Occam's Razor

History of Occam's Razor

William of Ockham (also spelled Occam) was a Franciscan theologian born in Surrey, England, around 1285. He studied at Oxford and later at Paris. His philosophical views made him a polemic scholar. He died in Munich, Germany, around 1349.

Although the general idea of the preference for simplicity is attributed to William of Ockham, there are some precedents. Some writings by Duns Scoto, Ockham's teacher, mention similar principles. A french Dominican named Durand de Saint-Pourcain used this idea before. Even earlier, Aristotle made statements such as "nature operates in the shortest way possible", "the more limited, if adequate, is always preferable", and "if the consequences are the same it is always better to assume the more limited antecedent".

In the history of Science we find the principle has often been cited to argue in favor of one theory over others. It has played an especially successful role in physics. One example is the preference for Newton's laws of motion and gravitation over Kepler's laws of planetary motion. Although both theories made essentially the same predictions about the motions of the planets, Newton's law is simpler and more general, requiring fewer assumptions, and was hence preferred. Newton's theory was later empirically confirmed when its predictions led to the discovery of the planet Neptune.

An earlier application of Occam's Razor, also in astronomy, was the controversy between heliocentric and geocentric models of the solar system. Ptolemy explained the observed movement of the stars using a rather complex model with the Earth in the center, and the planets orbiting around invisible spheres which themselves were orbiting around the Earth. Aristarco of Samos in Greece, and later Copernicus, convincingly argued for a simpler model in which the sun is in the center and the planets orbit around it.

First the bad news...

I spun my car tonight. Avoiding the same sort of traffic scenario that
nearly did me in the first time. Something inside me snapped and I decided
"This car will NOT hit me!" and as it failed to yield and left turned
almost into me I decided to drive around it. And somehow I did even though
it kept coming, except that at that point "going around it" consisted of
ending up spinning sickeningly out of control and facing the wrong
direction in the fast lane on Kolb, but everyone was able to avoid me and
I was able to stop in time and avoid any damage to my car or anyone
else's. No verdict yet on whether I damaged ME because I discover new
aches and pains hourly, but it may just be initial tension and shock.
Anyway, I faced my demon and lived, right? But for a minute I was sure I
was seconds away from death in the form of twisted metal and broken glass
and the fate once avoided that can never be fully escaped....But the good
news is that 21 year old boys worry enough to call me if I don't show up
at the bar on a Saturday night which is absolutely touching and sweet in a
way that made me kind of forget I was suppsed to be having a panic attack.
But that's never going to be as sweet as someone who brings you a
hamburger without asking because they know you really,really need
it...Holy shite, I could've been killed or something, couldn't I? I just
realized. Fuck. But I wasn't. I'm still here, just a couple of aches and
bruises worse for the wear.

Celtic Cross Spread

Ten of Wands

This is a card that says that the Querent has used up all the energy they started with at the ace. They don't feel that creative, driving force any more. Indicates a need to delegate, to put down some burdens and find energy again.

The Sun

The light that comes after the long dark night. Glory, gain, triumph, pleasure, truth, success. Discoveries made while fully conscious and wide awake.

Three of Pentacles

(Reversed)

Failure to develop one's craft and creativity. Preoccupation with minutiae. Misdirection of one's energies.

Page Of Wands:

A message, possibly from far away, about a trip, career move, leadership position or something spiritual/philosophical.

Death

(Reversed)

Slow changes, narrow avoidance of a tragic fate

The Hanged Man

(Reversed)

Unwillingness to sacrifie.

The Wheel Of Fortune

With Jupiter as its ruling planet, the Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. Almost every definition of this card indicates abundance, happiness, elevation, luck. A change that just happens, and brings with it great joy.

"She kissed me softly on the lips

She took my hand without a sound

This was our happy ever after

So motherfucker kiss the ground..."

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Nine And A Half Hour Dream...

Dreamt my mother called me at an odd hour. I jokingly asked who'd died,but
she didn't laugh. I know it wasn't my father, because I could hear him in
the background. Then I dreamt Mike called me up and reamed me out and
swore at me (at least I HOPE it was a dream) at about 4:15 am and then
that I was in a hospital parking lot trying to get child leukemia patients
back to their rooms. Before that, I think I dreamt something about setting
up a new laptop in my new apartment, which was part of a large house with
an attic and a school downstairs.Also, there was something about renting
movies at Casa and watching them around a campfire in the desert, with the
movies being projected onto the side of a boulder. That part was kind of
cool. Woke up just as disconnected and dissociated and lonely and sad and
aware of my poverty as ever, but with a lingering sense of calm and
eventual comfort. Things may suck beyond all reason right now, but someday
they'll be better, unless I die and if I die it's not like I'll be around
to complain, right? Still haven't heard back on the part time "job offer"
I interviewed about last week. I may call back about that today. If they
don't want me, they don't want me, but if they're on the fence about it at
all, well...I could definitely use the money and no one seems to have any
convincing objections to it, so...

twas the night before nothing

Not a creature was stirring...

667

Gonna make a deal with the devil...

Q & A

Why do we hurt the ones we love? Because they're the only ones that will always forgive us. Now is that fair? No, it's not at all fair. Is there a way out? The Goddess only knows. I want to do good. I want to rise above my current circumstances. I just need someone to throw me a rope because I'm drowning and I have lots of company in the waters but no hope of making it out alive. Everyone I know is drowning in the same shipwreck. It's like the fucking Titanic. Somebody please throw me a rope. If you do, I'll come back and rescue the rest of them, I swear. I'm drowning in debt and clutter and illness and depression and obligation and remorse. If the only way out is to peddle my one remaining asset, so be it, even if it costs me my heart's desire or possibly my life. Better to make the gamble and maybe come away triumphant than to just die of redundancy and fatigue and hunger. I could starve myself to death more easily than most. Just a misplaced vitamin here, a lack of protein there. i could skip a certain vitamin for a few weeks and trigger a heart attack. My body chemistry is so volatile. But luckily I am fickle and my self destructive moods never last consistently long enough for me to wreak that kind of havoc. I will cheer up probably later in the day. i'll forget. He makes me forget. He makes me smile and laugh and teaches me to make fun of my own weaknesses and brag about my strengths and see my own goodness. I need him around but not so much that I forget it's all going to hell and I might as well jump. Maybe he does me a disservice because he makes me not want to jump. Maybe I do the same for him. Maybe we give each other false comfort when we are supposed to be being provoked into action by our misery and poverty and desperation. Sometimes making someone else happy is a sin, I think. Wanting to be happy is a sin. I don't deserve to be happy and I know it in my bones but I crave that easy laughter like a junkie craves a fix, you can't imagine if you've never felt it what it's like to have someone look at you that way, the way he looks at me with humour and charm and irony and longing and bemusement and annoyance and camradarie and wonder all at once. Faerie lust. Seperated twin recognition. Kindergarten romance. Makes the milk leak from my breast. Makes my nerves jump. Deludes me into thinking somehow everything will be alright. But of course it won't be. It never will be, will it? It never is.

Icy pouring rain

Icy pouring rain

icy pouring rain

icy pouring rain...

zippy the pinhead and jack chick tracts

found on the floor at random

I couldn't have found something like that

if I'd had amillion years

but I wasn't trying

If I overgift someone it is because they are expected to share, so

Beware if I ever give you books for a present...

If you know someone I've given books to

by all means make them share

As that was probably the point.

You all must read "Waking the Dead"

My channel's set on random

sorry

Goodnight,all

corbid

Terrible Beauty

If there is a heart, it is not subject to free will, but rather is a book that can't be put down, a song running through your head, a train on a track to certain disaster and all you can do is stand back and wait and watch and steel yourself against the coming crash, the inevitable implosion, the waiting disaster...when you wake again, cold and alone you are somehow never worse for the wear...soft and sweet as a child, as tender as a woman and just as mercenary,plays you for the fool yet again, promises the moon and the stars when all you asked for was the night, gives you only the cold light of day and then swears no promises were ever made. When you never asked for anything at all how is it then that you can end up with less than you expected?

Multiphasic Etiquette

Just because Mr. Hyde invited you doesn't mean you'll be welcomed by Dr. Jekyll ...

(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Ahhh!!! Shite!!!

Whence hath come this grotesque monstrosity of a pimple upon my chin???

Does drinking give you pimples? I've been laying off the candy, what the fuck???

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the following...

