Election MySpace digest...

Wednesday, November 05, 2008 We can be Heroes (forever and ever) Current mood: luminous Category: Life I watched the race called for Obama at 9pm last night on CNN at the Red Garter - somebody had put "Heroes" on the jukebox. It could not have been more perfect. I feel joy. Pure and simple joy. Maybe, just maybe, the world will be a better place again. Happy Guy Fawkes Day, by the way. And Happy Birthday to Tina, could you ask for a better present? Peace. Currently listening : Imagine By John Lennon Release date: 2000-04-11 7:39 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Monday, November 03, 2008 Kilgore Trout Said It Best... Current mood: anxious "You were sick, but now you are well again. And there's work to be done." Happy Election Day. Do The Right Thing. You know what it is... Currently listening : The Clash (U.S. Version) By The Clash Release date: 2000-01-25 11:02 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Wednesday, October 15, 2008 The "Autism Vote" is not up for grabs... Category: News and Politics I am offended at John McCain's attempts to use his VP pick as a basis to court the "autism vote" throughout the debate tonight. My very bright but autistic child needs healthcare and educational opportunities and a brighter economic future, not just sympathy. Do not insult me by courting me as part of a demographic but failing to address the actual needs of that demographic. How are you going to help children with autism? By nominating a woman with an autistic niece? Well, if that's your plan you have still not answered my question. If your really want to court my vote as an "autism mom" either offer up actual policies that give me hope or nominate a neuroscientist but don't insult me with vague intimations that I will have some sort of "friend in the White House" because your running mate has a disabled child. Being related to an autistic child does not make you an autism expert. And while choosing to have a Down's Syndrome child may be as hard or harder than raising an autistic child, this is again not a qualification to influence public policy.This does not make her any more of an expert on childhood disability than I am. Hell, my kid is older than hers, so I have seniority in that regard, frankly... 7:38 PM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Still struggling to find my lost voice. Perhaps I should post a flyer on a telephone pole. My gutlessness is a daily disappointment to the carrion birds.

Contents Under Pressure May Explode...

Inarticulation has reached critical mass. I have always been so good at holding things together even when I don't hold things together. Pathologically even tempered. Lately though I feel like I am on 24 hour permanent on call status for everyone. I have so much I am responsible for everywhere that I cannot get anything done anywhere. I have reached the proverbial breaking point. One thing on the pile too many. I am a raw and aching nerve. I am irrationally, inexpressably angry and anxious and unable to cope. I know a lot of this is hormone related. The timing is not coincidental - I a bleeding and raging and I am a pathetic disintegrative mess. I think I used to feel this way more often, it's just foreign to me know and I can't process the anger that comes with it, other than to hole up in my room or in a corner and neglect everything I should be doing rather than risk snapping at someone or something. My house is a wreck. There are no clean dishes left. I have to work tomorrow. I can't sleep. My escape the house for the evening plans got cancelled at the last minute. I want to scream and break things or just give up but Ibut I know this will all seem trite and silly in the morning or in a day or whenever it stops.

La Loteria...

I've just randomly discovered that those eerie images one sees on Downtown area folkart matchbooks and wooden ladder games does indeed have a history...You know, the images of "The Mermaid" and "El Diablo" and "El Corazon?" The official name is Loteria and it's yet another example of wild and uncultivated mythology echoing Appalachian English Folk Songs or the African pantheons in Santeria

Loteria is one among many semi-ancient traditions still alive in Mexico by way of long journeys through history, migration and traditional lore. It is part Tarot, part "bingo" game and part esoteric mystery cult. The cards are the symbolic answers to riddles or rather the question to each answer, like a Jeapordy game hosted by the Sphynx...

A guide to Loteria Riddles
Examples:
"The Blanket of the Poor" equals The Sun
"He that sang to St. Peter will not return to sing again" is The Rooster

There's not a lot out on the web re the deeper meaning of all this, but being who I am I am of course about to go all Robert Graves on it and traverse the wilds of the electronic frontier to delve into the history and meaning of it all. Armchair Mythologists of the world unite and take over...

..

Currently listening : In the Aeroplane Over the Sea By Neutral Milk Hotel Release date: 1998-02-10

Cliffhanger

I am inexplicably queasy this morning. End of summer migraine weirdness. It is a Monday in August of a year in which our cultural and societal debt is being referred to third party collections and our planet is on the verge of being repossessed by the forces of nature. It's a scary time to be alive, I guess. Yet somehow we persist. Maybe out of a desire to see what happens next. How can we possibly get ourselves out of this mess. Tune in next week to see...

