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.

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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

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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)

Duplication...

This is already posted on my poetry blog, but nobody ever reads that stupid thing...


Another Sunday Poem


Sunday morning she wakes

to a thousand drunken prayers

left in the night

by the eternal penitent

She gently removes the nails from his wrists

And turns to more trivial matters

Newspaper drivel

mixes body counts with fuel prices

fashion trends with natural disasters

class struggle with the fall TV lineup

All this violence and juxtaposition smacks of Christianity

Sunday is the patron saint of hypocrites

The television oozes talk of war

and athletes aping warriors

Murder is the king of Sunday morning

Worshippers kneeling in homage to a bloody human sacrifice

And failing to heed the lesson of it

There are days when it's better to forget you're human

better not to admit you belong to that

Sometimes she seeks absolution in sin

Lets forgiveness drip from her breasts like mother's milk

And takes her turn at needing a saviour

More often than not one will be provided

The fisher king lies in wait

A thousand blessed kisses

could never heal a wound like that

but a girl could save her soul in the trying

Another Sunday Poem

Sunday morning she wakes

to a thousand drunken prayers

left in the night

by the eternal penitent

She gently removes the nails from his wrists

And turns to more trivial matters

Newspaper drivel

mixes body counts with fuel prices

fashion trends with natural disasters

class struggle with the fall TV lineup

All this violence and juxtaposition smacks of Christianity

Sunday is the patron saint of hypocrites

The television oozes talk of war

and athletes aping warriors

Murder is the king of Sunday morning

Worshippers kneeling in homage to a bloody human sacrifice

And failing to heed the lesson of it

There are days when it's better to forget you're human

better not to admit you belong to that

Sometimes she seeks absolution in sin

Lets forgiveness drip from her breasts like mother's milk

And takes her turn at needing a saviour

More often than not one will be provided

The fisher king lies in wait

A thousand blessed kisses

could never heal a wound like that

but a girl could save her soul in the trying































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

This is just a demonstration

Actual results may vary.

Name the song and/or the artist from whence came this lyric...

"So why don't you be a man about it, like they do in the grown up movies?"

I'm back...

36 hours straight of nonconnectivity. ISP bastards.

" It's not really work, it's just the power to talk, still standing in the
wind, but I never say byebye, but I try..."

doormats

Some Pandoras never learn their lesson

and just keep looking for other doors to open

ignoring the ills for the hope left behind

girls who are not wise

clever but not wise

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

Euna Avalean

After I'd awakened the first time this morning, I drifted back into a light sleep and heard my late grandmother calling my name in a soft and ancient Southern Illinois/Kentucky twang. I don't know why I dreamt her voice, but I sure as hell display her legacy of sheer stubbornness every day of my life.



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

green limousine for the redhead dancing girl...

Danced this morning with my wee toddler,the famous and beautiful Miss Sarah Peanut, to a soundtrack including The Cure, Hank Williams III, and The Velvet Underground. Nothing like The Velvet Underground and Belgian Waffles for breakfast...

I hab a cowld...

I have an awful sinus headache and I feel like I'm going to die.
Just thought I'd share.
Blogging from work...

A Very Strange Abraham Lincoln Quote

I believe, if we take habitual drunkards as a class, their heads and their hearts will bear an advantageous comparison with those of any other class. There seems ever to have been a proneness in the brilliant and warm-blooded to fall into this vice.


- - Abraham Lincoln - -

Useless Trivia as only I provide

Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder...

Words of wisdom from my favorite Orator...

For those of you I've not yet shared this with:
Kurt
Vonnegut speaks his mind once more.

Screw all this Reagan mourning, when Vonnegut finally kicks it I'll fly
all my flags at half mast. Except I don't have any flags, so I'll have to
buy them or steal them or something.

Sentient Foliage

I started to fall asleep this afternoon and was dreaming that I was a dryad looking out at a mythic forest from inside her tree. Things looked really cool, at least in my dream, when viewed from the inside of a tree, but I was awakened and don't know what else would have happened had the dream continued.





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

Tarot Cards Of The Day (Rider Waite)

The World: Completeness and intricacy of design.A time of prosperity, security and joy. May also indicate travel or a change in residence.