Gallery Silver Sea Grand Opening and Art Show: November 20th, 8pm at Silver Sea, 137 E. Congress:This will be the official grand opening of Gallery Silver Sea, a pioneering concept in expanding the parameters of the Tucson Arts District while simultaneously promoting Downtown small business. This could be the future of Rio Nuevo development, the key to a successful and vital Downtown. Then again, it might just be a pleasant evening featuring wine and cheese and jovial company while admiring the work of talented, up and coming local artists. Also, it will be hosted by pretty girls who have shiny things to sell. Art will be displayed from November 20th to December 20th. Silver Sea is located Downtown near the intersection of Congress and 6th Avenue, snuggly nested between Hydra and Oscar Wilde Playhouse. You should do your Christmas shopping while you're there. Hematite rings make lovely stocking stuffers and you can never give out too many gift candles...No, i'm not biased in the least...

jealousy

When I was young I thought I knew what jealousy was and I thought that it could be conquered. Jealousy was the scary incongrous thing that showed up every three years or so to make false accusations and leave me curled up in a ball on the floor crying and pleading my absolute innocence. It was a small price to pay, I thought, for what appeared to be unconditional love and acceptance. It didn't happen that often. Everybody's a little carzy, right? So why should I expect the person I loved to be 100% sane? I went along with it. I rolled with the punches. I was a good sport. Then my life grew dimmer and lonelier and I began to realize I was damaged goods, slightly flawed merchandise that was available at a discount. That I was not loved perfectly, nor respected at all. I'd been settled for. And I met Wallace at my little inventory job. We'd ride up to Denver or down to Pueblo or La Junta with about a dozen other people, squished into the van like sardines. We'd spend a good few hours a week in transit and several performing acts of unspeakable data entry and almost immediately we bonded to the point of near inseperability. We got each other's twisted senses of humour. We recognized in each other the grim smile that is only worn by the serially depressed. We instinctively knew it was safe to bitch to each other about our respective relationships and our fucked up childhoods and the fact that we had a nowhere job in a nowhere town where they consistently shorted our paychecks. There was definitely an underlying attraction. The air was heavy with the prospect of uncommitted crimes. The points at which our bodies touched in those crowded van seats were warm and dangerous. If we accidentally touched it felt like an electric shock or a scorpion bite. And we alternately flirted and barraged each other with insult humour and teased each other that we'd say offensive things to each other's spouse and/or fiancee, respectively. And then Wallace disappeared one day and came back ten days later with the news that his girlfriend had dumped and moved back to Seattle to be with her kids. And then things changed. Mostly we'd still laugh and talk and even flirt a little, but there was a bitter edge to everything he said to me. A lot of conversations ended with statements like "guess you better go home to your husband and kids now." Or "You can just get your own damned ladder. Why? Because you're married." I suppose a lot of it was the depression talking (yet again I ask you: why do I find depressed men so alluring?) and some of it was just that I reminded him of his ex. And I was probably a bit of a bitch to deal with myself at the time, having just plunged into the psychic aftermath of a halfhearted but neccessary abortion. After a few months Wallace announced he'd gotten another job and we spent the last three days he was there laughing and talking and even touching knees a little. He gave me his inventory vest when he left and it smelled like him. He hugged me and told me my "quasar" colored Doc Martens looked like someone had thrown up a Crayola 64 pack on them. Three months later, just after I had tended my own resignation, I showed up at work to the familiar presence of a leather jacketed fake blonde boy enveloped in a cloud of Marlborough smoke. He was standing with his back to the wall in a pair of sunglasses, looking like John Lennon in those old Astrid Kurcher Hamburg photos. For one tiny moment I was literally breathless. And then I was a joyously caffeinated little chatterbox for the next two days, until it was time to part once more. We never exchanged numbers and we completely lost touch thereafter. And though we never said anything about it the underlying reason was that even though nothing untoward ever happened we were definitely guilty of something. Thought crime in the first degree. And for the first time in my life I knew what it was to suffer the lash of jealousy and deserve every welt of it. I felt the guilt of the truly guilty. I felt as if I'd committed a grievous sin, atheist that I was. I crucified myself over it for a good many months and behaved as though I'd done something to deserve the worst of punishments. But I never let him touch me and he never even tried.

I used to be good and I used to be loyal. I think I lost my conscience somewhere around the time I lost my hope for a better future. Another day came and another person came along that seemed to know and want and understand me. And this time I was too sad and too tired to fight it and it wasn't what sunk the ship so much as it was the destruction of the remaining lifeboats. And now Jealousy is one of my most constant companions. Jealousy follows my car around and spams up my voicemail on weekends. Jealousy calls up my friends and whines about me when it doesn't have the guts. Jealousy embarrassed me at the bar the other night and shouted at screamed and called me a whore. Accused me of being loved, which is a most horrible crime indeed. With some men if you exhibit the slightest bit of attention and another girl is present, then you end up in Hell where you can't even go to the fucking bar without getting followed into the bathroom and accused of devious machinations and verbally assualted in front of the jukebox by angry vicious women when you just want to play some Nirvana tunes and finish your goddamn Guinness in peace and hope that someone else you know will come in and rescue you if only to prove to the now gathering audience that possibly you might have some acquaintances that are not psychotic. And all of this over a man who doesn't claim to love either one of us and, at least on my end, is not being asked to. I don't want to love him and I don't want him to love me and I certainly don't want to be punished over something as stupid and imaginary as that. She kept shouting things like "You can just have him, then!" like she owns the title and is willing to sign it over to me and he has no say in the matter, or "I guess you two are in Love" like love is some sort of resinous goo that we've stepped into a puddle of and splashed all over us and we'll never be able to wash off of our clothes. The stains will never come out. Even ultra strength Tide won't get the love out of your laundry...Also she said we "deserve each other." Probably she was right with that one. Probably we do deserve each other. We deserve a lot of things, not all of them nice, and "each other" is probably one of them. But I don't want to love or be loved anymore, regardless of who it's with and in what esteem I hold them. Love is just an excuse to take people hostage. Love is a justification for irrational anger. Love is a little box we feel justified in shoving other people into. Love is an act of devouring limitation. Love is an excuse to command and torture. The only relevance love has for me anymore is that it means I'm not allowed to talk to my friends when I most want to. Either a significant other is home and must be paid rapt attention to or a jealous ex husband is set off by god knows what or an ex-girlfriend demands a 24 hour lockdown in exchange for beer and cigarettes. See what I know? I give beer and cigarettes away for free. Apparently I'm not charging enough.

Perhaps I am a simple bitch. Perhaps I am a whore. All I know is that the clock is ticking and the rope is growing thin. I can make allowances for friends who have baggage and needy acquaintances. I've been in my own pair of those shoes and I hated how they fit and I don't envy that at all. Fighting over a guy in a bar, though, smacks too much of a relationship and I'd rather gnaw my own leg off slowly over the course of a fortnight than ever have to fight over someone or endure someone's jealousy or be anyone's prized possession ever again. Apparently I've placed too many of my eggs in one basket. Apparently it's time to diversify. There's got to be more than one man in the world who's intelligent and cute and would rather talk about books with me than invite his bitter ex over for weekly multihour drunken torture sessions. So what if said person doesn't accept me or understand me unconditionally. Maybe it should just be about fucking. If it's just about fucking it'll probably never come to blows, right? Know any cute brainiacs with envious literary taste and no desire for longterm stability? Bonus points if they're depressives of Celtic and/or Viking extraction. Because we all know my proclivities.I judge prospective lovers these days by the cadence of their voices the quickness of their laughter and the size, quality, and content of their bookcases. My ex didn't read anymore and ultimately I think that's what doomed us. He didn't read. I slept with somebody that did. Maybe it's as simple as that. I am a bookslut indeed. Will whore for works of relevant fiction. I am the Harlot who haunts the Borders. Fear me. Ha!

Oh Well...

Guess I can always move to Canada, right?

And don't forget to vote!!!

Consult Bookslut.com's election survival guide for any needed assistance.

Dangerous Needlework

A tale of Mary Queen Of Scots...

Happy Celtic New Year

may the wheel of the year spin brightly this time around.

Adventures in Surreality...

Billy Corgan throws a Poetry Reading...

The Fool

"... Innocence and naivety are associated with The Fool,

for the young have no fear of new experiences or change.

As you grow older you can lose that childish innocence and

enthusiasm, and can become fearful and cynical of change

and new experiences.The mind of The Fool is always open, an empty vessel

eagerly waiting to be filled with new knowledge. Any

experience, pleasant or challenging, is life knowledge that

he accepts as part of his learning.The Fool does not sit on the fence waiting for life to come to him; he always takes the first step himself. The Fool

does not analyze all the possible risks of a new adventure;

he learns as he goes along. The fearlessness and sheer enthusiasm associated with The Fool makes for quite a maverick character, and often this

card can signify such a person, male or female, may step

into your life. It is your attitude that influences the choices and

decisions you make, and often your mind is so full of doubt

and fear that you become closed-minded to the possibilities

of change.When The Fool appears, ask yourself how open-minded you are

being at that moment in time, how enthusiastic are you

about life, and do you desire new experiences and

excitement but fear taking that first step?Any journey starts with the first step, and motivating yourself to take it is the hardest part. The Fool

encourages you to discover your inner child and harness

that youthful enthusiasm to help you on your way to a new

life and future.A time to exercise caution is when The Fool comes up as the

first card in a reading for you. You may want to question

your motives or judgment, since as this is the first card,

it can indicate folly. Perhaps you are motivated for the

wrong reasons, so look before you leap. You will have to deal with many twists and turns, paths and crossroads on your life journey and The Fool can help as a

sign post when you need to take a new path."