William Blake Tarot reading of the day...

	The left card represents an important element of the past. Sun: Being illuminated by imagination and inspiration. Liberation from old patterns. Realization of your personal goals. Radiating joy, finding delight in life. A feeling of Returning to the Source. Angels on your shoulders. Things flowing smoothly. Dawning consciousness. Cutting away from the past. Feeling welcomed and at ease.
	The middle card represents a deciding element of the present. Eight of Music (Discontent): "Clouded with discontent & brooding in their minds terrible things". Disappointment or dissatisfaction. Troubled emotions below the surface. Feeling at the mercy of circumstances. Possibility of emotional breakdown. Fears of what may happen. Apprehensions about the unknown. Paranoia. Feelings of missing out on something. Former values and friends no longer interest you. Wanting to escape the situation. In the creative process: Psychodrama and emotional torments can serve as imaginative stimulants. Expressing and documenting what you feel can be artful as well as healing.
	The right card represents a critical element of the future. Union: The successful coming-together of something vitally important to you. Getting your act together at last. The joining of male and female forces, or unification or inner and outer life. Not holding anything back. Being at the center. Completion. Spiritual

Saturday, May 05, 2007 Lead will never be gold it is just lead...

Lead will never be gold it is just lead... Current mood: depressed Category: Life I am leaden footedly sad. Irrationally, hormonally, moodily, chemically, embedded in my cells depressed. I have gradually holed myself up and lost touch with my friends and family, even more so since the fire. I never go out anymore. I am feeling alone and obsolete. I have a partner who loves me, but he is a stoic German and a social recluse by nature and not really a big help in this instance, no offense. I feel like I am being absorbed into myself. Like I am disappearing and being replaced by something quite like me but more functional and devoid of a soul. This is no one's fault but my own. Currently listening : Yours, Mine & Ours By The Pernice Brothers Release date: By 20 May, 2003 2:39 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove -

shane

<P>Jung would say you need a solid belief system; an unshaken, steadfast faith in something beyond the world. Its the only way to overcome the existentialist blahs. </P><P> </P> Posted by shane on May 6, 2007 1:37 PM [Remove] [Reply to this]

April 24, 2006

Seventeen years is too long a fog
Place upon the mantle your old volume with a new rose
Time does not sympathize, marches in spite of you
Your bones are still older
Your days are still numbered
Seventeen years of this
Don't really matter
As long as the rent gets paid
As long as the kids get fed
Your half life's your whole life now
Sleep long enough and the rest of it sloughs off
You are not special,you were just lucky
No one will wake you
With kiss or with curse
You weren't saved for greatness
You're no sleeping beauty
Seventeen years haven't taught you a thing
Everyone's sick of your zombie act by now
Just wake the fuck up or admit you never will

Life is what happens to you while...

...you're busy making other plans...
(John Lennon)

Detritus: Giant sucking noise that is poverty edition...

As most of you well know, from recent or current experience, poverty sucks! Because once you're down, my loves, they keep kicking you, is pretty much how it goes, or whatever. Things that suck the most:

1)The people who are most patient with you and therefore most deserving will invariably get paid last and latest because you are forced to deal first with those who threaten to sue you, take your kids away, cut off your utilities, etc.

2)It's more expensive to be poor than middle class. Duh, that's how they keep you there. Raise your hands all ye who in the past year have run out of gas due to only filling the tank $5 at a time or had your phone service shut off or gathered enough spare change from around your house for a dollar burger at McDonalds only to come up three cents short. Bonus points if you still have a checking account and have had your entire paycheck eaten by bank fees or have had to go to the emergency room due to lack of health insurance lately. There is an undeclared tax on poverty and once you're down it's all but impossible not to stay there.

3)People who are not in your boat can be judgemental pricks, like poverty needs to be punished or something. Favorite examples of this are the following:

"You go out too much. I bet you could save a lot of money by not going out."

In actuality, I go "out" only every couple of weeks or so and never pay more than about $3 - $6 to get in. I don't drink when I'm there. I don't rent movies the rest of the week. I don't buy beer. I don't spend any money on grooming products beyond $1 bottles of shampoo and toothpaste, I spend maybe $20 or so per year on clothes at thrift stores and that's it. Don't begrudge me my small entertainments because you think all poor people should suffer or all things worth doing involve drinking/vast expenditures of cash.