Six of Cups (Pleasure): Opening your heart to the simple pleasures of life. Fond memories fuel the playful embrace of love and life. Experiencing the joy of youth and sexual innocence. Engaging in acts of gentle kindness. Harmony of natural forces without effort or strain. Meeting an old friend



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

21 Grams

Great movie but, um, how shall I put this?
It might be a tiny bit upsetting in parts for anyone who is a parent of young girls and/or has been through car accident trauma.
But it was a really good movie in spite of my personal slight post traumatic stress disorder reaction. The acting was beautifully intense, but subtle, and it's constructed in that kind of nonlinear fashion where past and present incidents are merged in context rather than chronology but ultimately converge and begin to make sense. My god I sound pretentious. Guess it's time to go to bed.

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

Telling Tales

If you need me, me and Neil'll be hanging out with the Dream King.

A Strange Tale of Dream and Death

Ole-Luk-Oie, the Dream-God

by Hans Christian Andersen



THERE is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as Ole-Luk-Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while the children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not see him. Then he creeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks, till their heads begin to droop. But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt them, for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quiet that he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quiet until they are in bed and asleep. As soon as they are asleep, Ole-Luk-Oie seats himself upon the bed. He is nicely dressed; his coat is made of silken stuff; it is impossible to say of what color, for it changes from green to red, and from red to blue as he turns from side to side. Under each arm he carries an umbrella; one of them, with pictures on the inside, he spreads over the good children, and then they dream the most beautiful stories the whole night. But the other umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the naughty children so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning without having dreamed at all.

Now we shall hear how Ole-Luk-Oie came every night during a whole week to the little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him. There were seven stories, as there are seven days in the week:



Monday

"OW pay attention,? said Ole-Luk-Oie, in the evening, when Hjalmar was in bed, ?and I will decorate the room." Immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees, with long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along the walls, so that the whole room was like a greenhouse. All the branches were loaded with flowers, each flower as beautiful and as fragrant as a rose; and, had any one tasted them, he would have found them sweeter even than jam. The fruit glittered like gold, and there were cakes so full of plums that they were nearly bursting. It was incomparably beautiful. At the same time sounded dismal moans from the table-drawer in which lay Hjalmar?s school books.?What can that be now?? said Ole-Luk-Oie, going to the table and pulling out the drawer.It was a slate, in such distress because of a false number in the sum, that it had almost broken itself to pieces. The pencil pulled and tugged at its string as if it were a little dog that wanted to help, but could not.And then came a moan from Hjalmar?s copy-book. Oh, it was quite terrible to hear! On each leaf stood a row of capital letters, every one having a small letter by its side. This formed a copy; under these were other letters, which Hjalmar had written: they fancied they looked like the copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning on one side as if they intended to fall over the pencil-lines.?See, this is the way you should hold yourselves,? said the copy. ?Look here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve.?

?Oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot,? said Hjalmar?s letters; ?we are so wretchedly made.??You must be scratched out, then,? said Ole-Luk-Oie.

?Oh, no!? they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully it was quite a pleasure to look at them.

?Now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters,? said Ole-Luk-Oie; ?One, two?one, two?? So he drilled them till they stood up gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy could look. But after Ole-Luk-Oie was gone, and Hjalmar looked at them in the morning, they were as wretched and as awkward as ever.





Tuesday

S soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole-Luk-Oie touched, with his little magic wand, all the furniture in the room, which immediately began to chatter, and each article only talked of itself. Over the chest of drawers hung a large picture in a gilt frame, representing a landscape, with fine old trees, flowers in the grass, and a broad stream, which flowed through the wood, past several castles, far out into the wild ocean. Ole-Luk-Oie touched the picture with his magic wand, and immediately the birds commenced singing, the branches of the trees rustled, and the clouds moved across the sky, casting their shadows on the landscape beneath them. Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and placed his feet in the picture, just on the high grass, and there he stood with the sun shining down upon him through the branches of the trees. He ran to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there, and which was painted red and white. The sails glittered like silver, and six swans, each with a golden circlet round its neck, and a bright blue star on its forehead, drew the boat past the green wood, where the trees talked of robbers and witches, and the flowers of beautiful little elves and fairies, whose histories the butterflies had related to them. Brilliant fish, with scales like silver and gold, swam after the boat, sometimes making a spring and splashing the water round them, while birds, red and blue, small and great, flew after him in two long lines. The gnats danced round them, and the cockchafers cried ?Buz, buz.? They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and all had some story to tell him. It was a most pleasant sail. Sometimes the forests were thick and dark, sometimes like a beautiful garden, gay with sunshine and flowers; then he passed great palaces of glass and of marble, and on the balconies stood princesses, whose faces were those of little girls whom Hjalmar knew well, and had often played with. One of them held out her hand, in which was a heart made of sugar, more beautiful than any confectioner ever sold. As Hjalmar sailed by, he caught hold of one side of the sugar heart, and held it fast, and the princess held fast also, so that it broke in two pieces. Hjalmar had one piece, and the princess the other, but Hjalmar?s was the largest. At each castle stood little princes acting as sentinels. They presented arms, and had golden swords, and made it rain plums and tin soldiers, so that they must have been real princes. Hjalmar continued to sail, sometimes through woods, sometimes as it were through large halls, and then by large cities. At last he came to the town where his nurse lived, who had carried him in her arms when he was a very little boy, and had always been kind to him. She nodded and beckoned to him, and then sang the little verses she had herself composed and set to him,? ?How oft my memory turns to thee,