Fun with Airmen part 2

Went to a bar last night to meet some friends. Witnessed a male air force officer and a woman in a black pantsuit nearly get into a fistfight over the war. Not the rightness or wrongness of it, either. They were arguing over whether the air force officer at the bar or the woman's air force officer husband had "done more for the cause of freedom." Incidentally, I wonder how the woman hoped to further the cause of freedom by hanging out in a bar displaying ample cleavage and hanging all over a man who was NOT her husband while said husband is overseas fighting "for freedom." Anyway, as the two of them sparred I tried to offer myself as a sacrificial lamb, but no one bit:

"I'm against the war ENTIRELY! I voted for Gore! I was against the last Gulf war also!"

One tries to do one's part...

America The Clueless

George W. Bush wants to "spread freedom" like it's some kind of virus. The election's in a dead heat. I can't believe it's a dead heat. I can't believe people can't see through this guy. I overheard a woman at work in the bathroom yesterday saying she was a registered Democrat, but she'd vote for Bush because she'd "heard John Kerry was a flipflopper on issues." She heard it somewhere, probably didn't even know what was meant by it and chose to change her vote on such a flimsy basis as that. What the hell is wrong with people? Why are Americans so willfully ignorant? Maybe the voters deserve what they get. Maybe it's time to move to Canada.

AA is the only place he can pick up women anymore...

Kurt Vonnegut interviews Kilgore Trout for "the last time."

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated...

I've been feeling somewhat rather like shite on and off and things suck no less than usual, for the most part, but I am in fact still breathing for those of you who may have expressed concern. Love and lollipops from the Corbidful One who does not die no matter what they do to her.

Forward to the Blog: Silver Sea Fall Calendar

From: "Lady Elizabeth Amalthia Sterling"

Date: 2004/10/15 Fri PM 02:00:03 EDT

To: SilverSeaSiren@yahoogroups.com

Subject: [SilverSeaSiren] Silver Sea Happenings!!!

The happening's at the store that we have scheduled are as

follows :

Oct.16th- Club Crawl (street wide event)

Silver Sea features Live Music, Tarot Readings and Lollipops. Open till 1am

No Cover- wristband or no- there is no cost for this venue.

Oct. 30- Nightmare on Congress (street wide event)

Open late with Trick or Treating and specials and guest

performance artists.

No Cover.

Nov. 20- Gallery Silver Sea (in store event)

Gallery opening featuring promising *new* local artists.

Opening at 8pm. Work will be displayed from Nov. 20 thru

Dec. 20th. Gallery coordinator Suzzie Trouble.

No cover.

Nov. 27th- Open performance circle 8-10 pm

All performance mediums welcome! Low-key and non-sress way

to get some performance in or try it out for the first

time. All skill levels and styles welcome. We take turns

and go round the room, usually we keep it within 5 min or so

then switch to another person. Recording services will be

available from "The Basement Studios" (for a fee) if you

wish. The event has no cover charge itself :) Yay :)

WWKCD?

I am posing a new challenge to the readers of this blog in the tradition of "What would Jesus do?"

I want you to think deeply about the following in any given difficult situation: What Would Kurt Cobain Do?

Meditate on this and act accordingly, within reason, of course.

Thank you and goodnight.

The Corbidful One.

Lyrics Of The Day:

(The Cure,off Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me...)

"How Beautiful You Are"

You want to know why I hate you?

Well I’ll try and explain...

You remember that day in paris

When we wandered through the rain

And promised to each other

That we’d always think the same

And dreamed that dream

To be two souls as one

And stopped just as the sun set

And waited for the night

Outside a glittering building

Of glittering glass and burning light...

And in the road before us

Stood a weary greyish man

Who held a child upon his back

A small boy by the hand

The three of them were dressed in rags

And thinner than the air

And all six eyes stared fixedly on you

The father’s eyes said ’beautiful!

How beautiful you are!’

The boy’s eyes said

’how beautiful!

She shimmers like a star!’

The childs eyes uttered nothing

But a mute and utter joy

And filled my heart with shame for us

At the way we are

I turned to look at you

To read my thoughts upon your face

And gazed so deep into your eyes

So beautiful and strange

Until you spoke

And showed me understanding is a dream

’i hate these people staring

Make them go away from me!’

The fathers eyes said ’beautiful!

How beautiful you are!’

The boys eyes said

’how beautiful! she glitters like a star!’

The child’s eyes uttered joy

And stilled my heart with sadness

For the way we are

And this is why I hate you

And how I understand

That no-one ever knows or loves another

Or loves another

Oscar Wilde Quote Of the Day

The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates.

Tom Waits Quote Of The Day

"There was nothing wrong with her that $100 wouldn't fix."

Only in my case it's more like $2,000 and an emergency Zoloft prescription.

PS: To Tina's brother and his girlfriend - hope you're safe and well and that you realize things are not as bad as they seem, but also fuck you very much for endangering yourselves and worrying your families to death. Please return home safely and soon. And never doubt that you are loved, because you obviously very much are.

Not an exaggeration:I'm completely fucked right now...

... my goose is cooked - the fat lady has sung - the devil wants his due, etc. My life has persisted in becoming a nightmare of Jobian proportions and now on top of the job layoff followed by loss of income, followed by loss of transportation and a job offer way too far away to take the bus to, followed by fumigation and possible threat to my ability to maintain custody of my children,followed by the unexpectedly and seriously delayed paycheck that forced me to borrow $700 from my ex to pay rent and the electric bill, it now appears I am going to be evicted. There was a slim chance I could have worked out a solution, but then my ex put a stop payment on the rent check since I was "going to be evicted anyway, so why waste $500?" So now I have a health and safety dispute over the fumigation issue, plus I'm in arrears. I am so fucked. I don't know where I'll be sleeping this weekend, much less when I get to keep the girls next. I was already two weeks behind schedule for getting "my week" of custody due to the above mentioned issues and it was making me nuts. If I lose my girls I will die. Fuck. I am so screwed. Anyone who knows me well enough to have my phone number should probably call me asap. I'm not sure how or if you can help, but I need all the help I can get right now. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Don't ever say "it can't get worse." It can always get worse. And it probably always will.

Fin.

Corbid.

Word Of The Day: Schadenfreude

(noun)

[SHAWD?n?froi'?dah]

1. delight in another person's misfortune: "Hal felt an eerie mixture of empathy and schadenfreude whenever he listened to his friends discuss their problems."

Be fruitful and mutliply

Oh, those wacky Germans and their pornographic candy...

The fine people at Haribo have intorduced a line of apparently rather frisky fruit candy.The complaints they received from a Catholic college were apparently a hoax but their

website remains one of the more hallucinogenic things I have ever seen on the internet, ranking up there with that one truly puzzling anime Kikkoman ad I featured in this blog long ago but am too lazy to dig up a link for.

Another Day, And More Undead To Slay...

Seven Line Poem

Endymion's a restless dreamer

Stormtossed coffin bound in raging moonlight

Cold skin, warm lips,heart full of nails

Your Sleeping Beauty's a boy tonight

That Siren sweet singing will never raise the dead

But the song is a prayer and his breathing is steady

And the night smells like Hyacinth and miracles...

(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Aquatic Tarot Of the Day

Four of Wands (Completion): A chance to rest and rejoice, having successfully resolved a matter of great import. The initial success of a business venture or creative project. The blossoming of a friendship or romantic relationship. Conclusions drawn based on hard won experience. Spiritual, material, or emotional rewards for diligent effort. May suggest marriage, childbirth, or a victory celebration.

Queen of Pentacles: The essence of earth behaving as water, such as a hot spring: A warm and generous host, providing shelter and comfort for all who would seek it. A person steadfast, practical, and domestic, able to create opulence and stability in any setting. The qualities of maturity and sensibility, coupled with an innate appreciation for nature and the material world.

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Why I've dumped most of the men I've ever been with...

...simple neglect.

I ask very, very little. That doesn't mean I want nothing. So maybe I've got it all wrong. Maybe I should stop being so easy going and understanding and then I won't ever be in a position to be treated like a doormat again. Maybe failure to be demanding is essentially saying to a guy "your needs and quirks and intricacies are way more important than anything to do with stupid little me. Which is why they are repeatedly baffled when I make any sort of request at all and stunned when I react negatively to their inevitable failure to fulfill said request. Maybe it's my own fault, I don't know. All I know is that I never, EVER want to hear anything approximating the following phrases ever again:

"Can we just order pizza for our anniversary dinner?"

"I know we RSVPd a month ago but can we blow off the party? I'm tired."

"Let's skip Christmas presents this year. It'll save so much money and I don't really care about presents."

Perhaps I ask too much. Perhaps my only sexual appeal is in that doormat type quality. But damned if the next guy I date won't be required to fake a little enthusiasm when I enter a room.

Finis,

Corbid

On Ice

There's an episode of "Friends" in which one of the characters is so frightened by a Stephen King novel that the book has to be put in the freezer. A friend of mine told me recently that they threw a copy of "The Shining" into the desert because it bothered them that much. While I myself am not a great Stephen King fan per se, I've been reading one of his books and I've come to the point where I think it needs to go into the freezer. Only it isn't a horror novel at all. It's "On Writing" which is part advice manual, part autobiographical epistle and overall a very sincere and insightful bit of nonfiction. But the postscript, or rather the idea of it, is terrifying me a bit. It's about his accident. And I know I should read it. I have a feeling it would be good for me to read it. But I'm kind of scared to. So I think I'm going to put the book in the freezer for just a little while.