"You need to drop your cable because poor people can't afford cable"

My boyfriend has cable. He now lives in my home and pays for the cable here that he would have had elsewhere. He is not responsible for my bills and has in spite of this has helped me out a great deal monetarily, in addition to helping me squeak by each month with his share of the rent and other bills. I'm not going to respond to his help by demanding that he drop his cable and give me the money for it. Ditto anyone who demands I settle outstanding amounts owed by "just borrowing the money from him" like he's the bank of my misfortune and like he hasn't already put off his dog's $1600 operation to keep me from going without groceries ot child care money. And double fuck you bonus points to anyone who suggested putting the dog to sleep and then borrowing the money(more than one person, I shite you not.)

"If you just budget wisely, you'll have money."

Hmmm...nothing divided by seven days a week still equals...nothing. I'm not fucking frittering the funds away, I never made them in the first place. I am poor because I was fucking living hand to mouth and then got divorced and have to support myself and half the expenses of my kids on clerical wages and deal with the stupid ass financial disasters I inherited upon the breakup. Let he who is without sin cast the first aspersion and tell me how I can cut my expenses by cutting out my $6 a month entertainment budget.

"Please call back 1-800-unlastnamedcollectionserf at extension 456897 regarding a very important business matter."
Yeah, I'm so right on that. Like you could ruin my credit worse. Get the fuck in line for gettng blood out of this particular turnip.

I just have to pray that it will get better. Happy with my job, my relationship and my kids. Make enough to pay my basic bills except what I owe retroactively. Not as likely to off myself as previously. Nor as likely to lose my sanity. Just got to make it through this last little bout of fuckedness. Karma will catch up to me someday, right?

"The punk rock'll kill you if the government don't get you first...")
-Rhett Miller of The Old 97s

Went to the peace fair...

...but I didn't find peace...and life isn't fair...

"The punk rock'll kill you if the government don't get you first..."
-Rhett Miller of The Old 97s

"Banshees And Warnings" by Lady Augusta Gregory

"Then Cuchulain went on his way, and Cathbad that had followed him went with him. And presently they came to a ford, and there they saw a young girl thin and white-skinned and having yellow hair, washing and ever washing, and wringing out clothing that was stained crimson red, and she crying and keening all the time. 'Little Hound,' said Cathbad, 'Do you see what it is that young girl is doing? It is your red clothes she is washing, and crying as she washes, because she knows you are going to your death against Maeve's great army.'"

-"Cuchulain of Muirthemne."

From Cuchulain's day, or it may be from a yet earlier time, that keening woman of the Sidhe has been heard giving her lamentable warning for those who are about to die. Rachel had not yet been heard mourning for her children when the white-skinned girl whose keening has never ceased in Ireland washed red clothes at the ford.

It was she or one of her race who told King Brian he was going to meet his death at Clontarf; though after the defeat of the old gods that warning had often been sent by a more radiant messenger, as when Columcille at the dawn of the feast of Pentecost "lifted his eyes and saw a great brightness and an angel of God waiting there above him."

And Patrick himself had his warning through his angel, Victor, who met him on the road at midday and bade him go back to the barn where he had lodged the night before, for it was there he had to die.

Such a messenger may have been at hand at the death of that Irish born mystic, William Blake, when he "burst out into singing of the things he saw in Heaven, and made the rafters ring."

And a few years ago the woman of a thatched house at the foot of Echtge told me "There were great wonders done in the old times; and when my father that worked in the garden there above was dying, there came of a sudden three flashes of light into the room, the brightest light that ever was seen in the world; and there was an old man in the room, one Ruane, and I leaned back on him for I had like to faint.

And people coming the road saw the light, and up at Mick Inerney's house they all called out that our house was in flames. And when they came and heard of the three flashes of light coming into the room and about the bed they all said it was the angels that were his friends that had come to meet him.

" When Raftery died, the blind poet who wandered through our townlands a hundred years ago, some say there were flames about the house all through the night, "and those were the angels waking him."

Yet his warning had not been sent through these white messengers but through a vision that had come to him once in Galway, when Death himself had appeared "thin, miserable, sad and sorrowful; the shadow of night upon his face, the tracks of the tears down his cheeks" and had told him he had but seven years to live.

And though Raftery spoke back to him in scornful verse, there are some who say he spent those last seven years in praying and in making his songs of religion. To some it is a shadow that brings the warning, or a noise of knocking or a dream.