My own Hjalmar, ever dear!When I could watch thy infant glee, Or kiss away a pearly tear.

?Twas in my arms thy lisping tongue First spoke the half-remembered word,While o?er thy tottering steps I hung, My fond protection to afford.Farewell! I pray the Heavenly Power

To keep thee till thy dying hour.? And all the birds sang the same tune, the flowers danced on their stems, and the old trees nodded as if Ole-Luk-Oie had been telling them stories as well.



Wednesday

OW the rain did pour down! Hjalmar could hear it in his sleep;. and when Ole-Luk-Oie opened the window, the water flowed quite up to the window-sill. It had the appearance of a large lake outside, and a beautiful ship lay close to the house. ?Wilt thou sail with me to-night, little Hjalmar?? said Ole-Luk-Oie; ?then we shall see foreign countries, and thou shalt return here in the morning.? All in a moment, there stood Hjalmar, in his best clothes, on the deck of the noble ship; and immediately the weather became fine. They sailed through the streets, round by the church, and on every side rolled the wide, great sea. They sailed till the land disappeared, and then they saw a flock of storks, who had left their own country, and were travelling to warmer climates. The stor
ks flew one behind the other, and had already been a long, long time on the wing. One of them seemed so tired that his wings could scarcely carry him. He was the last of the row, and was soon left very far behind. At length he sunk lower and lower, with outstretched wings, flapping them in vain, till his feet touched the rigging of the ship, and he slided from the sails to the deck, and stood before them. Then a sailor-boy caught him, and put him in the hen-house, with the fowls, the ducks, and the turkeys, while the poor stork stood quite bewildered amongst them. ?Just look at that fellow,? said the chickens.Then the turkey-cock puffed himself out as large as he could, and inquired who he was; and the ducks waddled backwards, crying, ?Quack, quack.? Then the stork told them all about warm Africa, of the pyramids, and of the ostrich, which, like a wild horse, runs across the desert. But the ducks did not understand what he said, and quacked amongst themselves, ?We are all of the same opinion; namely, that he is stupid.? ?Yes, to be sure, he is stupid,? said the turkey-cock; and gobbled. Then the stork remained quite silent, and thought of his home in Africa. ?Those are handsome thin legs of yours,? said the turkey-cock. ?What do they cost a yard?? ?Quack, quack, quack,? grinned the ducks; but, the stork pretended not to hear.

?You may as well laugh,? said the turkey; ?for that remark was rather witty, or perhaps it was above you. Ah, ah, is he not clever? He will be a great amusement to us while he remains here.? And then he gobbled, and the ducks quacked, ?Gobble, gobble; Quack, quack.? What a terrible uproar they made, while they were having such fun among themselves! Then Hjalmar went to the hen-house; and, opening the door, called to the stork. Then he hopped out on the deck. He had rested himself now, and he looked happy, and seemed as if he nodded to Hjalmar, as if to thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew away to warmer countries, while the hens clucked, the ducks quacked, and the turkey-cock turned quite scarlet in the head. ?To-morrow you shall be made into soup,? said Hjalmar to the fowls; and then he awoke, and found himself lying in his little bed. It was a wonderful journey which Ole-Luk-Oie had made him take this night.