Even Japanese mythology is bizarre...

Once upon a time there was a monk who was in service to a high priest. He was married and had children. One summer day, this man accompanied his master to Mii temple. It was a hot day and he was sleepy so he took a nap in a hidden corner in the hall of the temple. He had a dream and in his dream he was visited by a beautiful woman. They made love in the dream and the sensation was so vivid and intense that he climaxed in ecstasy. When he awoke he found a large snake laying by his side. His own clothes were wet with his ejaculation but he was astonished to see the snake lying dead with its mouth wide open. He was even more shocked to see his semen in the mouth of the snake. He had been making love with this snake in his dream and the snake had choked and died afterwards. The man was afraid and secretly washed himself. He wanted to tell others of the strange thing that had happened to him, but refrained for fear of damaging his reputation. He became sick for a while, but nothing else came of it. Be careful where you sleep, if others are not around! Corbid's Blog: http://members.cox.net/corbid/exponentialdetritus.html

Like an overenthused cafeteria patron...

...I have too much on my plate.

Amnesiac Lover

Baby's an amnesiac

and never ever calls you back

you could die tonight of a heart attack

amnesiac lover

would never discover

might confuse you with another

tells the same stories

tells the same stories

tells the same stories

a hundred times a day

Available White Female In Search Of A Deity...

Wanted: some sort of divine being or pantheon or mythical entity I can invoke to solve my immediate concerns just to the degree that I can cope with them and reverse my sour luck. Vengeful Father Gods and crucified martyrs need not apply. The proper candidate will enjoy my songs and praises and libations as well as some good word of mouth on my various blogs and maybe a statuette or a tattoo or something. Don't be shy. Do my bidding. Gender or species unimportant. I am an equal oppurtunity petitioner. No animal sacrifices or head shaving requirements, please. Requiring a vow of silence is probably unwise. Bonus points for religions involving temple prostitutes, feasting on roasted lamb and/or genourous imbibing of wine. I do still like to have my occasional reverie...

Lyrics of the Day

"The butcher the baker and the baseline maker say you can leave her I can take her you spend your whole life like a minute or two later one day it's gonna and sooner than greater...oh, what would the loved ones say, what would the loved ones say?"

Elwood and I are gettting the band back together...

"I'm gonna ask you the question people always ask me...what do you do?

Show me don't tell me. Send me something you've written (fiction, poetics, obscenely verbose ranting, I don't care) or digital photos or scanned art or some music you've recorded or whatever else you do that's creative other than things of a tactile or aromatic nature. We're creating something here. We're on a mission from god. We're reviving my frustrated literary editor ambitions and giving the lot of you an audience and a forum all at the same time. It'll be Punk, it'll be diverse, it'll be cool. I'm calling it Spitegeist. Send me some things to put in it. I'll post the link when the inaugural version is ready to go live. Then I'll feel important:)

That is all,

Corbid

Resolution Number Nine

Today I will make a half assed attempt at succeeding.
We'll see how it goes. Arete, mi amigos.

cat people tarot

Ace of Wands: Creation. Beginning. Invention. Start of an undertaking. Fortune. Enterprise. Gain. Inheritance. Birth of a child. Beginning of a meaningful experience. An adventure. Escapade.

Three of Wands (Virtue): Practical knowledge. Business acumen. Enterprise. Negotiations. Trade, Commerce.

Lyrics of the Day

"The rich are getting richer
The poor are getting drunk
In a black and white world,
there's a lot of grey funk...
they're telling you questions
and they're asking you lies..."
- The Replacements

Not to be a bleeding heart, but the prospect of the two class society is looming nauseatingly near again. My friends range from upper middle class but heavily indebted to one paycheck short of an eviction notice. But I don't think I know anyone off the top off my head who's "comfortable."

September 11th

Just when I'm thinking it couldn't get any worse, the date creeps on me and I realize there are people who have suffered in much worse ways, like having to choose between jumping to a certain death and incinerating in an office building. So perhaps I shouldn't sit here and feel sorry for myself anymore.

Not saying I'm giving up completely, but...

Every time I get up, and get the willpower to try and do something about the mess that is my life I get kicked in the head. One of these days I'm going to conserve the pointless effort and just not get up again.

Too Much Information

When I swore I'd never write about this, I guess I lied.
The part of it that none of you will ever understand, that I can never explain, is how much it hurt. The absolute bloocurdling, mindsplitting, unfathomable pain of my guts spilling out into my body cavity and my spine all but snapped in half and still somehow I'm struggling to get on my feet, I'm smiling, I'm politely asking to be allowed to just go to sleep, just for one minute, and I'm fading fast and my blood pressure's dropped to almost zero and I cannot wrap my head around how much it hurts. I think I'm going to go mad, I think I'm going to split in two. The human nervous system is not equipped to process this sort of pain. And yet there I was, coherent and reasonable and asking softly if please they could just let me close my eyes, if please they could just put me under. And they're begging me, pleading with me to stay awake, because if I close my eyes I might never wake up and I think at some point my mind just snapped. I don't think I really came back to my senses for months after that. I don't know if I ever really came all the way back at all. Apparently I was moments away from dying. I was bleeding to death. I somehow stayed awake until the operating table where they cut my skirt off even though they'd already cleaned the surgical area, presumably for dramatic effect. And there on the operating table, on my deathbed, I was yelling at them about ruining my good black skirt and then I begged them again to put me under and this time they did and I woke up sore and disoriented in a dull morphine haze in a hospital bed, still not really getting it. I asked if I could go back to school the next day. Two months and most of a vital organ later, I would emerge from my Chrysalis a torn and jaded moth and all I could think about was at least I would be thin now because that's the sort of fucked up thing a teenage girl thinks of at times like that. Like I'd won some sort of liposuction lottery or something. But jesus holy fuck I could never even begin to explain how much it hurt. I myself can't fathom it. It just fucking hurt so bad. It isn't the nearly dying or the isolation or the uncertainty of the thing that got to me. I've known a number of people who've faced death or been sick or been traumatized. But I've never known another soul who could understand how much it hurt. It just fucking hurt so badly. I hope I've described it inadequately because I wouldn't wish that kind of suffering on anyone, even a pale ghost of it. But I've never committed it to print until now and I wonder if it'll somehow help me to do so. They always say write what you know and maybe this is what I know better than anything. So there it is. It hurt. It just fucking hurt. It hurt so bad. I can't begin to tell you how much it hurt...wow, that feels better somehow.

So, um, have a nice day?
Sorry about all that.
Lalalalala...

I don't know where that came from. I'm not even having a particularly bad day or anything. It just worked itself up out of some long buried scar tissue and - there it is. Funny how the human mind works. I don't think I ever even really remembered what it exactly felt like until just now. I mean obviously I had some idea it had been unfathomably painful, but I hadn't quite remembered the details of it in quite so intricate a matter.Kind of surprised at myself, actually.

Slave House

When I was ten, visiting the ancestral familial stomping grounds of the Southern Illinois-Kentucky border, I was taking to visit the following "tourist attraction." I don't know if it's haunted or not. I just know the horror of it is absolutely chilling. The absolute worst of what mankind can inflict on mankind. The stalls where they lived were dark and cold and had no room to sit or lay down - they slept standing. They were bred like horses. Anyone who can walk into that place and not feel crushing sadness and horror and guilt at being part of a species who could do this to itself is an inhuman monster indeed.

Old Slave House: Cries, whimpers of a haunted past

Oct 30 2001 12:00AM By

By MARY KAYE DAVIS Register-News

ALTON - Troy Taylor, president of the American Ghost Society, says one of his favorite haunted spots in Illinois is Hickory Hill - better known to many Southern Illinois residents as the Old Slave House. The Slave House closed to the public in 1996 and has been purchased by the state of Illinois. Plans call for the home to open as a state historic site in the near future. Hickory Hill was built in 1842 by John Hart Crenshaw. In those days, it was illegal to own slaves in Illinois, but because it was so difficult to find anyone to work the brutal salt mines of Saline County, it was allowed that slaves could be leased from other states to work in Illinois, according to information from Taylor. Crenshaw owned several salt tracts and began to put slaves to work. He initiated a scheme that would bring him more money than the salt mines could offer, devising a plan to kidnap free blacks and put them to work in the salt mines. He also sold the free blacks back to slave owners in the South, creating a reverse "underground railroad," Taylor said. When the house was completed, Crenshaw added a few touches, such as having a carriage door that opened directly in the house so slaves could be taken up a secret passage directly to the attic. The slaves were kept In the attic at night and, some say, subjected to brutal torture. According to the stories, there was also an underground tunnel that led from the basement to the river, where slaves could be loaded at night. Crenshaw devised another plan, historians say. He wanted to create slaves of his own, so he selected a slave for his size and stamina, then had the man breed more slaves. This man, known as Uncle Bob, was said to have fathered as many as 300 children. He lived until age 112, dying in 1948. Taylor describes the attic at Hickory Hill as a chamber of horrors. A dozen small cells had bars on the windows and contained iron rings where shackles could be bolted to the floors. The air was stifling because there was only a small window at each end of the attic; a whipping post was also located there. In 1842, Crenshaw was brought to trial for selling a free family into slavery, but the case couldn't be proven until after the trial was over. Crenshaw's slave-trading days were over, however. He died in 1871. Many years later, Crenshaw's house was opened as a tourist attraction, and tourists reported hearing strange noises coming from the attic - noises which sounded like cries and whimpers, along with rattling chains. An "exorcist" from Benton, Hickman Whittington, wrote an article about the house in the local newspaper. Whittington was in perfect health when he visited the mansion, but later in the evening he fell violently ill, dying hours later. As the years passed, no one would dare spend a night in the house's attic, but in the late 1960s, two soldiers who saw action in Vietnam ran screaming from the house, reportedly after being surrounded by ghostly shapes. The owner refused to let any more visitors in the home after dark, but in 1978 he relented and let a Harrisburg reporter named David Rodgers spend the night. Despite hearing a lot of strange noises, Rodgers beat out 150 previous challengers to become the first to brave the night in the attic. Taylor said he'd asked a former owner if he believes the house is haunted. The former owner said he'd never encountered a ghost in the home, but his wife hadn't been so lucky. And she refused to set foot in the former slaves' quarters.

