Tuesday, September 2, 2003
Regatta's gone. Summer's fading fast. A week from today, I suppose I find out about the surgery to remove the metal plate and seven screws from my leg. I'll be happy to have it all over with and get on with the therapy and get to walking like a normal human being again.
I just read one of the "Disc World" books by Terry Pratchett. Excellent! Weird, but excellent!. There are twenty-some of them. This was called The Fifth Elephant. It was a fun read. Now I'm reading a book called The DaVinci Code. It looks to be a really good book, too.
Thursday, September 4, 2003
My leg has been bothering me a lot lately, so I haven't really felt like writing much here. I took a pain pill and laid down to read today and it knocked me out for over three hours. I swear, generic pain killers do not contain consistent doses. I'm going to go read some more now, drink my glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and go to sleep.
More of my favorite subject (other than nude voluptuous females), light on water:
"On Golden Pond"
Monday, September 8, 2003
Tomorrow's my next appointment with my orthosadist about my leg. I'm hoping he'll schedule the surgery soon so I can get on with things. This being lame and in pain is really getting tedious.
I've been doing some computer typesetting for a local poet, Paul Curry Steele. He had a book of poems published by the University of Charleston's Mountain Press in 1981. It was a nice range of work from a longish poem about the latter days of "Devil" Anse Hatfield, to Clerihews, to general short, incisive poems. I enjoyed reading it. Sad to say, it's out of print and there don't seem to be any spurious copies floating around. If anyone knows of a loose copy, contact me, please. Currently Paul is a whirlwind of Haiku. I've helped him with (I think) four mailings of between 66 and 110 Haiku. Right now I'm finishing up a five page collections of translations he did from Latin, plus a couple of other translations. He's got more Haiku in the chute and has reworked the previously-mentioned poem about "Devil" Anse Hatfield. Interesting work.
Quote of the Day: "The world is moving so fast these days that the man who says it can't be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it. " -- Harry Emerson Fosdick
Last Tuesday I mentioned I was reading The Da Vinci Code. I finished it up this morning. Great book! Strangely enough the local Sunday newspaper book club has picked it as their selection for September. I might join the group for this one at least. This book is in the tradition of E. A. Poe. It involves codes, cryptology, mystery, murder, pursuit, spiraling conspiracies, religion, the Vatican, eccentric character, secret societies, and a bang-on plot. Fine book. Highly recommended reading. I'll tell you more about it, but even the slightest sketch of the plot might ruin some of its peregrinations. Check it out.
Ann hates to have me take her picture, but every now and then I sneak up on her. Have I mentioned that I love profile shots?
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Well, the trip to the orthoguy was not all I expected. I got a cortizone injection and a "come back in a month." This is getting old.
Been writing today. Finished up the latest project for Paul. He gave me three Dover books as a thank you: A facsimile of a sketchbook by Cezanne, and books of drawings of Van Gogh and Cťzanne. Nice.
I feel the dread of tomorrow seeping into my psyche. Why is there so much hate in the world, and why can't we stop electing people who nurture it instead of placating and eliminating it. George W. Bush is the worst hate creator since Stalin. He's evil, vile in every respect, and should be impeached and imprisoned for all he's done to this country. Please, dear readers, vote this anathema out of office and don't allow yourselves to be fooled by promises of tax cuts and "compassionate conservatism" ever again. LEFT TURN ONLY.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
"Oh, you better watch out,
you better not cry.
You better not pout,
I'm tellin' you why,
Dick Cheny is comin' to town."
That's right, folks, our illustrious Veep is going to be in Charleston on Monday. If you want to get together with some other hecklers, malcontents, and people determined to get rid of this Fascist Junta that now rules the United States, gather around 11:00 AM across from the Marriot, in front of Kaufmann's. I'm sure someone will have some ideas.
Please leave all weapons at home. I know, I know, but we are a civilized country, at least until after the next election.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
I went to Patrick Plaza Dodge today to see if I won either a Dodge RAM pickup truck or $30,000 -- I came home with a Dodge Caravan brochure and a white golf umbrella.
West Virginia lost to Cincinnati today. It had to be the most screwed up game on the part of both teams I've ever seen. Terrible! Toledo beat Marshall yesterday. Wisconsin went down today, too. Any given Saturday. . .