Thursday

WHAT do you think I have got here?? said Ole-Luk-Oie, ?Do not be frightened, and you shall see a little mouse.? And then he held out his hand to him, in which lay a lovely little creature. ?It has come to invite you to a wedding. Two little mice are going to enter into the marriage state tonight. They reside under the floor of your mother?s store-room, and that must be a fine dwelling-place.? ?But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?? asked Hjalmar. ?Leave me to manage that,? said Ole-Luk-Oie. ?I will soon make you small enough.? And then he touched Hjalmar with his magic wand, whereupon he became less and less, until at last he was not longer than a little finger. ?Now you can borrow the dress of the tin soldier. I think it will just fit you. It looks well to wear a uniform when you go into company.? ?Yes, certainly,? said Hjalmar; and in a moment he was dressed as neatly as the neatest of all tin soldiers.?Will you be so good as to seat yourself in your mamma?s thimble,? said the little mouse, ?that I may have the pleasure of drawing you to the wedding.? ?Will you really take so much trouble, young lady?? said Hjalmar. And so in this way he rode to the mouse?s wedding. First they went under the floor, and then passed through a long passage, which was scarcely high enough to allow the thimble to drive under, and the whole passage was lit up with the phosphorescent light of rotten wood.?Does it not smell delicious?? asked the mouse, as she drew him along. ?The wall and the floor have been smeared with bacon-rind; nothing can be nicer.? Very soon they arrived at the bridal hall. On the right stood all the little lady-mice, whispering and giggling, as if they were making game of each other. To the left were the gentlemen-mice, stroking their whiskers with their fore-paws; and in the centre of the hall could be seen the bridal pair, standing side by side, in a hollow cheese-rind, and kissing each other, while all eyes were upon them; for they had already been betrothed, and were soon to be married. More and more friends kept arriving, till the mice were nearly treading each other to death; for the bridal pair now stood in the doorway, and none could pass in or out. The room had been rubbed over with bacon-rind, like the passage, which was all the refreshment offered to the guests. But for dessert they produced a pea, on which a mouse belonging to the bridal pair had bitten the first letters of their names. This was something quite uncommon. All the mice said it was a very beautiful wedding, and that they had been very agreeably entertained. After this, Hjalmar returned home. He had certainly been in grand society; but he had been obliged to creep under a room, and to make himself small enough to wear the uniform of a tin soldier.



Friday

IT is incredible how many old people there are who would be glad to have me at night,? said Ole-Luk-Oie, ?especially those who have done something wrong. ?Good little Ole,? say they to me, ?we cannot close our eyes, and we lie awake the whole night and see all our evil deeds sitting on our beds like little imps, and sprinkling us with hot water. Will you come and drive them away, that we may have a good night?s rest?? and then they sigh so deeply and say, ?We would gladly pay you for it. Good-night, Ole-Luk, the money lies on the window.? But I never do anything for gold.? ?What shall we do to-night?? asked Hjalmar. ?I do not know whether you would care to go to another wedding,? he replied, ?although it is quite a different affair to the one we saw last night. Your sister?s large doll, that is dressed like a man, and is called Herman, intends to marry the doll Bertha. It is also the dolls? birthday, and they will receive many presents.? ?Yes, I know that already,? said Hjalmar, ?my sister always allows her dolls to keep their birthdays or to have a wedding when they require new clothes; that has happened already a hundred times, I am quite sure.? ?Yes, so it may; but to-night is the hundred and first wedding, and when that has taken place it must be the last, therefore this is to be extremely beautiful. Only look.? Hjalmar looked at the table, and there stood the little card-board doll?s house, with lights in all the windows, and drawn up before it were the tin soldiers presenting arms. The bridal pair were seated on the floor, leaning against the leg of the table, looking very thoughtful, and with good reason. Then Ole-Luk-Oie dressed up in grandmother?s black gown married them. As soon as the ceremony was concluded, all the furniture in the room joined in singing a beautiful song, which had been composed by the lead pencil, and which went to the melody of a military tattoo.

?What merry sounds are on the wind,

As marriage rites together bind

A quiet and a loving pair,

Though formed of kid, yet smooth and fair!

Hurrah! If they are deaf and blind,

We?ll sing, though weather prove unkind.?

And now came the present; but the bridal pair had nothing to eat, for love was to be their food.

?Shall we go to a country house, or travel?? asked the bridegroom.