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Movie Quote Of The Day

Lloyd Dobler : Joe. Joe. She's written 65 songs... 65. They're all about you. They're all about pain.

Joe : So what's up?

-Say Anything, Cameron Crowe 1989

I asked my two year old...

...half in jest "David Bowie or Nirvana?" She said "Nirvana." I repeated the question to be sure I'd heard right. So Nirvana it shall be.

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Laborday Blues (detritus)

Half drunk still, he lurked in the shadows and I stood in the doorway and he said I looked like Tori Amos "in a cool and beautiful way" but the camera had a low battery so this can be neither confirmed nor denied. Still I felt the need to preserve it for posterity. Vain and selfish creature that I am. Sometimes men who you know don't love you are the ones who are most complimentary. And certainly you can trust them more. But holy fuck I'd have paid good money to hear a thing like that. Last week I found my keys and the remote control and I felt as if I'd won the lottery. I am a woman of simple delights. Every day, when I fail to wake up dead, I am grateful, except on the days that I wish I was dead which are thankfully sporadic in number mostly. Life is a mess but such a happy chaotic mess all the same. Love is what radiates from my girls' rosy faces and lights up their eyes.Sweetness is a name for refusing to let the assholes that make up the general population get you down. Politics are overrunning my television. Fuck the fucking fascist regime. Vive le France and God Save The Queen and there's no future and England's dreaming. Vive le revolution. The answer my friend is blowing in the wind. Just vote and vote justly. I am a simple woman of simple joys but I'll be damned if I sign my rights away to the corporate oligarchy this November. It's labor day. Which means. Respect the working man! Fight for justice! Support your fellow man! It was never meant to be a day of picnics and white sales. Read Michael Moore today or listen to Jello Biafra or register to vote. Do something, damnit! It's not too late (says the eternal optimist...)Just. Do it. Right Now.

thank you and good night

"If I Should Fall From Grace"

This is a documentary about Shane MacGowan about what a lyrical genius and an unrepentant drunk he is, and it's just f'ing awesome, I must say. Cameo appearance/interview segments with the fabulous Mr. Nick Cave abound. There's a bonus sing-along feature and an interesting little outtake of Shane peeing in the bushes. Klassy with a Kapital "K."

Also rented "The Last Seduction" which was noirishly badass and I'd somehow never gotten around to seeing. And some Japanime because I'm a bit of a geek. No tentacles, though.

My latest read was exquisite in its fashion: "Idlewild" by Nick Sagan (son of Carl.)
Like "The Matrix" with shades of "The Breakfast Club."

Other joys of late:

A "new" old Pernice brothers CD found at Barnes and Noble before my cash ran out for the week.

Latte from Caffe Nation, complete with an encounter with an old acquaintance that keeps popping up randomly every couple of years.

Peach pie and Beamish Stout at the Congress Street Grill (unofficial motto: exquisite diner cuisine cuisine served with a sneer)along with nibbles of Lizzie's "gianormous" pancakes.

But number one on my list has been the joy of manning the front desk today, so I have leisure to read and websurf and post. It's like a vacation on the job, except for those occasional pesky callers...

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

In honor of "Little Phil"

Lizzie. please print this or pass on this link to your lovely niece.

The price of which is that she promise to read Edith Hamilton's

Mythology.

In fact, if the rest of you would read the frigging thing, I wouldn't have to explain this shite to you all the time, you'd just understand...

Mythology isn't "old and boring and out of date." It's a context. It's a frame of reference. It's Jung as opposed to Freud, Dream as opposed to Dogma. Symbolism to complement science. It's the Independent Cinema of the ancient world, for prechrist's sake.

Don't limit yourself, man. A little Classical mythology and a little Shakespeare never killed anyone, eh? Don't you wish you could say the same with that bloodthirsty gorefest of a bible?

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

My word of the day...

...was "feckless." Feck that. They've insulted my intelligence yet once more.

Found a much better word via Neil Gaiman's Blog:

The word Tulpa is from the Tibetan language and refers to any entity that attains reality solely by the act of imagination. The entity is created entirely within the confines of ones own mind, not drawn out, written down or even verbally described.

If its creator wishes, this "Tulpa Creation" may become physical reality through intense concentration and visualization. However, care must be taken to only bring to reality what is beneficial to the world, lest it's destruction becomes more problematic than its creation (see related account on Alexandra David-Neel.)

Also during last night's revelries, I discovered the joys of caramel vodka.

Is it candy? Is it liquor? Who gives a #@%$, it's good.

Not that I can afford that sort of thing right now.

In fact it's likely off to the payday loan place for me...

thoughts

When you're absent minded, everything's a pleasant surprise.

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Collective Abstract Replies

To the one I always write to first. A query of sorts, I suppose. They are amazing lyrics, but from whence do they come and who do they mean? Or does all that really matter much at all (I suppose not) in the end? Is it all Velvet Oedipal Pontification ?

Whlie he is the Court Jester, she is the queen of swords. Sharp of wit but heavy in spirit, your words are more beautiful when you are lighter than air. Cast off the weight of the world and don't be afraid to let your sweetness show. Thinking of you. I have books with your name on them (both literally and figuaratively speaking.) I am wishing you a week free of care to the extent that this is humanly possible.

To my favorite Fallen Woman, I am wishing you good fortune and the loan of my stubbornness. You are tireless but sometimes you wonder what it's all for. I'll remind you. You may work your ass off now, but you are accountable to no one but yourself and that is worth its weight in platinum. And the ass that you're working off is much more enviable than it used to be :) Your confidence and strength and beauty shine through and inspire us all. But it's okay to doubt that sometimes and I'm here for that when you need me.

I know a young mother who lives in a shoe...she wears so many hats you'd think she wouldn't know what to do. In lieu of less plausible wishes, I wish her further extensions of credit and well behaving boys and a great sales week. And a sale on green tea.

My sister doesn't read this, but I'm wishing bonus points into the universe because she thought of me in a kind way. Okay, so it was a bit condescending but as sweet as she gets and I'll give her credit (long story.)

To my favorite belly dancing vegetarian - haven't forgotten you, I'm just feeble minded and forget to call till it's too late at night...

I'm probably forgetting people. I don't know who all reads this thing. So I'll just wish general goodness to all whom I have the good fortune of being acquainted with.

Peace, Love and Jellybeans,
Corbid

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Jesus Fucking Christ

I'm offline again. I thought this "infrastructure improvement" bullshit was
supposed to have solved this problem. Fuckers.
I'm all paid up and everything. What do they want from me? Blood? My
immortal soul? That's $40 a month I could be spending on books or CDs or 4
packs of Guinness pub draft. Or Care Bears and colouring books for my
daughters. Or, you know, my actual debts or something. Next time I happen
into a large sum of money (that'll be never, but humour me) I'm going to buy
a laptop with a Wi-Fi card so I can roam around Starbucks or Downtown and
get free wireless access and not have to pay for my right to be an informed
citizen. You know, I've heard that in some countries wireless internet
access is provided free as a means of bettering and educating the populace.
Here they charge us for everything but the air we breathe (don't worry, they
ll figure out how to charge us for that soon enough.)

Obviously if anyone's sent me any email in the past 48 hours, I've not yet
seen it. I'm letting this post languish in my outbox in case I connect at
some point. A lovely weekend to all.

Negativegirl

Mirrormask Preview

It's promised to be a fine dark Henson film in the tradition of Labyrinth and Dark Crystal, and better yet, it was written by Neil Gaiman.


Fuck me, I can't wait for this movie:

Dogs in (my office) Space

I don't know if I've ranted here yet about the whole dogs in the office situation, but yes my employers allow their ill behaved golden retrievers the run of the entire building. They try to steal our lunches. They fight in the hallways. They shit on the floor. One of them bit a hole in the ass of my dress once. We have to lock the doors so they don't escape the building. Today one of them nearly got decapitated by the elevator when I was trying to load a product display. Far be it from me to complain, but holy fuck. This was not in my job description, to say the least. These are not exactly people who couldn't afford a dog sitter. A trainer comes to give them walks. A groomer comes and bathes them. They live in the lap of fucking luxury. Why do they want to bury their noses in my lap as well?