At the hour of a violent death nature itself will show sympathy; I have been told on a gloomy day that it had darkened because there was a man being hanged; and a woman who had travelled told me that once at Bundoran she had "seen the waves roaring and turning" and she knew later it was because at that very time two young girls had been drowned.

I was told by Steve Simon:
I will tell you what I saw the night my wife died. I attended the neighbours up to the road, for they had come to see her, but she said there was no fear of her, and she would not let them stop because she knew that they were up at a wake the night before.

So when I left them I was going back to the house, and I saw the shadow of my wife on the road before me, and it was as white as drifted snow. And when I came into the house, there she was dying.

Mrs. Curran:
My cousin Mary that lives in the village beyond told me that she was coming home yesterday week along the road, and she is a girl would not be afraid to walk the whole world with herself. And it was late, and suddenly there was a man walking beside her, inside the field, on the other side of the wall.

And at first she was frightened, but then she felt sure it was her cousin John that was dying, and then she wasn't afraid, for she knew her cousin would do her no harm. And after a while he was gone, and when she got near home and saw the lights she was frightened, and when she got into the house she was in a sort of a faint. And next day, this day week, her cousin was dead.

Old Simon:
I heard the Banshee crying not long ago, and within three days a boy of the Murphy's was killed by his own horse and he bringing his cart to Kinvara. And I heard it again a few nights ago, but I heard of no death since then. What is the Banshee? It is of the nature of the Hyneses. Six families it cries for, the Hyneses and the Fahys and I forget what are the others.

I heard her beside the river at Ballylee one time. I would stand barefooted in the snow listening to the tune she had, so nice and so calm and so mournful.

I would yield to dreams because of some things were dreamed to me in my lifetime and that turned out true. I dreamed one time that I saw my daughter that was in America dead, and stretched and a table laid out with the corpse. She came home after, and at the end of five months she wasted and died. And there I saw her stretched as in the dream, and it was on my own table.

One time I was walking the road and I heard a great crying and keening beside me, a woman that was keening, and she conveyed me three miles of the road. And when I got to the door of the house I looked down and saw a little woman, very broad and broad faced-about the bigness of the seat of that table-and a cloak about her. I called out to her that was my first wife - the Lord be with her - and she lighted a candle and I came in weak and lay upon the floor, and I was till 12 o'clock that night lying in the bed.

A man I was talking to said it was the Banshee, and it cries for three families, the Fahys and the O'Briens and another I forget which. My grandmother was a Fahy, and I suppose, father or mother, it follows the generations. I heard it another time and my daughter from America coming into the house that night. It was the most mournful thing ever you heard, keening about the house for the same term as before, till 12 o'clock of night. And within five months my daughter from America was dead.

John Cloran:
There was a man near us that was ploughing a field, and he found an iron box, and they say there was in it a very old Irish book with all the knowledge of the world in it. Anyway, there's no question you could ask him he couldn't answer. And what he says of the Banshee is, that it's like Rachel mourning still for every innocent of the earth that is going to die, like as she did for our Lord when the king had like to kill Him. But it's only for them that's sprung from her own tribe that she'll raise her voice.

Mrs. Smith:
As for the Banshee, where she stops is in the old castle of Esserkelly on the Roxborough estate. Many a one has seen her there and heard her wailing, wailing, and she with a red petticoat put about her head. There was a family of the name of Fox in Moneen, and never one of that family died but she'd be heard keening them.

The Spinning Woman:
The Banshee is all I ever saw myself. It was when I was a slip of a girl picking potatoes along with the other girls, we heard crying, crying, in the graveyard beyond at Ryanrush, so we ran like foals to see who was being buried, and I was the first, and leaped up on the wall. And there she was and gave me a slap on the jaw, and she just like a countrywoman with a red petticoat. Often they hear her crying if any one is going to die in the village.

A Seaside Woman:
One time there was a man in the village was dying and I stood at the door in the evening, and I heard a crying - the grandest cry ever you heard - and I said "Glynn's after dying and they're crying him." And they all came to the door and heard it. But my mother went out after that and found him gasping still.

Sure enough it was the Banshee we heard that evening.

And out there where the turf-boat is lying with its sail down, outside Aughanish, there the Banshee does always be crying, crying, for some that went down there some time.

At Fiddoon that strip of land between Tyrone and Duras something appears and cries for a month before any one dies. A great many are taken away sudden there; and they say that it's because of that thing.