Our van is messing up again. First the fan for the Heating and A/C wouldn't work and neither would the turn signals. Now they both work, but the parking lights and dashboard illumination don't. Great! Something else to cost money we don't have.
I need to find some lucrative business to start. I'd like to link it to this website somehow. I came up with a neat little logo. It'd be nice to have something to use it for.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Sorry about the lapse in entries here. I've been working downstairs, drawing, writing, etc. That, and my leg/ankle/foot have (has?) been bothering me a lot in the past few days, so I don't feel very inclined to climb the stairs very often. I think being a little depressed about the van's latest problems and other bad situational stuff might have a little to do with the lack of material here, too.
My e-mail seems to be flakey again. I've been getting certain e-mail multiple times over several days, and I suspect others not at all. It's always something. I suppose the only way to avoid such pitfalls is to be so freaking rich that you can buy the best of everything and have someone on payroll to instantaneously fix whatever might try to go wrong.
Dick Cheney, come and gone. The Ragin' Cagun, in and out. These people all see politics and governance as some sort of 'game' and that winning is the 'thing.' When will we ever have leaders who actually lead, who do the right thing for ALL the people, not just the rich and influential? The good news is, Wesley Clarke is throwing his hat into the presidential ring. I generally don't like military men in political office, but I like doctors and lawyers there less. Gen. Clarke seems like he's not cut out of the same cookie dough as most military men. He seems to be more like Eisenhower, Version 3.0 or even better. I say he's one to watch and possibly support.
Friday, September 19, 2003
It's getting really ridiculous. For every legitimate e-mail I get, at least 50 SPAM messages get into my in-boxes, and I'm pretty careful where I leave my e-mail address. I literally get hundreds of SPAM messages every day. This shit is clogging up the entire Internet. Something needs to be done about these vicious, unscrupled, asswipes who send this junk over the bandwidth like this. I don't want bigger breasts. A larger penis would be nice, but who wants to date cows. No thanks on the porno, heroin, free cars that end up costing more than buying one from a dealer. I'll get my drugs through a doctor and pharmacist, thank you. I don't CARE what happened to all those jerks I graduated from high school with. I have no use for most of the gizmos you're selling. I don't want a tee-shirt for any California gubernatorial candidate, any commemorative anything, or any decks of cards. I don't want your small-minded, knee-jerk merchandizing aimed at denegrating legitimate liberal politicians and statesmen. So, piss off you miserable SPAMMERS.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
I've been writing in a notebook, some stream-of-consciousness writing. I plan on doing a book-length work. Here is the first chapter. So far it's unedited, unrevised, and pretty much raw, but then that is a definition of stream-of-consciousness writing, eh? I also refer to this kind of writing as SIC -- "Self Indulgent Crap."
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity. ó
From ďThe Second ComingĒ -- W. B. Yeats
Black and white, yeah, monochrome, monochromatic, silver gelatinous light shimmering on the water, nothing with any color, no blues, no reds, no yellows, monochrome, silver shimmer, sure thereís color, browns, black and white, but it looks like monochrome so we call it black and white. Leaves and vines, water drops from recent rain, the river silent and hidden behind the kudzu and lilac and grape vines (see above), the water normally as green as the walls in my living room, the same green as my Uncle Tomís old Triumph, the same green as on the old MGís, the Jaguars and speedy Bentleys, British racing green, but not right now, not through these eyes, black as a starless night, black as a mother-in-lawís heart, the sky, white, sometimes yellow, most often white, most often blue, but monochrome has none of these, only grays, black and white.
Blue sky, shoo fly, peach pie, donít die, my oh my ó is this a poem, is this language, is this a comma splice, head lice, think twice, roll the dice, donít bother me, Iím in the middle of something (some) (thing) can you offer me the market rate instead of the niggardly, penny-pinching insult you call a starting salary (celery) (salt cellar) (cellar door)
See the ass-bounce, quarter-bounce, gambling in the schoolyard, under the ďupĒ stairs, behind the gym, Jim. The mere things change the more they cost incrementally greater quarters dimes nickels quarters half-dollars dimes nickels pennies peonies gardenia in the garden with mum's mums hydrangeas cabernet sauvignon red like geraniums sometimes pale, faded like red marker on poster board in the store window pink white and blue (pale) patriotism, flags wrinkled by rain the reign of unthought and unthinking.