But whatfuckingever. When given a choice between call center hell and dogs begging for my breakfast every morning I suppose I can learn to live with the dogs. Or at least start leaving early enough to eat breakfast at home.

Lyrics of the Day

"Skip the life completely. Stuff it in a cup. She said Money is like us in
time, it lies but won't stand up."
-Lou Reed

Ten of Cups (Satiety): Fulfillment and joy in life and love. Feeling peace, tranquility, and contentment in friends and family. Taking delight in one's good fortune



Seven of Wands (Valor): Standing courageously for your beliefs in the face of adversity. Fear of failure overcome by the will to succeed. Great obstacles met with heroism and determination. Inner strength brought to bear at a critical moment.



(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Dispatches From The Complaint Department

1) My supposed vocabulary word of the day was "citadel." Fucking please. Do
they think I'm 12? Are there a large number of fully functional,web literate
adults that don't know "citadel?" If the thing weren't free I'd want my
money back.

2) What gives with the increasingly more bizarre serving suggestions on the
back of frozen pierogi boxes? I am Polish (don't laugh, it's not that funny)
and I buy frozen pierogi to eat as Polish people do: boiled with butter and
lots of sour cream. If I want to go to some extra trouble I'll pan fry it
and serve it with maybe butter and sour cream and Kielbasa. It's a simple
dish and it's hardly rocket science to figure out: "Hmmm...potatoes and
cheese in a dumpling, do you suppose it might be good with sour cream?" So
what the hell is up with suggestions like "Serve grilled or baked on top of
a selection of salad greens, topped with salsa" or "create a casserole by
combining with ham cubes, broccoli florets and Alfredo sauce" or the one
that kind of makes me retch a bit: "combine with spaghetti sauce and
parmesan cheese, add meatballs if desired." Mmm, nothing like mashed
potatoes and spaghetti sauce! Jesus Fucking Christ on a cracker, do you
suppose these same brilliant marketeers will next come up with something
along the lines of "Fajitas...why not add mayonnaise?" or "Nothing beats the
taste of sushi and cheese whiz." Way to make unsuspecting consumers hate
pierogi. But whatever, that leaves more for me, I guess. Potatoes are the
breakfast of champions indeed.

3) My third hate note of the day goes to people who take a great CD and play it constantly to a captive audience until you think you've been inducted into a very special level of the Inferno and wonder what atrocity you've committed to deserve it. Thanks to my sales manager at work, I can't listen to any more Sarah McLachlan for a long,long time.

More Vonnegutesque Expounditure

Kurt Vonnegut salutes the humble librarian.

Quote of the Day

Then Hole frontwoman Courtney Love, directly to the camera for a 1990 documentary on The Year Punk Broke:


"Kurt Cobain makes my heart stop. But he's a shit."


Also, my wee teo year old Sarah has composed the following song, which I thought I'd share:"The monkey in the sea, the monkey in the sea, hi ho the dairy o the monkey in the sea...is sleeping now.." True genius, I tell you.

Meanwhile, I'm still thinking...

May I just take this oppurtunity

...to sing the praises of Casa de Jay and Jay,which we visited during the birthday revelries last eve. Seriously, man, the house shared by Boy Jay and Girl Jay is what "Truck" frontman Jesse Stanley's house wants to be when it grows up (and Jesse Stanley has a cool ass house.)An eclectic and beautiful mix of space age retro and lounge and Tiki kitsch plus vintage porn art and thought provoking conversation pieces. And a soundtrack to match. There's a caterpillar collection in a bamboo tiki cage and one of those chairs that looks like you're sitting tin the palm of a giant hand. And naked nun art.One can never encounter too much naked nun art. Yeah, I'm jealous, a bit...

Happy Birthday, Lizzie!!!

I am readying my umbrella...

william blake cards of the day...

Three of Poetry (Creativity): "I must Create a System, or be enslav'd by another Mans I will not Reason & Compare: my business is to Create". A creative opportunity presents itself. A lucky break is in store for you. Taking an imaginative or literary approach is favored. A revelation of truth is at hand. All the pieces are falling into place. You achieve an understanding that has far-reaching implications. In the creative process: You get the go-ahead to "do your thing"; your project has special blessing at this time because of your ability to see an overview or get the big picture.   Eight of Painting (Discipline): Proper pacing or management of your workload or time. Taking control of a difficult situation. Following the lead of a mentor or inner guide. A need for physical assessment and self-improvement. Seek appropriate education and training. Step-by-step progress. Diligence and perseverance. Tackling a mountain of work. In the creative process: Even though you may have a long way to go, a methodical approach incorporating guidance and training will ultimately lead you to the top.

Holy Fuck

I finally managed to ruin a Volvo...

Stupid Happy Creature (bibliomancy of the day)

Random Yeats Passage (from "Demon and Beast"):

"Being no more demonaic a stupid happy creature could rouse my whole nature.
.chilled blood this sweetness brought; yet have no dearer thought than that
I may find out a way to make it linger half a day..."

Corbid's Blog: Exponential Detritus

Sweetness makes excuses

All I want for the rest of my life is lemon drops and Beatles songs and rain...

Lactate Intolerant

Sweetness lingers in spite of false threat of suffocation. He keeps lots of

pillows in case someone might want to smother him. All she ever wanted was

photos for the yearbook, scraps for the scrapbook, pieces for the quilt.

Someday it'll all be just mementos in a tea tin, and dolls in a heart shaped

box. Someday she'll be eating the dust and cursing the grave. Bracing for the

day he doesn't come back, inevitable as monsoon rain, another price to pay,

another heartbreaking work of genius. When you die can I have your shadow?

Written in stone, written in ink, written in a name that cannot be erased. Said

aloud it becomes a story and all stories have inevitable endings. I'm wishing

for a John Irving epilogue but prophesy a Leonard Cohen afterworld. A heart is

just a vital organ, and I'm used to having those removed. A thousand years from

now it'll just be me and the cockroaches immortal and living in the ruins.

Someday I'll escape to tell the tale. Someday I'll write the gospel of the

name. Till then I am harvesting the milk of human kindness. Drink deep and be

forgiven, a babe at the breast and innocent again. I want nothing and I am

nothing but all the nothing that I am is yours to lean on. I know you'll take

my secrets to the grave. It's all just words, it doesn't have to make sense, it

just has to sound pretty.

inaction speaks louder than words

When Christ said unto his apostles "This is my body, take and eat" perhaps it was just a round about way of saying "bite me, Judas."
Convenience stores apparently sell just about everything these days.

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The world's address, a place that's worn...

Billboard I saw recently: "The world doesn't have a suggetion box."

If it did, my first suggestion would be to institue corporal punishment for people who compose trite billboard slogans.


Thought for the day: Are eternal penitents housed in eternal penitentiaries?

It's...

Filk Night at Silver Sea...


Prompts a series of bad quaotational puns aka "filk filk."

Such as the following:


"Why can't I get just one filk, why can't I get just one filk, guess it's got something to do with luck..."


"Why don't you take a flying filk at a rolling donut? Why don't you just take a flying filk at the mooooon?"


Till then,

I've a lovely Cthulhu Beatles parody up my sleeve for later and a bag of ice to purchase.


So you can all just filk off already.


Next major Silver Sea event to my knowledge will be Club Crawl. I'm in the process of recruiting some talent, god willing...

Required Viewing

Just watched "Rescue Me" with Denis Leary. Not at my own house, though, cause I don't have cable and it's on FX. Maybe I'll get cable again. It was deep and satiric and sad and dark and true. It was black comedy edged with tragic seriousness in the vein of Kurt Vonnegut or Douglas Coupland. And plus I kind of think Denis Leary is hot. Er, rather, Denis Leary is still hot, even though he's getting up there a bit. But we all know about me and those aging Irish guys...

Redundancy is...

Narcissistic vampires who wound themselves, then lick the blood...

monsoon

Still awaiting word from the outside world,but no one listens, there is not a soul around to hear...I am all you never wanted...there are rainbows, one god's promise that never was broken...rain like a weeping baptism, drenching my desert soul, I am a lizard shedding skins, I am a fallen saguaro riddled with bullet holes and the rodent burrowing inside it...drown me in a desert flood and let me die with some irony at least...I envy friends who say they want to die, I wish I wanted to die, life would be so much easier to take if I didn't have to love it back...

She is everything you never wanted

She is

blood black cherries in July

sticky and red and bitter pitted

abundant and bruised and green at the stem

too much sweetness in the swelter

she needs drying in the desert sun

or to be frozen

till winter comes

Bleed Me

I don't want to be loved
I just want someone to suck the poison out

http://www.members.cox.net/corbid/exponentialdetritus.html

Tarot Cards of the Day

Eight of Swords (Interference): Chagrin at the unforeseen consequences of prior decisions. Criticism, censure, and the imposition of external restrictions. Confusion leading to powerlessness. Inability to focus on the crux of a problem and free oneself from a difficult situation. Being hamstrung by a past failure or humiliation.



