would you watch the gains and losses
CNN fleshy light reams in your dreams?
Would you dress all up on the code
and swallow humbly in some residential abode?
an unsolvable crime, a jury never selected
no room in this 'prison' for the masses wandering about
living this death sentence
called a life
that's really just
copyright infringement
Saturday, March 3, 2012
bank
bring with you a stack of pay stubs on back
intrinsic in time
sign the check with goodbye
write karma in the memo
the debt settled
the stub shredded
this institution in love(ing)
banking on
bought and sold
but never for sale
intrinsic in time
we'll see
the total dues
write karma in the memo
the debt settled
the stub shredded
this institution in love(ing)
banking on
bought and sold
but never for sale
Thursday, March 1, 2012
south of the border
down Mexico way...
Culture to an American can be as simple as the border. We have little in the way of borders. What we lack within our border is a united way of being. 'Freedom' and 'Democracy' are our only true means of connectivity and within there is division. I used to long to be Mexican for many reasons but mostly for the familial roots. Like so many other cultures who come to our country to make a better life, they end up sending their earnings back to family in their country of origin in effort to perpetuate a better life and increase the status of their blood.
I can't imagine moving to India or Spain to make money and send it back to my family in America. Truly the thought just never crossed my mind. It's fascinating to me what they leave behind for this freedom. It's not to say this freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be. It is! I for one am glad I don't live in fear for my life because of my beliefs or lifestyle. I'm excessively glad that certain parts of my body won't be filleted as a result of my gender. And I'm exceedingly grateful for all the opportunity at my disposal.
Yet, I have to question sometimes what we lose in taking the freedom/closeness dilemma to a global spectrum. What would it be like to be so close knit with ones kin as to live generations together in small spaces, supporting, providing wisdom and so forth? I know many a family estranged from blood lines, mine is not exempt. And in someways family becomes much like the aforementioned harsh politics. So and so isn't doing this or that, so they must be cut off. Almost as though it's possible there's a trade at hand, what is feared in government might just as easily be feared in family. Survival of the physical over survival of the emotional.
Do I know what I'm talking about? No, not with any real authority. But I do find the rumination of such concepts fruitful in ways I can't describe.
What say you?
Culture to an American can be as simple as the border. We have little in the way of borders. What we lack within our border is a united way of being. 'Freedom' and 'Democracy' are our only true means of connectivity and within there is division. I used to long to be Mexican for many reasons but mostly for the familial roots. Like so many other cultures who come to our country to make a better life, they end up sending their earnings back to family in their country of origin in effort to perpetuate a better life and increase the status of their blood.
I can't imagine moving to India or Spain to make money and send it back to my family in America. Truly the thought just never crossed my mind. It's fascinating to me what they leave behind for this freedom. It's not to say this freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be. It is! I for one am glad I don't live in fear for my life because of my beliefs or lifestyle. I'm excessively glad that certain parts of my body won't be filleted as a result of my gender. And I'm exceedingly grateful for all the opportunity at my disposal.
Yet, I have to question sometimes what we lose in taking the freedom/closeness dilemma to a global spectrum. What would it be like to be so close knit with ones kin as to live generations together in small spaces, supporting, providing wisdom and so forth? I know many a family estranged from blood lines, mine is not exempt. And in someways family becomes much like the aforementioned harsh politics. So and so isn't doing this or that, so they must be cut off. Almost as though it's possible there's a trade at hand, what is feared in government might just as easily be feared in family. Survival of the physical over survival of the emotional.
Do I know what I'm talking about? No, not with any real authority. But I do find the rumination of such concepts fruitful in ways I can't describe.
What say you?
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