In darkness I wonder, I wander through the past, darkly like a Rolling Stone, through a glass darkly, viewing the eclipse, circles becoming crescents, fingernail parings on the ground, a monster to defeat us after death, after dinner meant, not intended, brought about by stomach acid churning like sweet creamery butter, buttressed against the invaders, barring the door, keeping it outside where the nasturtiums and bamboo can eventually overwhelm it with sheer tenacity and gorgeousness.
Anniversaries come and past, round and round and rotund, blooming, crawling, climbing, making new combinations, chimichunga cylindrical fry daddy tortilla wheat field swamp buggy Black Bart hammered tripping for weeks on end learning to play bass on some cheap violin-looking box co-signed note pencil shavings leaking into an alternate universe graphite sticks broken and infinitely more useful for not being whole, hole, do you think she really killed him? She's the consummate whore! you know, talk about typecasting, let it ride, let it ride, red, even, let it ride -- busted!
Along the water in Assault and Battery Park, battered park, slipped into the murk, dark and smelly, seagulls circling, pigeons dancing, agents for rats too shy to pick up popcorn for themselves. The cat's screaming in the basement, can't concentrate. He won't stay out of things -- this must be the one they were talking about, you, know, curiosity and all. Chest pain, bad brain, always something to keep me off track. Red is the color of the day, don't let it stay, yelling, yellow, red sticks and similar bricks, white and white and bone, cream, the dank water of the Seine under the bridge at Pont Neuf, fucking yowling cat getting on my fucking nerves!
Candle burning, flickering in the draft of central air, waxy odors over-odored some added scent, the new incense, where's the Psalter, Padre? Shake and shimmy, spread the holy smoke, the holy joke, the holy stroke, wholly broke, holey street, destroying my suspension like Bailey's Irish Cream, in a stem glass not a wine or water glass, remember the substance in chemistry sets of years past called "water glass?" What was that?
Waiting for Godot or some other old queen seems like forever and I just want to get it over with. The money's good but I suppose the aggravation balances it pretty much bananas such bank balances window valences chemical symbols periodic chart. Most people don't want to hear about other people's lives it's boring to them even if the other person is really interesting and has a lesson to offer through their action and existence what was it Ashleigh Brilliant, H. L. Menken, or Ambrose Bierce said? Maybe your purpose on Earth is just to serve as an example to others of how not to do it. Everyone has a purpose, not a porpoise, don't get me started on that butchering of the language. Once and for all, people, a dolphin is a FISH! A porpoise is a mammal. It should be called a bottle-nosed PORPOISE, ferchrissakes. Eat the fish, not the mammal. Well, maybe if the person was Artur Rimbaud, Oscar Wilde, or Marlon Brando people might express an interest, you know, after all the Biography Channel exists. Maybe people are interested in other peopleís lives as long as itís someone they arenít acquainted with, maybe the fact of knowing someone or meeting them in-the-flesh-so-to-speak is the part that stimulates the passionate disinterest.
I watch people experiencing automotive difficulty autoerotic debauchery autonymic endothermy a pickle and a pastrami sandwich on rye, pardon my butter excuse the mess, itís always like this but I donít want anyone to know two no three deep a path through righteousness to the kitchen lined with National Pornographic yellow stacks within inches of the ceiling healing professions professors of Romance Languages running all over campus nearly dying in Antarctic ice floe crevasses What was he thinking? A crisp breeze and an Hawaiian shirt shit Louise, the rentís late again bring me a potato on a stick and letís dance the fandango, Jeeze, Don Fagan looks a lot like Harvey Fierstein these days. Pink and white begonias, grilled sneeze, frilled cheese, and a strike-anywhere matchmaker, lost caves and rivers flowing under someoneís house in Pennsylvania. Look out, Ducky, here come the cops with acorns on their boots.