The Fool: Fearlessness, imagination, open-mindedness, and an adventurous spirit. Freedom from cares and worries. Ideas, thoughts, and impulses coming from a completely unexpected place. Nonchalance at the threshold of gaining all or losing all. Extravagance and intoxication with life. The pure and undifferentiated power of creation itself, where ultimate knowledge and oblivion are unified.



(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Work Is Zen

Typing in yet another series of product descriptions into yet another Microsoft program, I zen out and lose all context of what I'm typing as usual. For all intents and purposes I am just a monkey with a typewriter. But every once in a while this trancelike state causes me to look at things in unusual ways and the most benign things strike me as being hysterically funny. For instance, I type in "50 elastic hair bands" and suddenly picture a stage full of competing 80's hair metal bands dressed in lycra, crowded onto a stage and collapse into a fit of giggles. I suspect everyone here must think I'm a tad off my rocker. Not that there's anything wrong with that...Oh well, back to the grind.

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Do you recall what was the deal the day the music died?

Feast Or Famine

As regards the onetime love of my life: either I'm the devil incarnate or I'm long suffering and beloved and misunderstood.Why can't we just try to be friends and try to agree on what's best for our kids and get on with our lives? Why does he always save his biggest tantrums for the weekend? Never mind. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that one. I don't want to "win" or be always in the right or anything like that.I'd settle for having my input valued on occasion and maybe not being told what to do and how to do it all the time. I don't want much, just a tiny bit of privacy and a chance to go out on occasion (without being followed!) and some time to be a mommy to my girls without having to be a full time martyr. Sometimes he gives me money when I need it. I wish I could say no, because it's not support and it's not a loan. He's trying to buy me and when it doesn't always work I get punished. If tonight were any night but Saturday he wouldn't hate me, I guarantee you.And the total fucking irony there is that he gets so bitter and angry because he wants me back, but the uglier he behaves the less inclined I am to ever remotely consider it. For all the hurt I ever caused I never intentionally inflicted pain on the level he'll casually toss at me in a five minute telephone conversation on a Friday afternoon. I can't spend my life with someone capable of being that hateful no matter what the justification. That can't be a good thing for my girls to see. If they have to see that, then they also need to learn that the proper response to that kind of treatment is to walk away from it. So that's what I've done. I feel bad for him, but not so bad as to let myself be crucified just to soothe his bruised feelings. Fuck that. It's my first Saturday night free in three weeks. I think I'm going out tonight whether the dishes ever get finished or not. I think if someone didn't come in to inspect the cleanliness of my house all the time I might be less reluctant to clean it. I think I may have a dog that needs a new home: male labrador mix, three years old, very friendly, needs lots of energy that I just don't have right now.

Thought For The Day

Where do I get my humour and faith and strength as a human being? I think in all honesty it may be just the mental energy I save by never cleaning my house.

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You say you want a revolution?

Information is power. And the internet is almost pure information.Think
about that a bit. Now think about it in a political context. And read the
following article:

From Alternet.org: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

Selfish Bastards Unite

I think most people fail to realize one of the simplest concepts graspable, which is that we are all basically selfish bastards at heart, and that what makes us human is the process of overcoming that. It isn't really that nefarious a concept. It's simply basic biology and human nature. The hierarchy of needs and all that. We are born into this world with an instinctual urge to seek out shelter and food and comfort. Our basic mammalian instincts force us to seek out our own happiness. Humanity is the process by which allowing for the needs and concerns of others to become part of that process of taking care of ourselves as individuals. When the knowledge of the sruvival and happiness of those around us become a neccessary part of our individual well being. Love is the unnatural state in which another person's happiness can content you and when their pain becomes inextricably entwined with your own. The fact that any other human being can take the great and wondrous leap from a primary concern with self preservation to caring enough about another human being to empathize with or love or even hate them is rather a miracle in and of itself. The fact that there are people in our lives at all, regardless of how difficult they may be to make allowances for, is just kind of amazing. Perhaps we should appreciate that more. Count our blessings or whatever. Just a thought.

Corbid Waxing Philosophic on A Thrusday

Why my house looks like that...still...

When my kids are here it's too loud and chaotic to clean, but when they're gone I'm too lonely and depressed to do anything useful and I end up avoiding my responsibilities and trying to rope people into talking on the phone with me instead of working. Fuck it, I'm going to drink a couple of Fat Tires and go to bed way too early like a big loser and hope that the motivation faery visits me in the night...

"The last time I saw you was down at the Greek's, there was whiskey on Sunday and tears on her cheeks..."

Hang the DJ

The latest Corbidful mix CD consists of the following:

"Lisa Says" - The Velvet Underground
"Dirty Old Town" - The Pogues
"House On Fire" - Boomtown Rats
"Cupid's Got A Brand New Gun" - Michael Penn
"Speak My Language" - The Cure
"Oh Me" - Nirvana (Meat Puppets Cover)
"Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed" - Bowie
"Hey Jack Kerouac" - 10,000 Maniacs
"Father Lucifer" - Tori Amos
"Julie Anne" - Ben Folds Five
"Elephant's Graveyard" - Boomtown Rats
"Spare Ass Annie" William S Burroughs w/ Kurt Cobain

Not making this up at all...

Dreamt I was on trial for crimes of being human in a soulless world.

(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Coming soon!

Corbid.net

Tarot Cards Of The Day

Seven of Swords (Futility): An opportunity to withdraw from a hopeless situation and fight another day. Disengagement from a struggle you should never have been involved in. A desperate attempt to resolve a matter without conflict. The use of cleverness or outright deception to turn the tide in your favor.



Ace of Cups: The seed of a new relationship or spiritual journey - perhaps as yet unseen. An opportunity for joy, contentment, fertility, or enlightenment. Coming to understand the emotional needs of those around you. May represent an unexpected message, a chance meeting, or the start of a friendship or romance.

Thea Gilmore song ...

With some of the best lyrics that I have heard in ages...


Holding Your Hand

I'm gonna haunt you

I'm gonna haunt you

Through the playgrounds

Through the fires

You'll be saluting at the stars

And I'll be holding your hand


I'm gonna haunt you

I'm gonna haunt you

Out on the other side of luck

Where every business deal is struck

I'll be holding your hand


Yeah Yeah

I'll be holding your hand


I'm gonna haunt you

I'm gonna haunt you

In your ashes and your smoke

Like the punch line to a joke

I'll be holding your hand


I'm gonna haunt you

I'm gonna haunt you

On every knife edge

Every trip

And on every needle tip

I'll be holding your hand


Yeah yeah

I'll be holding your hand

Typical

So I met a guy at a party the other night and, not that I'm back in the dating

pool or anything yet, god forbid, but still I'm not dead. Anyway this guy

was cute and witty and interesting and just had sort of a general attractive

vibe to him, right? Had read the Sandman series, knew cool historical trivia, gave a fucking excellent neck massage if I do say so myself.Don't know what it was, I just really was intrigued. So

we converse a bit.Turns out he's in his early forties, lives in relative

poverty and admittedly has a depressive disorder. I didn't ask if he was

Irish. If he's Irish then that makes it official: I have a type: depressive

low income Irish American men in their early forties. I am predictable as

the tides. It's fucking tragic. And also it's a shame because I'm totally and unfairly ignoring the whole White Male Geek aged twenty five to thirty five crowd to whom I am apparently most desirable.

say the word

The words "I love you" are supposed to be a spontaneous and fleeting declaration yet somehow in today's society they have evolved into a question or a command or a tool with which to bully.

Sometimes thwy just mean what they mean in that second and that context for just that moment and it sucks that the big bad world has to go and suck the sweetness out of all tha just liek every other thing...

Aha!

Apparently I can taunt the cable modem into letting me online. I got halfway through setting up a dialup connection and viola, back in business. For now anyway.

Waitress, I'll have the usual...

...my heart on  a platter with a side of false promise and a garnish of unearned flattery. No beverage necessary, I'll just lick the blood from my wounds. For dessert, I think a nice thick slab of reheated silence topped with a spoonful of icy indifference. Yes, I think that'll be a "to go" order actually. These days I pretty much dine alone.

Covert Work Post to my loyal followers

I'm not dead, I swear.
But I've been offline at home now for 6 days and counting (minus about five minutes on Saturday.)
And I'm not supposed to be posting from work, so.
See ya when I see ya?
Thank you for your patience.