Then they consulted the swallow who had travelled so far, and the old hen in the yard, who had brought up five broods of chickens. And the swallow talked to them of warm countries, where the grapes hang in large clusters on the vines, and the air is soft and mild, and about the mountains glowing with colors more beautiful than we can think of.?But they have no red cabbage like we have,? said the hen, ?I was once in the country with my chickens for a whole summer, there was a large sand-pit, in which we could walk about and scratch as we liked. Then we got into a garden in which gr
ew red cabbage; oh, how nice it was, I cannot think of anything more delicious.?

?But one cabbage stalk is exactly like another,? said the swallow; ?and here we have often bad weather.??Yes, but we are accustomed to it,? said the hen. ?But it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes.? ?Cold weather is good for cabbages,? said the hen; ?besides we do have it warm here sometimes. Four years ago, we had a summer that lasted more than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcely breathe. And then in this country we have no poisonous animals, and we are free from robbers. He must be wicked who does not consider our country the finest of all lands. He ought not to be allowed to live here.? And then the hen wept very much and said, ?I have also travelled. I once went twelve miles in a coop, and it was not pleasant travelling at all.??The hen is a sensible woman,? said the doll Bertha. ?I don?t care for travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again. No, let us go to the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take a walk in the cabbage garden.?And so they settled it.



Saturday

AM I to hear any more stories?? asked little Hjalmar, as soon as Ole-Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.?We shall have no time this evening,? said he, spreading out his prettiest umbrella over the child. ?Look at these Chinese,? and then the whole umbrella appeared like a large china bowl, with blue trees and pointed bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen nodding their heads. ?We must make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning,? said Ole-Luk-Oie, ?for it will be a holiday, it is Sunday. I must now go to the church steeple and see if the little sprites who live there have polished the bells, so that they may sound sweetly. Then I must go into the fields and see if the wind has blown the dust from the grass and the leaves, and the most difficult task of all which I have to do, is to take down all the stars and brighten them up. I have to number them first before I put them in my apron, and also to number the places from which I take them, so that they may go back into the right holes, or else they would not remain, and we should have a number of falling stars, for they would all tumble down one after the other.? ?Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie,? said an old portrait which hung on the wall of Hjalmar?s bedroom. ?Do you know me? I am Hjalmar?s great-grandfather. I thank you for telling the boy stories, but you must not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot be taken down from the sky and polished; they are spheres like our earth, which is a good thing for them.? ?Thank you, old great-grandfather,? said Ole-Luk-Oie. ?I thank you; you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but I am older than you. I am an ancient heathen. The old Romans and Greeks named me the Dream-god. I have visited the noblest houses, and continue to do so; still I know how to conduct myself both to high and low, and now you may tell the stories yourself:? and so Ole-Luk-Oie walked off, taking his umbrellas with him. ?Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose,? grumbled the portrait. And it woke Hjalmar.



Sunday

GOOD evening,? said Ole-Luk-Oie.

Hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed, and turned his great-grandfather?s portrait to the wall, so that it might not interrupt them as it had done yesterday. ?Now,? said he, ?you must tell me some stories about five green peas that lived in one pod; or of the chickseed that courted the chickweed; or of the darning needle, who acted so proudly because she fancied herself an embroidery needle.? ?You may have too much of a good thing,? said Ole-Luk-Oie. ?You know that I like best to show you something, so I will show you my brother. He is also called Ole-Luk-Oie but he never visits any one but once, and when he does come, he takes him away on his horse, and tells him stories as they ride along. He knows only two stories. One of these is so wonderfully beautiful, that no one in the world can imagine anything at all like it; but the other is just as ugly and frightful, so that it would be impossible to describe it.? Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted Hjalmar up to the window. ?There now, you can see my brother, the other Ole-Luk-Oie; he is also called Death. You perceive he is not so bad as they represent him in picture books; there he is a skeleton, but now his coat is embroidered with silver, and he wears the splendid uniform of a hussar, and a mantle of black velvet flies behind him, over the horse. Look, how he gallops along.? Hjalmar saw that as this Ole-Luk-Oie rode on, he lifted up old and young, and carried them away on his horse. Some he seated in front of him, and some behind, but always inquired first, ?How stands the mark-book?? ?Good,? they all answered.?Yes, but let me see for myself,? he replied; and they were obliged to give him the books. Then all those who had ?Very good,? or ?Exceedingly good,? came in front of the horse, and heard the beautiful story; while those who had ?Middling,? or ?Tolerably good,? in their books, were obliged to sit behind, and listen to the frightful tale. They trembled and cried, and wanted to jump down from the horse, but they could not get free, for they seemed fastened to the seat. ?Why, Death is a most splendid Luk-Oie,? said Hjalmar. ?I am not in the least afraid of him.? ?You need have no fear of him,? said Ole-Luk-Oie, ?if you take care and keep a good conduct book.? ?Now I call that very instructive,? murmured the great-grandfather?s portrait. ?It is useful sometimes to express an opinion;? so he was quite satisfied.