Friday, September 26, 2003
Although my web hosting service is paid up until next July, my domain registration expires on November 8 of this year. The temptation to chuck it all and not bother with the expense or aggravation of renewal is with me. I've invented a new word. It's called "whydoIbother?" I use it quite liberally. I haven't seen any kind of profit from this web page, nor do I get any encouragement, feedback, or prospects from it. Someone apparently likes it in St. Louis (probably John Ashcroft's residual people there). This month alone there have been over two hundred hits from a web entity in St. Louis. There are other people who visit regularly. I know who some of them are and appreciate their patronage (patronizing?). I was averaging over 11,000 hits a month. Now it's down to less than 9,000. Sure, part of that is my doing, since I don't make entries as faithfully here as I used to. Well, when you're in pain most of the time, it tends to take away from other activities. I could take pain pills (narcotics only -- I already take Celebrex for the background arthritis pain and it does quite well with that, but has little to no effect on the added pain of my leg/ankle/foot and since I have the propensity to gastric ulcers I can't take regular NSAIDS as a boost, and acetominophen doesn't do much for me), but then the mind-dulling properties of those make less the likelihood of a coherent entry here.
Another "benefit" of narcotics is their addictive nature. If I take the Narco or Darvocet or Lortabs consistently enough that I don't have pain, eventually I have to take more of them (at the peril of my liver because of the acetominophen) to get the pain-relieving effect, and subsequently I have to continue to take them even if the pain does not subside -- it's called addiction. Fortunately, for me, this is not a big deal. When I get addicted, I eventually start waking up with headaches and a yearning for the drugs. When this happens I just stop taking them altogether regardless of the pain and discomfort. Other than the slight headache, however, that's all it is -- discomfort. I'm miserable, but tolerable for a few days, usually two or three, and then things are right as rain once more, save for the original pain. I've become addicted to the pain killers recently. It' been over a week now since I've had one. I'm hoping I can manage my activity so that I don't have to have any for another week or so, in order to completely purge my system of them.
I'm trying to lose weight. So far I've dropped about 40 pounds. I've been at a plateau for a couple months, mainly because I've not been counting calories, fat grams, and grams of fiber and measuring portions. I may have to go back to that to get on the downward path again. Not being able to exercise (e.g., walk distances) has not helped much in the process. I really want to get my leg in shape and get back on the trail.
Art and writing suffers, too. Nothing substantive for a while now. The SIC writing (See above) was done in August. It's nearly October. I put out materials to work on art, but it sits there mocking me with rich color. Nothing comes. I've tried a couple things, but it all looks stiff, forced.
I saw a movie about Paul Gauguin called "Paradise Found" the other night. I stayed up past my usual bedtime in order to see it. It's not really worth watching. The director kept switching back and forth between Paris and Tahiti, and at what I thought really odd points to do so. Kieffer Sutherland was a tolerably good Gauguin, but I can think of a couple dozen other actors who would have done a better job of it. There was no mention of his time in Arles with Van Gogh or the emotions generated there. Also, Gauguin came across as a totally sympathetic figure and not the consummate egoist that he really was. There was only the slightest hint at his monumental arrogance and self-absorption. There was some indication of the tension between him and Mette, but not to the extent of what it was in real life. It did touch on his friendship with Pissarro, but didn't have much to say about his encounters with other artists. I think it would have been a much better film had the director started with Gauguin's arrival in Tahiti and developed the events of his time there a little more. I know any artist, particularly the revolutionary ones, makes a difficult subject for a two-hour film, but look at "Surviving Picasso" and "Pollock." They were both excellent films which brought out the essence of the men and left little of consequence out of the picture. This is not a film I will record and keep in my "ARTISTS COLLECTION."
Monday, September 29, 2003
I can see October from here. . .
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Ann mowed this evening. I raked leaves, trimmed herbs for the last time, cleaned up the mower. Ann pulled down the last of the tomato plants and edged and trimmed. I thinned out the nasturtium severely yesterday. We're getting the yard and garden ready for winter. I put 16 packets of rosemary in the freezer. I'm hoping it freezes and thaws well. We still have some green peppers to pluck, but I think they'll survive another few days.
The mums are starting to bloom out real nice now. The yellow ones held out all summer in anticipation of cooler weather. The yellow one at the end of the driveway has spilled out over the sidewalk. It's huge. There is only one sunflower plant left. I'll probably take it down later this week or on the weekend.
I ran into a couple of old friends I used to work with. On Sunday I saw one of the systems programmers from where I used to work. He's retired now. Today I saw a fellow I met when I was a supervisor in the state's main computer room. He and his twin brother were interns there during my tenure. They may stop by for a visit Saturday. It's good to see old friends.