Entries from August 2004 ↓

Like forced laughter when no-one’s listening anyway

Gee, with a title like that, I can just tell
that I’m going to be a bundle of joy today.
Lucky me. Actually, though, I’m referring to
a conversation I had last night with Theo, Tim
and Daniel about anti-depressants and A.D.D.
Theo’s been studying the different types of ADD,
what their symptoms are and where the problems
come from, and what sort of treatments work.
For some, drugs work, and for some drugs are
a hinderance. For almost everyone, drugs or no,
a change of lifestyle, including diet, exercise and
habits is a necessity for improvement.

Anyway, this led me to my naive ideal:
save the world through education,
literature (and art), and philosophy.
Herein lies a catch-22, as far as concerns those
who suffer from ADD; as it stands it takes
a certain strength of attention span to be able
to garner strength and character from these things.
Though I’m sure they’d help in the long run,
that does no good if you can never break into them.

Thus my idea, which is still, sadly, entirely
dependant on the frail idea that the US might someday
give a damned about how it educates its youth. Ha!
The idea: break philosophy, literature, art, et al down
into basic, interesting, and engaging packets.
Don’t make them read Plato’s Republic,
break it down for them, tell them how it relates to their
life, other philosophy; personalize it to them
[the idea that even then they’d become interested is where I get naive].
Even so. I think we need to encourage teachers less to teach,
and more to develop in students an eagerness to learn.
I think that philosophy needs to start running alongside
religion in the mainstream, even if it’s just the practical
philosophy you would find in the stoic shephard boy who guards his flock.
Stalwart, responsible, appreciative, courageous, and resolute.

We’re giving our children too many fish without teaching them how.
Those we’re even bothering to feed, anyway.

Question: How many public high schools in this country
offer a philosophy course, even as an elective. I’d wager not many.

Yes, well onward from doom & gloom.

This is a silly rhyme [it doesn’t rhyme, though];
I wrote it yesterday.

I’d gladly take hidden midnight rendez-vous’;
I’d become your secret lover in the blackness;
I’d be your full-moon muse.
Yeah, boys can do that too,
or so I hear.

I’d dance in the field ’til lightning strikes;
it’s our little secret.
I’d balance your reason with my Dionysus,
if you drank from my cup.
I’d sing you the songs that lovers sing,
softly in the starlight.

I’d become the enigmatic message left on your machine:
“Blue vistas under witching-hour darkness; come cradle me.”

Boys can do that too,
or so I hear.

Synchronize Me

The word for the week truly must be:
synchronicity.

I’m certainly too existential to believe
in pre-determination. Even so,
sometimes things work out in such a way that
I can’t help but feel like there is a path
laid out before me, and that my life is going
precisely according to plan.

Now, of course, if I’m going to buy into this,
the plan life is going according to is my plan,
created by an amalgamamam (woohoo, I so slaughtered that word)
of choices I’ve made, thoughts I’ve had, and
words I’ve slaughtered. Maybe not that last thing, though.

My point was (once): events are unfolding in such
a way that I feel very happy to be where I am,
when I am, and how I am. So much so that I’m even
fairly sure that not getting the Info Center job
is a predicate to my getting something so much better
and fulfilling. For instance … umm, bee-keeping.
Yeah, I wanna keep bees. I wanna keep em, so they
cannot get away. I want to tie them to elastic so that
when they go out and get pollen, they come right back.

[shameless Eddie Izzard rip-off]

All these strange, tangential ideas can be
neatly compacted into one word:

Yeay.

Oly-Stop Blues in C ~

Well, the news is:
no second job for me at the Info Center.
I repeat:
I was shot down like a worm in Mexico.
I guess they had four good, internal applicants
they had to choose from, in the end.
It’s too bad, that was really one of the best
interviews I ever gave. All for naught *big sigh* ~
So the search continues, my sign reads:
“WILL PUN FOR FOOD”.
You have to have an appetite for these sorts of things;
sometimes they’re hard to stomach.
Chew on that one for awhile …
it’s a lot of information to digest.
*cough, cough* I’ll stop now, I promise.

Sisyphian Dyno-mite

Visiting Port Townsend was good.
Somehow my family always inspires me;
unintentional, but I like that about them.
For instance, my little niece(4 years) and nephew(15 months)
are incredibly awesome.
I think I’ll go visit them on their home-turf sometime soon.

