Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.
in which the past several years of my life are surmised in a sentence by a man who ive never met
And then it happened again, one of those planned conversations that go quickly awry, that leave you alone with rage, a clarifying rage in this instance, in which it all came back in harsh light: our fading marraige, the two New York years in which she withheld from me all kisses on the mouth, withheld these quietly and steadily and without complaint, averting even her eyes whenever mine sought them out in emotion, all the while cultivating a dutiful domesticity and maternal ethic that armored her in blamelessness, leaving me with no way to approach her, no way to find fault or feelings, waiting for me to lose heart, to put away my most human wants and expectations, to carry my burdens secretly...
--j. O'Neill, _Netherland_, pp 127-128
Democratic Congresswoman Shot Dead in Tucson
excerpt:: "U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords of Arizona was killed after being shot in the head in Tucson while holding a public event, the National Public Radio reported Saturday.
A gunman ran up to Giffords outside a Safeway and started firing, NPR reported. The Democrat was holding a constituent meeting at the grocery store.
Read more: http://www.cbc.ca/world/story/2011/01/08/giffords-arizona-shooting.html#ixzz1ATUzU6rX
someone please explain to me how one is supposed to coexist in a civil society when one part of that society's political spectrum has proven over and over and over again that they are willing to kill you for their beliefs?
prepare for the next week of news coverage doing everything possible to sully the character of the young man who killed giffords, publishing his diary, tearful interviews with exgirlfriends and school mates, and panels of paid psychiatrists doing their damndest to convince the viewing public that this young man is not a representative of his generation, that he is an aberration, and that this murder was the act of a single crazy person, not a political assassination which a large part of the culture is complicit in.
Husserlian appresentation is essentially a codification into the perceptual moment of the Socratic humility contained in Socrate's interpretation of the Oracle at Delphi. It is knowing what it is that you don't know: that the moon has another side, for example.
after the move
in the landscape of dustbunnies
and echoes, the void of furniture
and family filled with
sunlight and dustmotes
my is cat is crying
i let him outside
but it's worse;
he sits on the step
and looks to where
the uhaul was and cries.
i collect him and offer
what comfort i can
just as much to prevent a
conversation with the
crazy cat lady neighbor
as to console him
there: i'm grown up:
i am ashamed enough
of my cat's emotions
to try to hide them,
i think i can keep mine
so come back home--
i'll move all
the furniture back
to where it was,
we can re-inter
these dustbunnies, these echoes
this hateful perfect spring sunlight
behind the loving mess
of the five of us.
anything is fixable,
if you give enough
of a shit
that goddamn canyon
it's one of those things, you're walking along the south face, you look in and you're like, can i touch this, or is it mars? it's so viciously three dimensional it overwhelms any sense of perspective, and you're right on the cusp of some kind of fucking mystical moment when the fucking 67 year old hippie tour guide says something moronic like god revealed herself to me here and you want to scream, you know? you want to shake the righteous old tie dyed prick, but you don't, you just light a cigarette and reflect for a moment on the revelation you almost had, the reason you came here to begin with, and the motherfucker tells you to put the butt in your pocket, and you step out over the edge just to show that fuck, and the air whooshes past your ears, the cherry comets off the top of the marlboro you have clenched between your grimacing teeth, and you plummet into the martian landscape.
that's what it is, falling in love. that what it is these days, every diamond commercial and fucking sandra bullock movie and frank sinatra song all rolled up with whatever neurotic shit your fucked up parents gave you, into an obnoxious old cartoon hippie mediating your delicate approach to an authentic feeling, until you throw yourself onto the jagged red rocks, to find something in the sound of air rushing past your ear canals just before your knees introduce themselves to your teeth at 9.8 meters per second per second and you leave your goddamn butt where you please.
( david mamet derides his employeesCollapse )
midnightglobe's 5 star martini::
3 oz bluecoat gin
.5 oz dry vermouth
1 clove garlic
chill the glass. mix gin and vermouth in a shaker as per standard martini. shake dry the chilled glass. cut the garlic in half and rub the essence all around the inside of the glass like you are buttering a baking pan. place pepperoncini in glass. pour and serve.
you are stuck in traffic
not moving, the lights
in the rearview
the wailing siren
you inch to the shoulder
and let the ambulance through--
it parts the steel stream
of priuses and escorts
like moses, revealing
the cause of the traffic,
the accident just ahead
twisted and surreal
theres a whoosh
the ambulance passes
fingertips away from
the side door mirror
then the traffic
nose to ass
a few minutes later
the ambulance is
in the other lane,
heading back, lights off
not speeding, eyes downcast,
nothing needs to be said
that's how turning thirty feels
Here I am, about to turn thirty, commuting home from my 9-5, and something hits me. I am singing along to El Scorcho, and I feel like nineteen, not twentynine. My heart feels open, like the future is a blue horizon.