These are some of the doings and sayings of Ole-Luk-Oie. I hope he may visit you himself this evening, and relate some more.



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Voodoo Tarot Of New Orleans

Nan Nan Bouclou (Two of Swords): Contradictory characteristics brought together as a means of resolving a conflict. Refusing to be ruled by negative emotions. Strife brought to a close through clarity of mind and restraint of force. Turning a blind eye to the minor infractions of others.



Masa La Flambeau (Nine of Wands): A pause in the current struggle to ready oneself. Preparation to meet the final conclusive onslaught. Forces assembled in anticipation of trials and tribulations. The steeling of the will to stand or fall. A line drawn in the sand.



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Words of wisdom from my favorite Orator...

For those of you I've not yet shared this with:

Kurt Vonnegut speaks his mind once more.


Screw all this Reagan mourning, when Vonnegut finally kicks it I'll fly

all my flags at half mast. Except I don't have any flags, so I'll have to

buy them or steal them or something.

Tarot Cards of the Day

Woman of Painting: Practical and resourceful executive skills. Creative vision is operating on many levels. Recognition and tangible rewards may be at hand. Group activity or cooperative efforts. Making use of appropriate technology. Supporting and acknowledging the contributions of others. Fostering the arts. Creative drives. Love of beauty. Perceiving hidden values. In the creative process: Your creative ideas are now taking tangible form, assisted by good use of your available resources and personnel.



Nine of Painting (Fruition): Rewards of relaxation, luxury, or perks for a job well done. A profound or peak experience. Physical bliss, orgasmic potentials. Tangible achievement on many levels. Peak health or accelerated healing. Active participation in a complex physical or job process. Making tangible contributions to society. In the creative process: You gain by combining separate elements into an integrated whole; making the right use of what is available in order to achieve your goals.



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On A Less Mentally Draining Note...

From McSweeney's:
Love Isn't...

Adventures of a corporate whore, Week One...

Boo hoo. Nobody ever responds to my quizzes anymore.

And this one wasn't even all that superflous...

Anyway, here's a quick update on my life circumstances at present:

Started my new job on Monday and am awaiting proper deployment.

We are awaiting a couple of more hires at which point my normal job duties will ensue.

Not to divulge any competitive or proprietary details, but the gist of it is that I'll be assigned to a regional sales rep who will then make me his or her bitch. I will do their gruntwork, ship their boxes, and be their Earthly representative in the corporate office. If my sales rep needs a product to be altered it is I who shall beg the product development department on bended knee to look into the possibility of making said alterations. If my sales rep wants to sell a product that is not approved as being "part of the current sales direction," it is I who will coax and cajole and finesse a postive response from the powers that be. If my sales rep needs to be punished, I will bend over and take the beating and then fax a copy of my bruises to my sales rep. I am about to become a Salaried Professional Martyr. The differences between that and call center work being mainly that I don't get paid overtime, but I can eat at my desk and I have a corporate email address. My fate rests in the hands of the competence and benevolence of my Sales Rep to be...


In the meantime, I thought you all should know that Kinky Friedman is running for Governor of Texas under the slogan "How Hard Can It Be?"

I know you're all clever know what kind of clever are you?

Accroding to this quiz, I am "A Linguistic Thinker."

Linguistic thinkers:

Tend to think in words, and like to use language to express complex ideas.

Are sensitive to the sounds and rhythms of words as well as their meanings.

Other Linguistic Thinkers include

William Shakespeare, Sylvia Plath, Anne Frank

Careers which suit Linguistic thinkers include

Journalist, Librarian, Salesperson, Proof-reader, Translator, Poet, Lyricist

What kind of thinker are you then?

Ronald Reagan is dead today...

Reagonomics, unfortunately, is still alive.

American Gothic

Apparently in 2002, the city of Blue Springs Kansas alotted the sum of $273,000 to "combat Goth culture." But the project is now officially dead. Therefore it is safe to wear black eyeliner in Kansas again. You can all breathe a sigh of relief and get on the phone to your travel agents. Yep, it sure is a slow news day...