I’m hanging with Daniel, Jason, and my dad;
all sometime this week. At the risk of gushing (more),
my friends and family are all an extraordinary gift.
I still feel pangs of longing for that deeper connection:
coffee under the stars at midnight in a deserted field;
conversations about the significance of insignificance;
dancing in the afternoon thunderstorms, giving off so much
electricity we’d be completely oblivious to lightning-strikes.

Yeah, okay … wax poetic much?
My point was [is], I still feel these pangs,
but they’re not unbearable.
I need to get out and dance.

Sometime in the next couple of days, I should hear if I get the second job here at Saint Martin’s. If you’re reading this, send some good energy my way [I really need this job]. So far, work is anything but toil. As I may have mentioned, being between semesters we are quite slow at the moment. Things will pick up soon enough, of that I’m sure. I can’t say I don’t appreciate a little slow time, though. Life isn’t hectic, but my mind’s a whirlwind of untidiness, for whatever reason. I need to get out and dance. Work will pick up soon, a million-fold if I get this second job. No idea of the consequences this will have on my life and happiness [I’ve been needing the down-time]. Like all things in life, it will require an adjustment; I’m gearing up for buzy-ness as a positive experience. Working hard makes life seem more dynamic, somehow. One hard fact: I’m toeing the line of financial doom, ergo I need to start working my ass off. Maybe that’s a soft fact, I don’t know [buying into social structures and financial dependency; work & reward mentality]. I need to get out and dance, and I need to stop whining about needing to get out and dance. Going down to Vegas and losing all the money I don’t have on a single spin of the roulette wheel sounds fun, too. I really believe that the idea has merits [loss of money as liberation]. And my options then? Sometimes I think becoming a vigilante superhero would be fun. Unfortunately, I would always suffer from the quandry: kill serial rapists, or asshat politicians? I hope I’m not the only one that thinks that that’s a tough choice.

Ha. I’ve never even gotten into a fight.
I can’t imagine inflicting mortal punishment
in the service of a sense of justice.
There’s too much fatalist in me, yet.
Not a lot, but too much. The existentialist in me
thoroughly scorns it.

Were I truly a vigilante superhero:
I would go to battle; enlightenment my sword,
snapping the whip of creativity at the heels
of the ignoble villain.
Is it so naive to think that
I could solve the world’s problems with literature?

Sisyphus is uplifting [sorry about the pun],
but the world may never know.

You say lagomorph, I say rabbit…

… or lapin, because I’ve always liked that word.

This weekend I make the short trek to
Port Townsend, home of: my mom, good food,
the Puget Sound as it nears the Pacific,
the Rose Theatre, and my siblings
(for the weekend, at least).
I’ve one brother and one sister;
they’re both older, and super-cool
(my brother let me beat him up when I was a tyke;
my sister tickled me mercilessly, and
had her friends chase me around with lipstick).

I didn’t grow up with my siblings;
rather I saw them over the Summer and on
various holidays. So, though I think we know
each other well, we don’t have that “know everything
about each other” thing that similar-aged
grow-up-together siblings do. As such,
our meetings are always half familiarity
and half exploration. This is not a complaint.

Port Townsend is full of memories:
childhood days of carefree exploration
(I was quite intrepid), and my pre-college
days of creative indulgences, naive ideals,
and romantic sulks (also known as “failures”).
I was 17. Need I say more?

If you haven’t yet, check out the mystery that is:

I Love Bees.

In the end, it’s basically advertising, true.
But it’s still absolutely fascinating.

A poem from 8/15;
a young-woman musician who,
traveling through Olympia,
played while we were sitting in Caffé Vita.

Your sultry voice like butter melting:
highs & lows
and caught-betweens;
songbird-wings and a smile.
Thin-boned for flight,
breaks easy and transparent.

You’ve got on your samurai kid-gloves,
prepared for gentille swordplay,
wordplay; “May I?” “You may.”
Spin songs, trap hearts,
blown apart at the seams,
you laud the diocese.
Saints speak lunacies,
heresy, are remembered
for their honesty.
You should be so lucky.

When your Icarus-wings
tear apart in the light -
like butter melting -
where will you fall then?

It rambles, groans;
mutters vagueries.
It needs clarification,
I think;
but there it is.