I seriously contemplate asking my high school girlfriend, who I haven't seen in almost a decade and who is married to a ninja master, to elope with me. That's the kind of freedom I feel. Pure potential, sparking on the edge of creation.
Where does this come from? Why now, after all these years of wandering? Just a neural chain reaction, fired off by an old Weezer song? I think it is something more, something deeper. A spontaneous growth, an opening in the absolute system that my heart slips through.
My heart! Who even says that? Who has one of those to speak of, much less follow? This animate dust, this little peice of everything reflecting back at the rest.
I feel GOOD. Cold hands, chapped lips, but good.
completed applications for cornell, rutgers, and buffalo. only lehigh to go.
resolutions:: to be happy with however this application process turns out. there are big pluses to each of the schools, as well as not getting in to any school at all.
to read a book a week. long plays count as books.
to be more actively spiritual.
exercise and stop being such a fat ass.
to publish. no excuses.
do you know who paul craig roberts is? check his credentials. i'll wait.
so, he invented reaganomics. not what you would call a hardcore lefty. or a stupid man. here's some excerpts from an article he published yesterday.
Goldman Sachs senior executives are arming themselves with New York gun permits, according to Alice Schroeder on Bloomberg.com. The banksters “are now equipped to defend themselves if there is a populist uprising against the bank.”
One can understand why the banksters are worried. The company, now known as Gold Sacks, has a large responsibility for the financial crisis and the fraudulent “securities” that wrecked the world economy and Americans’ pensions. A former Gold Sacks CEO had control of the US Treasury during the Bush regime from which he diverted $750 billion to bail out the banks, thus supplying them with free capital. Gold Sacks made $27,000 million during the first three quarters of 2009 and is paying out massive bonuses, leaving the busted taxpayers with the debt and interest charges.
Little wonder the US can’t afford health care for the uninsured and unemployed. It is far more important to finance multimillion dollar bonuses for investment bankers. I mean, what would we do without capitalism?
Of course, it is not really capitalism. It is an oligarchy or a financial plutocracy.
Millions of laid-off workers lost their health insurance subsidies on December 1, the day President Obama announced a $30 billion “surge” in Afghanistan.
The expensive “surge” came 24 hours after the Detroit Free Press published a 127-page supplement of home foreclosures in its metro area. In Michigan 48 percent of mortgages are on properties that are worth less than the loan, according to a report from First American CoreLogic.
As bad as it is in Michigan, the state ranks seventh in foreclosures, so six states are in even more dire straits.
The additional $30 billion for the war comes on top of the $65 billion already appropriated for the year. These appropriations are always fattened with supplementary appropriations. The true cost is well in excess of $100,000,000,000.
Who’s going to pay for it? Democratic Representative David Obey, chairman of the House Appropriations Committee proposes to raise income taxes on everyone earning more than $30,000.
This is called “trickle-up” economics. You tax the little guy and give the money to the armaments companies.
There was a time when Democratic presidents represented the little man, and Republicans represented business. Today both parties represent the moneyed interests. On December 3 at the Jobs Summit with business leaders, Obama said, “We don’t have enough public dollars to fill the hole of private dollars that was created as a consequence of the crisis.”
In other words, all the public’s money has been spent on the banks and the wars.
the relentless horizon
predicted every turn
of my head, each whip
around the axis of my spine
planned for. i am playing
chess with a master, and
my moves merely reveal
the dimensions of
my opponent's gambit.
spanish bullshit link
i finally placed in this poem competition, after like 2 years of trying. yay me!
so far i've read the road by cormac mccarthy, snuff by chuck paluniak, and the inferno by dante. dark selection, right?
everything as it once had been save faded and weathered.
cassie said maybe if she was stupid and desperate, really clutching at straws and emotionally needy, utterly destroyed, she'd accept my proposal-- so i figured there was still hope.
the double grief of lost bliss is to recall its happy hour in pain.
here's a bonus quote, just cause i love it. it is by wolfgang borchert, from his incredible volume the man outside.
the truth is like a well known whore: everyone knows her, but it is embarrassing to meet her on the street.
Pronouns are funny little things. I am lying on our couch, listening to our music, living, if only temporarily, in our space. But if you were here it'd be your couch, your music, your space, your life-- I'd just be a character passing through, heading towards the door.