Tarot Cards of the Day (I just report the news, folks...)

Ten of Swords (Ruin): Crushing defeat brought about by idle intellectualism divorced from reality. Sadness and desolation in the aftermath of a catastrophic and total collapse. A decisive conclusion brought about through the swift and merciless application of overwhelming force.



Strength: Raw power. Health and physical fortitude. A surge of tremendous force. Recovery from sickness. Victory after apprehension and fear. The ability to face and overcome opposition brings the inner qualities of strength and forbearance. Delays and setbacks will be overcome.



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The Slain God

This was one of the principle figures in pre-Christian paganism and therefore is one of the essential themes in neo-Pagan Witchcraft, especially Wicca. The Slain God, sometimes referred to as the Divine King, evolved out of the early hunter/warrior cults that existed before the agrarian societies.



In the earliest tribal communities the hunter/warrior held the highest social status. He was honored as the most bravest and cunning member of the tribe and chosen to be its leader. The well being of this individual affected the well being of the whole tribe. Such beliefs are predominant in the Arthurian legends of northern Europe, where the king and land become one. This also is reflected in the southern European mythos of Rex Nemorenss, King of the Woods, in the sacred grove of Diana of Lake Nemi.



The hunter, before the evolvement of agricultural and herdsmen, was essential to tribal welfare as he provided both food and defense. But hunting was often dangerous in that the individual suffered bodily injury and many hunters lost their lives. The needs of the tribe, in both food and defense, required that the best individuals would be sent.



Eventually religious and spiritual consciousness evolved, and along with this came the concept of a Deity. The role of Deity soon took on a role in ritual and dogma. With this emerged the idea of sending the tribe's best member to the Gods in order to secure the needs of the tribe. This began the concept of human sacrifice to placate the Gods. Those willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the tribe were thought to become gods themselves. The concept of giving offerings to the Gods, such as food, flowers, or game, was nothing new because such offerings previously had been made; but human sacrifice now was considered the supreme gift that the tribe could offer. The belief was that the Gods would surely grant the tribe whatever it needed when a person willingly gave his or her life to them.



Following the sacrifice, the blood and flesh were distributed among the clan members and given into the soil. Parts of the body were buried in cultivated fields to insure the next harvest. Also, small portions of the body and blood were incorporated into the ceremonial feast; an ancient practiced that was assumed later by the Christians in their Communion services, the body and blood of Christ.



It was further believed the sacrificial offering must be returned to the tribe. (see Theophagy) To accomplish this, rituals evolved for the resurrection of the Slain God. There was the preparation of special maidens to bring about the birth, usually virgins who were artificially inseminated so that no human male could be determined as being the father. Bloodlines were carefully traced from the impregnated female, and the returning soul was searched out among her children.



Eventually human sacrifice was totally eliminated as human consciousness matured and was replaced by animal sacrifice, and then by plant sacrifice, or the harvest festival. The same ancient mythos, or legend, applies to both animal and plant sacrifice. In Wicca/Witchcraft this is referred to as "eating the deity" or consuming the Harvest Lord in the ritual cakes and wine (flesh and blood) of Craft rituals.



There is present in the rituals similarities of concepts or beliefs. In the ancient tradition it was believed that through the connection of the body and blood of the Slain God that the people became one with the deity. In the "Last Supper" Jesus declare that the bread and wine were his body and blood, which he gave up for the salvation of the people. Blood was believed to contain the life force. The death of the king freed the inner spirit. Through the distribution of his body and blood, heaven and earth were united and his vital energy renewed the kingdom.



The appearances of the Slain God have taken on various aspects throughout the ages. His images can be seen in the Jack-in-the-Green, the Hooded Man, the Hanged Man of the Tarot, the Lord of Vegetation, the Harvest, and the free untamed aspect of the forest.



Perhaps the best image of the Slain God is symbolized in the Green Man. He is the spirit of the Land manifested in all plant forms. He is both the procreative power as well as the seed of life. The Slain God bridges the gap between the two worlds. This is why he is frequently depicted as hanging from a tree; the tree symbolizes a bridge between the Underworld and heaven, for its roots are in the earth and its branches reach into the sky. The Slain God is one with both heaven and earth, and to be one with him is to be one with the Source of All Things.

(courtesy The Mystica online encyclopedia of the occult, etc.



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My little baby's not a baby anymore...

Sarah Peanut is a two year old today!