The Banshee cries every time one of the Sionnacs dies. And when the old Captain died, the crows all left the place within two days, and never came back for a year.

A Connemara Woman:
There was a boy from Kylemore I met in America used to be able to tell fortunes. He used to be telling them when the work would be done, and we would be having afternoon tea. He told me one time I would soon be at a burying, and it would be a baby's burying, and I laughed at that, but sure enough, my sister's baby, that was not born at the time, died about a month after, and I went to its burying.

A Herd:
Crying for those that are going to die you'd hear of often enough. And when my own wife was dying, the night she went I was sitting by the fire, and I heard a noise like the blow of a flail on the door outside. And I went to see what it was, but there was nothing there. But I was not in any way frightened and wouldn't be if she came back in a vision, but glad to see her I would be.

A Miller:
There was a man that was Out in the field and a flock of stares (starlings) came about his head, and it wasn't long after that he died.

There's many say they saw the Banshee, and that if she heard you singing loud she'd be very apt to bring you away with her.

A Connemara Woman:
One night the clock in my room struck six and it had not struck for years, and two nights after - on Christmas night - it struck six again, and afterwards I heard that my sister in America had died just at that hour. So now I have taken the weights off the clock, that I wouldn't hear it again.

Mrs. Huntley:
It was always said that when a Lord died, a fox was seen about the house. When the last Lord - lay dying, his daughter heard a noise outside the house one night, and opened the hall-door, and then she saw a great number of foxes laying on the steps and barking and running about.

And the next morning there was a meet at some distant covert - it had been changed there from hard by where it was to have taken place on account of his illness - and there was not a single fox to be found there or in any other covert. And that day he died.

J. Hanlon:
There was one Costello used to be ringing the bell and pumping water and such things at Roxborough, and one day he was at the fair of Loughrea. And as he started home he sent word to my grandfather "Come to the corner of the old castle and you'll find me dead." So he set out, and when he got to the corner of the castle, there was Costello lying dead before him.

And once going to a neighbour's house to see a little girl, I saw her running along the path before me. But when I got to the house she was in bed sick, and died two days after.

Pat. Linskey:
Well, the time my own wife died I had sent her into Cloon to get some things from the market, and I was alone in the house with the dog. And what do you think but he started up and went out to the hill outside the house, and there he stood a while howling, and it was the very next day my wife died.

Another time I had shut the house door at night and fastened it, and in the morning it was standing wide open. And as I knew by the dates afterwards that was the very night my brother died in India.

Sure I told Stephen Green that, when he buried his mother in England, and his father lying in Kilmacdaugh. "You should never separate," says I, "in death a couple that were together in life, for sure as fate, the one'll come to look for the other."

And when there's one of them passing in the air you might get a blast of holy wind you wouldn't be the better of for a long time.

Mrs. Curran:
I was in Galway yesterday, and I was told there that the night before those four poor boys were drowned, there were four women heard crying out on the rocks. Those that saw them say that they were young, and they were out of this world. And one of those boys was out at sea all day, the day before he was drowned. And when he came in to Galway in the evening, some boy said to him "I saw you today standing up on the high bridge." And he was afraid and he told his mother and said

"Why did they see me on the high bridge and I out at sea?" And the next day he drowned. And some say there was not much at all to drown them that day.

A Man near Athenry:
There is often crying heard before a death, and in that field beside us the sound of washing clothes with a beetle is some-times heard before a death.

I heard crying in that field near the forth one night, and not long after the man it belonged to died.

An Aran Man:
I remember one morning, St. Bridget's Eve, my son-in-law came into the house, where he had been up that little road you see above. And the wife asked him did he see any one, and he said "I saw Shamus Meagher driving cattle." And the wife said, "You couldn't see him, for he's out laying spillets since daybreak with two other men." And he said, "But I did see him, and I could have spoke with him."

And the next day - St. Bridget's Day - there was confessions in the little chapel below and I was in it, and Shamus Meagher, and it was he that was kneeling next to me at the Communion. But the next morning he and two other men that had set the spillets went on in their canoe to Kilronan for salt, for they had come short of salt and had a good deal of fish taken. And that day the canoe was upset, and the three of them were drowned.

A Piper:
My father and my mother were in the bed one night and they heard a great lowing and a noise of the cattle fighting one another, that they thought they were all killed, and they went out and they were quiet then. But they went onto the next house where they heard a lowing, and all the cattle of that house were fighting one another, and so it was at the next. And in the morning a child, one Gannon, was dead-or taken he was.