( six weeks in JuneCollapse )
( on phil jackson's tenth championshipCollapse )
is someone who has a strong and unyielding commitment to traditional gender roles in a relationship a sexist?
toast, mayo, half a sliced avocado, 4 ounces of smoked salmon, muenster cheese.
grilled cheese and tomato soup
tomato bisque in a crock, rye toast croutons floating on top, muenster cheese melted over the whole thing.
dear adult swim: do you enjoy being a propaganda outlet? how much did you sell the collective attention of the 18-25 year old target market for, to the navy and the drug czar? fuck you very much, --cecil b demented.
i think the 'are you an elvis man or a beatles man' is a false dichotomy. they are apples and oranges. i think there are two questions here, 'are you an elvis man or a buddy holly man,' and 'are you a beatles man or a rolling stones man.'
i hypothesize that there is a correlation between the two, but it is not 100 percent. so, are you a beatles person or a rolling stones person? are you an elvis person or a buddy holly person?
mia's mushroom salad party sandwich
vegetarian recipe, easily converted for vegans. made it for my daughter's birthday party and it was a hit. enjoy.
you will neeed one long french bread, one half package of low moisture shredded mozarella cheese, one pound mushrooms (i used half button and half portabello, but use whatever looks good at the store), one bunch of spinach, 6 medium garlic cloves, a small onion, half a stick of butter, and spices.
this is a several step process. the first step is making the mushroom salad. clean the mushrooms and roughly chop them. rinse the spinach, and coarsely chop it. mince three garlic cloves and the small onion. heat a wok or large frying pan with sides and add a good dollop of olive oil. throw in the mushrooms and onion. as they start to sing a little bit (a minute or two on mid/high heat), add the spinach. use tongs to turn the spinach down into the mushrooms. you may want to add a little more oil at this point, but it isn't strictly necessary. keep the tongs moving through the spinach until it starts to shrink and wilt and lie flat on the pan. once it is lying flat, add the minced garlic. spice it with a little salt, some black pepper, and basil. i used dried, but i am sure fresh would work as well or better. reduce the heat to lowish, and let it reduce for a while. once it has reduced a bit, remove from the heat and put in tupperware in the fridge. it will be a little watery, but thats ok.
part two: in a small saucepan, melt the half a stick of butter. once it is melted, add the other three cloves of garlic, some more pepper and some oregano. let this go just long enough to melt all the butter and get the garlic moving around a bit. take this off the heat. cut the long french bread down the middle, and use a brush or a spoon to coat the inside of the bread with the butter/garlic concoction. sprinkle a single layer of mozarella on the bread, and put it in the oven open-faced to melt the cheese. once the cheese is melted and the bread is just a little crispy, take out the bread.
part 3: take the cooled mushroom salad out of the fridge. use the tongs to fill the sandwich, that way most of the moisture stays in the tupperware and doesnt make the bread soggy. once the bread is full, fold it closed, wrap in in tin foil, and stick it back in the oven. give it 15 or twenty minutes to heat through and crisp up a bit. take it out, slice it up, and serve.
my intuition is that today is the day to buy. if i had the loot i would buy AIG, bank of america, and citibank. because i do not have the money, i am going to record their numbers, and see if i am right, and we are bottomed out.
bank of america 5.98
it is painfully obvious that the duty of the intellectual class in this society is to enforce the group nightmare. that is the only sanctioned way to make a living with your mind in this post industrial paradigm. as a teacher, or a lawyer, or a journalist, or a writer, or a professor, or a psychiatrist, or a diplomat, or a senator, the job is to maintain the illusion. to be convincing.
even being critical is enforcing the nightmare by denying it, the way that vacation enforces work or disneyland enforces wall street.
to make a living without being materially productive (ie without using my hands to build something) necessarily entails collusion with the nightmare. there appears to be no way around it.
for the longest time, i preferred to work in menial positions, specifically food service. waiting tables and tending bar are morally neutral. i think that moving beyond that level of existence necessitates collusion with a warped society with which i strongly disagree.
so i am faced with a conflict of opposing moral stances. i have an obligation to be the best father to my daughter that i can be, which includes making more money and living a better lifestyle than restaurant work provides. i also have an obligation to my own ethics, to resist what i think is wrong in this world, and not to assist it.
if i cross the threshold towards becoming a high school teacher, i will be reneging on my duty to myself, in service of my duty to my daughter.
maybe that is what this 'growing up' thing is all about, learning how to compromise yourself in favor of those you love. or maybe there is some way to satisfy both moralities at once that i haven't yet thought of.