The Corbidful One.

http://www.members.cox.net/corbid/exponentialdetritus.html

Self portrait in charcoal grey except that I can't draw to save my life

Saturday 7:00 am she wakes.
No energy and the weight on her shoulders of too much too late.
She'll never catch up with life in a million years now.
Might as well just fucking give up. Heats up the skillet.
Looks for the package of potatoes, finds she left it out in the night.
Weighs the odds of eating them anyway, but chickens out and dumps them in the garbage. What the fuck's she gonna eat now? There's a tiny bit of shrimp cocktail left from the other night. Breakfast of champions. The dog starts whining for it. The dog whines like a fucking hyena sometimes. You'd think he was dying. He's just been fed and everything. Babies are still sleeping at least, thank god. Fucking internet's out again like it is practically every Saturday. Tries to call the one friend she knows will be awake but the damned ringer is off as always. Everyone else will be sleeping. She has to have caffeine. She wishes she could just have whiskey instead, but makes a coffeepot full of strong black tea. There's a pain low in her back from cramps and from sitting oddly and from sleeping at the foot of the bed again. Curls up in the corner with a Vonnegut book that her ex said she'd hate but which she doesn't. Puts on a Bowie/Eno compilation to complete the dissociative experience. It's almost time to get out the spoken word William Burroughs even. It's a cynical surreal disjointed sort of morning. Somehow she's got to buck it up today. Pay some bills. Do some laundry. Start digging her way out of this apathetic dusty smelly mess. Has to be real again. Has to be real again. She hasn't been real in about a week now. Forgets how she managed this the last time. Somewhere there's something that'll lift this grey. Someone somewhere knows the magic word or maybe there's a bit of music that'll do it or something on the television. Can't find the fucking remote and it's been ages since she watched television. It's July and the fucking mosquitos are back and she's itching like mad. Covered in mystery bruises as usual. Sallow skin, dark circles around pretty eyes, ugly little feet with calloused little heels, sitting there in her purple faery t-shirt wishing anyone in the world thought she were remotely important at this instant, not that she'd believe it if they said so. It's probably just the hormones talking. Tomorrow, she'll be an egoist once more. Today she is wretched and sad and lacking in energy and full of words that no one wants to hear. And nobody loves you when you don't love yourself, they say. And she just fucking loathes herself right now. For being weak and beaing helpless and feeling sorry for herself instead of just getting up and fixing it and because no one needs her. She's merely an interesting afterthought. A footnote. Best supporting actress in the movie version of everyone else's life.And everything irritates her right now. And she wish the sun weren't up right now. The cooler's too cold, but if she turns it off it's too warm. And isn't that the story of her life? She's tired but she can't go back to sleep and sometimes dying sounds nice just for the rest that that involves although she'd never do it in a million years. She could sleep for a million years if only she could sleep at all. She could scream for a million years but no one would ever hear it.No one's listening. No one's home. Go back to bed, little girl. We'll tell you when you're needed. It isn't now. It's never now. You're a lifetime benchwarmer is what you are. You're fucking royalty, all the same. You're Princess Afterthought,. Queen of things that people shove into desk drawers and forget about and books they mean to lend you but never get around to and invitations that get lost in the mail. Goddess of apathy and indecision and three quarters of a job well done. And now the babies are up and it's time to smile and yawn and pretend you're trying. Pour the cereal, turn on the cartoons, go into autopilot, because sometimes love is robotic motions when you'd rather not move at all. And so it goes. Thank you and good night.

Swear to god I am not making any of this up

Dreamt I drove by an office building and saw my old friend Matt. Then I saw another, closer, friend of mine, who was damned happy to see Matt. Then my ex showed up and he and that friend attempted to beat the crap out of each other and I started to interfere but then I realized it was a dream because in real life no one's ever given a shit enough about me to fight over me. So I decided I didn't give a shit either. And then I walked away. For some reason Matt was naked in this dream.



(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Rider Waite Tarot Cards of the day

Eight of Swords (Interference): Chagrin at the unforeseen consequences of prior decisions. Criticism, censure, and the imposition of external restrictions. Confusion leading to powerlessness. Inability to focus on the crux of a problem and free oneself from a difficult situation. Being hamstrung by a past failure or humiliation.



Seven of Pentacles (Assessment): A pause to check on the progress of your labors. Making difficult financial decisions. Exercising patience and perseverance. Evaluating the status of your work and your options for the future.



(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

A toast to the first day...

...that I didn't need him anymore.

Today is one of those days...

...when I'm just kind of defeated coming in the door.

My soon to be ex-spouse has gone nutfuck and won't see his own children because he thinks it will punish me somehow. I have overdue library books and overdue videos and paperwork that should have been mailed in ages ago. I have a returned check notice for a check my bank never told me about and that there should have been funds for over a mooth ago. My house is a wreck, my life is a wreck and I am so, so tired. I am so all alone. I know I have friends right now, but I reserve the right to feel very very alone, because I can't talk on the phone or email with friends and attend to my household at the same time. And there's just so much to do. And I'm PMSing like mad. And I just have to keep repeating "It gets better, it always gets better, and it could get so so worse..."


It'll get better, it's just life is all it is.

Fun With Typos

Was entering in an order request at work the other day, and one of the items
was a tie dye kit listed as:
Tie Dye Kit With Shirt
Tie Dye Kit No Shirt.
Lucky for me I made a last minute sweep for accuracy, because I apparently
had entered the following:
Tie Dye Kit With Shirt
Tie Dye Kit No Shit.
I'm sure that would have been very appreciated coming as it does from a preteen oriented company, eh?

Tragic truth

Women tend to be assigned a social role and expected to stick with it. If
you are strong and assertive no one recognizes the sweetness in you. If you
are warm and sweet and loving no one ever takes you seriously or thinks you
can take care of yourself. And so it goes. From time immemorial.


Corbid's Blog: http://members.cox.net/corbid/exponentialdetritus.html

I may be a huge sap...

..but I'm seriously digging on Casablanca right now....


Corbid's Blog: http://members.cox.net/corbid/exponentialdetritus.html

Nobody ever comments anymore...

Pout.

A Purgatory Of Thwarted Ambition Indeed...

An outtake from

a commentary posted at hipmama:

"'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' -- we understand that scorn to be one of sexual rejection. But what results when a woman's intelligence is disdained just as cruelly? Gifted young women like Monica {Lewinsky} dwell in a purgatory of thwarted ambition. They find that while braininess and aggression are not encouraged, artful manipulation is available as the most powerful device in the feminine arsenal. Monica's byzantine designs to further her affair with Clinton are the brilliantly neurotic symptoms of someone, who, as we say, 'has too much time on her hands.' This big girl should have been mentored to run the world, not run little games around the little men who inhabit it."

To which I'll add my own Clinton comment, which is that you've got to admire the man in that he was getting work done the whole time. Seriously. He was like on the phone to members of Congress and stuff the whole time he was, ehem, conducting business.

Word of the Day I was unaware of...

Excoriate
[ik·SKOR·ee·ayt', ik·SKOER·ee·ayt']
1. to wear off the skin of, as a person or animal; abrade
2. to censure or denounce very strongly: "When Kendra decided to excoriate
the administration's policies in an editorial for the local paper, she
acquired some powerful enemies."
noun forms: excoriation, excoriator

Alas, tis Friday and the question remains...

...will this be the weekend I finally get my house in order?

Probably not bloody likely, but a girl can dream...

The Yew Tree

The Yew Tree

by Brian McNeill

as performed by the Battlefield Band



A mile frae Pencaitland, on the road to the sea

Stands a yew tree a thousand years old,

And the old women swear by the gray o? their hear

That it knows what the future will hold,

For the shadow of Scotland surround you,

?Mid the kail and the corn and the kye.

All the hopes and the fears of a thousand long years,

Under the Lothian sky.



Chorus:

My bonny yew tree, tell me what do you see.

My bonny yew tree, tell me what do you see.



Did you look through the haze o? the long summer days

To the south and the far English border?

All the bonnets o? steel on Flodden?s cold field.

Did they march by your side in good order?

Did you ask them the price of their glory

When you heard the great slaughter begin?

All the dust o? their bones Would rise up frae the stones

To bring tears to the eyes o? the wind.



Chorus



Not once did you speak for the poor or the weak

When the moss-troopers lay in your shade

For to hide frae the thunder and count all the plunder

And share out the spoils o? the raid.

But you saw the smiles o? the gentry,

And the laughter of lords at their gains,

Oh, when the poor hunt the poor

Through mountain and moor,

The rich man can keep them in chains.



Chorus



And there as I stood and laid hands to your wood

It might be a kindness to fell you.

One kiss o? the axe and you?re freed frae the racks

O? the sad bloody tales that we tell you.

But a wee bird flew from your branches

And sang out as never before.

And the song that he sang was a thousand years old.

And to learn it along thousand more.



Chorus



My bonny yew tree, tell me what can you see?



(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Runes of the Day, June 25th...

Man refers to Mankind and your interaction with the whole of human population. This rune is reversed, suggesting a separation from your fellow man. There is a lack of harmony in your interaction with others, either because you do not accept society or society does not accept you. Alternatively, this rune may also represent your separation from nature, and your ability to rise above the base level of being. As the rune is reversed, this may suggest an incomplete level of spiritual attainment or an intellectual block.



Eoh refers to the Yew tree. The Yew does not go dormant and therefore represents endurance. Even the wood of the tree is strong, resilient, and pliable - the Yew bends, but does not break. The evergreen nature of the Yew is present even in the rune itself, as it cannot be changed even by reversal. This rune is historically symbolic of death, but, as in the Tarot and as suggested by the nature of the Yew tree itself, death is seen only as a transmutation of something eternal and unchanging - the spirit.

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

So I say my little prayer

tomorrow I'll be forgotten again

save my life

and put me on the shelf

it's beginning to get repetitive

I am risen

a pointless Jesus

in a skirt and with shortcomings

breathe my dust

remember me in passing

tomorrow I'll be all just words

all just words...



(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)