An Old Man in Aran:
When I was in the State of Maine, I knew a woman from the County Cork, and she had a little girl sick. And one day she went out behind the house and there she saw the fields full of those - full of them. And the little girl died.

And when I was in the same State, I was in the house where there was a child sick. And one night I heard a noise outside, as if of hammering. And I went out and I thought it came from another house that was close by that no one lived in, and I went and tried the door but it was shut up.

And I went back and said to the woman, "This is the last night you'll have to watch the child." And at 12 o'clock the next evening it died.

They took my hat from me one time. One morning just at sunrise I was going down to the sea, and a little storm came, and took my hat off and brought it a good way, and then it brought it back and returned it to me again.

An Old Midwife:
I do be dreaming, dreaming. I dreamt one night I was with my daughter and that she was dead and put in the coffin. And I heard after, the time I dreamt about her was the very time she died.

A Woman near Loughrea:
There are houses in Cloon, and Geary's is one of them, where if the people sit up too late the warning comes; it comes as a knocking at the door. Eleven o'clock, that is the hour. It is likely it is some that lived in the house are wanting it for themselves at the time. And there is a house near the Darcys' where as soon as the potatoes are strained from the pot, they must put a plateful ready and leave it for the night, and milk and the fire on the hearth, and there is not a bit left at morning. Some poor souls that come in, looking for warmth and for food.

There is a woman seen often before a death sitting by the river and racking her hair, and she has a beetle with her and she takes it and beetles clothes in the river. And she cries like any good crier; you would be sorry to be listening to her.

Old King:
I heard the Banshee and saw her. I and six others were card playing in the kitchen at the big house, that is sunk into the ground, and I saw her up outside of the window. She had a white dress and it was as if held over her face.

They all looked up and saw it, and they were all afraid and went back but my-self. Then I heard a cry that did not seem to come from her but from a good way off, and then it seemed to come from herself. She made no attempt to twist a mournful cry but all she said was, "Oh-oh, Oh-oh," but it was as mournful as the oldest of the old women could make it, that was best at crying the dead.

Old Mr. Sionnac was at Lisdoonvarna at that time, and he came home a few days after and took to the bed and died. It is always the Banshee has followed the Sionnacs and cried them.

Mrs. King:
There was a boy of the Naughtons died not far from this, a fine young man. And I set out to go to the burying, and Mrs. Burke along with me. But when we came to the gate we could hear crying for the dead, and I said "It's as good for us wait where we are, for they have brought the corpse out and are crying him."

So we waited a while and no one came, and so we went on to the house, and we had two hours to wait before they brought out the corpse for the burying, and there had been no crying at all till he was brought out. We knew then who it was crying, for if the boy was a Naughton, it is in a house of the Kearns he died, and the Banshee always cries for the Kearns.

A Doctor:
There's a boy I'm attending now, and the first time I went to him, the mother came out of the house with me and said "It's no use to do anything for him, I'm going to lose him." And I asked her why did she say that, and she said "Because the first night he took ill I heard the sound of a chair drawing over to the fire in the kitchen, and it empty, and it was the faeries were coming for him."

The boy wouldn't have had much wrong with him, but his brother had died of phthisis, and when he got a cold he made sure he would die too, and he took to the bed. And every day his mother would go in and cry for an hour over him, and then he'd cry and then the father would cry, and he'd say "Oh, how can I leave my father and my mother!

Who will there be to mind them when I'm gone?" One time he was getting a little better they sent him over on a message to Scahanagh, and there's a man there called Shanny that makes coffins for the people. And the boy saw Shanny looking at him, and he left his message undone and ran home and cried out "Oh, I'm done for now! Shanny was looking at me to see what size coffin I'd take!" And he cried and they all cried and all the village came in to see what was the matter.

The Old Army man:
As to the invisible world, I hear enough about it, but I have seen but little myself. One night when I was at Calcutta I heard that one Connor was dead - a man that I had been friendly with - so I went to the house.

There was a good many of us there, and when it came to just before midnight, I heard a great silence fall, and I looked from one to another to see the silence. And then there came a knock at the window, just as the clock was striking twelve. And Connor's wife said, "It was just at this hour last night there came a knock like that and immediately afterwards he died."

And the strange thing is, it was a barrack-room and on the second story, so that no one could reach it from the street.

In India, before Delhi, there was an officer's servant lodged in the same house as me, and was thrown out of his cot every night. And as sure as midnight came, the dogs couldn't stop outside but would come shrinking and howling into the house.

Yes indeed, I believe the faeries are in all countries, all over the world; but the banshee is only in Ireland, though sometimes in India I would think of her when I'd hear the hyenas laughing. Keening, keening, you can hear her, but only for the old Irish families, but she'll follow them even as far as Dublin.

Source: Lady Augusta Gregory - Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland, first published 1920.

republished by Colin Smythe Ltd., 1992.

So, I'm in the running for a door cashier gig at Club Congress...

Who would ever have guessed someday I'd have a job interview that included the question "How would you describe The Sweat Band to someone who'd never heard them?"
Or that I'd get a chance to interview with a real live Sand Ruby?
Oh, the glamourness of my life...

"The punk rock'll kill you if the government don't get you first..."
-Rhett Miller of The Old 97s

Days Of Thanks And Chaos...

About time I wrote something, I guess...
Friday limbo, was playing Nick Cave and Leadbelly and songs from an old lover. Day After Blues, wandering, newspaper brooding in the Dinosaur MacDonalds, bookstore lingering over hot chocoolate and idiot shoppers with my sweet little girls whov'e learned a Tom Waits song. Sarah sings it "remember the girl with the sun in her eyes and I'll kiss you" then she blows a little kiss "and then I'll be gone..." My punk rock little Maggie sings "and I'll kiss you and then I'll be sick!" and laughs riotously. Watched the movie "Seven" which I'd never managed to sit all the way through before and TOTALLY called the ending. Good movie, though. And then...

...Twas the Day After Thanksgiving and the liqour was flowing, the bonfires raging, the music pouring out of the living room and it was to be expected and it was good. The stragglers left long after the first morning's light and Jesse referred to the sunrise as "God's morning boner."Sang "In the Pines" and "Willing" and "Oldest Story In The World" and "I Don't Want To Me A Soldier" and "Designs On You" and several Forkan originals of old and new and much Stones and Zeppelin and who and the strangest guitar blues rock Iggy Pop style multiphasic eighties pop song medly. Made some promises to learn and sing and practice songs for future reference and so I will. And the the lord hath spake and apparently was happy to see us that morning. Happy birthday Mike, another year you're still alive which is more than some of us can say...

"Good manners and bad breath will bet you nowhere..."
-Elvis Costello

Things learned whilst researching a song, part 1...

From "Welcome To Leadbelly Homepage:

Huddie William Ledbetter was born on January 29, 1885 on the Jeter Plantation near Mooringsport, Louisiana. He was the only child of his parents Wesley and Sally. Huddie and his parents moved to Leigh, Texas when he was five and it was there that he became interested in music, encouraged by his uncle Terrell who bought Huddie his first musical instrument, an accordion.

It was some years later when Huddie picked up the guitar but by the age of 21 he had left home to wander around Texas and Louisiana trying to make his living as a musician. Over the next ten years Huddie wandered throughout the southwest eking out an existence by playing guitar when he could and working as a laborer when he had to.

Huddie Ledbetter was the world's greatest cotton picker, railroad track liner, lover, and drinker as well as guitar player. This assertion came from no less an authority on the matter than Huddie himself. Since not everyone agreed with his opinion Huddie frequently found himself obliged to convince them. His convincing frequently landed him in jail.

In 1916 Huddie was in jail in Texas on assault charges when he escaped. He spent the next two years under the alias of Walter Boyd. But then after he killed a man in a fight he was convicted of murder and sentenced to thirty years of hard labor at Huntsville, Texas' Shaw State Prison Farm. After seven years he was released after begging pardon from the governor with a song:

Please, Governor Neff, Be good 'n' kind
Have mercy on my great long time...
I don't see to save my soul
If I don't get a pardon, try me on a parole...
If I had you, Governor Neff, like you got me
I'd wake up in the mornin' and I'd set you free

Pat Neff was convinced by the song and by Huddie's assurances that he'd seen the error of his ways. Huddie left Huntsville a free man. But in 1930 he was arrested, tried, and convicted of attempted homicide.

It was in the Louisiana State Penitentiary in July 1933 that Huddie met folklorist John Lomax and his son Alan who were touring the south for the Library of Congress collecting unwritten ballads and folk songs using newly available recording technology. The Lomaxes had discovered that Southern prisons were among the best places to collect work songs, ballads, and spirituals but Leadbelly, as he now called himself, was a particular find.

Over the next few days the Lomaxes recorded hundreds of songs. When they returned in the summer of 1934 for more recordings Leadbelly told them of his pardon in Texas. As Allen Lomax tells it, "We agreed to make a record of his petition on the other side of one of his favorite ballads, 'Goodnight Irene'. I took the record to Governor Allen on July 1. On August 1 Leadbelly got his pardon. On September 1 I was sitting in a hotel in Texas when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and there was Leadbelly with his guitar, his knife, and a sugar bag packed with all his earthly belongings. He said, 'Boss, you got me out of jail and now I've come to be your man'"

In 1935 Lomax took Leadbelly North where he became a sensation. Leadbelly remained Leadbelly. After hearing Cab Calloway sing in Harlem he announced that he could "beat that man singin' every time". His inclination toward violent resolution of conflicts, though mellowed, lead to threatening Lomax with a knife which effectively ended their friendship. Nevertheless by 1940 Leadbelly had become well known in the recording industry. Over the next 9 years Leadbelly's fame and success continued to increase until he fell ill while on a European Tour. Tests revealed that he suffered from lateral sclerosis and he died on December 6, 1949.

(Adapted from the liner notes to "Leadbelly, Alabama Bound" by executive producer Billy Altman, on RCA Records.)

remember

Never knew you, but I hear you were beautiful
Hear you were angry sometimes
Guess you never knew that you were loved
Well you were loved
For what it's worth
So goodnight punk rock girl
Goodby lonely one
Hope you found your peace at last

That which cannot be competed with...

Fine leathers, triumphs against adversity, and dead ex-girlfriends.

"Good manners and bad breath will bet you nowhere..."
-Elvis Costello

Lazarus Girl Is...

...back from the dead again. For as much as it counts. Thinking it'll be different this time. This carrot will be different. Thinking that life will be good and recognition will be earned and trust will be rewarded. Love's no different whether you go looking for it or it blindsides you. Fairness will always elude the mankind. Intelligence is the curse that it ever was. But here I still am. Buttering my fucking carrots. Hoping the end will be just a little bit better. All that keeps any of us living, realy. The hope that each ending will be a little bit better than the last. The hope that Karmic Justice will prevail but that god will forgive us all the same. Another season. Another chance. Let us wish ourselves well, hope for the best, serve up a nice wedge of carrot cake and dream that things will get better, by and by. I always loved carrots anyhow.

The Picts

The Picts were the early inhabitants of Scotland, so called "barbarian" tribes who often skirmished with the Celtic Britons living to the south of them, sometimes living on the spoils of their attacks. Little historic documentation is available regarding them, as Scotland gradually became Celticized itself. The only text left to us by the Picts is their king-list, which gives the names and the lengths of the reigns of 60 or more Pictish kings. The list ends with Causantin mac Cinaeda, who died in 876. The only other written source from around the "Arthurian" era is Adomnan's Life of Columba. The terms "Picts" and "Pictland" were used in speaking of the inhabitants and the area up until 900, when the country began to be called "Alba."

The Picts had a warrior society, "and warlords needed strongholds. When St. Columba visited the Pictish king, Bridei, son of Maelchon, in 565, he went to one of the royal fortresses; it was 'near the river Ness' and the most widely accepted identification is Castle Urguhart on Loch Ness... where the medieval castle overlies earlier occupation..." (Nicoll 23) Several Pictish forts have been excavated, revealing that the warlords lived in style, wearing great silver chains and beautiful jewelry. A Pict's life was not altogether different than that of his southern Celtic neighbors; they all spoke a very similar language, as the Pictish language is convincingly argued to have been Preceltic or Brithonic.

Minimal archaeological evidence exists though some survives in the form of uncovered Pictish treasure hoards. Brooches and dress-pins have been found, as well as small painted stones used as charms. An absence of valuables in Pictish grave sites, may imply that the Picts did not believe in a physical afterlife. Some oral traditions claim that Pictish deities were later mythologized as "Pixies" and faeries and that many Scottish folk traditions derive from Pictish belief. Since there is little physical evidence, it is hard to prove or disprove this line of thought. Most modern day Scots have at least some Pictish blood in them, and it's very possible that they may carry with them some Pictish wisdom as well.

For more information and speculation, see the following sites:"The Pictish Papers" and "Pictish Nation".

Thought provoking Site Of The Day...

Postnet:
(where people send in their deepest secrets on the back of a postcard and somebody posts it.)

--

Context is Optional: www.corbid.net

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.