"Alone Again Or"
The Damned
The Damned
1.06.2010
I don't think I've mentioned it here, but my son won a chair in the OBU Honor Band. He was miffed because it was 4th chair and he'd wanted 1st. First off, I told him, 4th out of NINE doesn't sound too bad. Plus, most likely all the players in the first three chairs practiced their asses off to pass the audition. Bryan sat down with the music maybe four or five times and still passed. He's teaching himself how to play piano, guitar and bass (quite well, I might add) so he's "got a lot of irons in the fire". And that's just his MUSICAL pursuits. When you try to learn so many instruments it's hard to master just one.
The Honor Band concert was last night, and it was quite good. I wish it were not so, but I am a very critical listener. As such I tend to notice intonation problems more than your typical listener. Intonation is, I have found, the biggest hurdle band members have to deal with. As an "honor band" the issue was not so prevelant, but nonetheless apparent. And that's not meant to be a critcism whatsoever. Both the Junior High Honor Band (in which Bryan played) and it's High School counterpart had very few issues with it. In fact, their strengths made up for it. The High School Honor Band performed a piece called "An American Elegy" which was commisioned to commemorate the victims and survivors of the Columbine shootings 10 years ago. Simply awesome. The introduction reminded me of the overture from Wagner's "Das Rheingold", with it's gradual build up of tones. These kids had a real command of the dynamics of this song, and I was surprised at how deeply I was moved, especially by the introduction.
All in all, fine performance. Left Railey Chapel (where the concert took place), drove to Taco Bell, said "fuck the diet" and consumed 2 & 1/2 5-Layer Burritos from Taco Bell. Stopped at Conoco on the way back to put gas in the car and buy some anti-freeze. Should have known the anti-freeze would be sold out. Stopped at the Dollar Store when we got home, where, amazingly, they had plenty of the stuff in stock. Got to the house, very glad to get in out of the bitter cold this wacky state is experiencing. Spent a little time on the computer, listened to some Mozart, got in bed and tried, with very little success to fall asleep. I must have got tired trying because I did eventually doze off.
The Honor Band concert was last night, and it was quite good. I wish it were not so, but I am a very critical listener. As such I tend to notice intonation problems more than your typical listener. Intonation is, I have found, the biggest hurdle band members have to deal with. As an "honor band" the issue was not so prevelant, but nonetheless apparent. And that's not meant to be a critcism whatsoever. Both the Junior High Honor Band (in which Bryan played) and it's High School counterpart had very few issues with it. In fact, their strengths made up for it. The High School Honor Band performed a piece called "An American Elegy" which was commisioned to commemorate the victims and survivors of the Columbine shootings 10 years ago. Simply awesome. The introduction reminded me of the overture from Wagner's "Das Rheingold", with it's gradual build up of tones. These kids had a real command of the dynamics of this song, and I was surprised at how deeply I was moved, especially by the introduction.
All in all, fine performance. Left Railey Chapel (where the concert took place), drove to Taco Bell, said "fuck the diet" and consumed 2 & 1/2 5-Layer Burritos from Taco Bell. Stopped at Conoco on the way back to put gas in the car and buy some anti-freeze. Should have known the anti-freeze would be sold out. Stopped at the Dollar Store when we got home, where, amazingly, they had plenty of the stuff in stock. Got to the house, very glad to get in out of the bitter cold this wacky state is experiencing. Spent a little time on the computer, listened to some Mozart, got in bed and tried, with very little success to fall asleep. I must have got tired trying because I did eventually doze off.
Haven't written much about my post-emergency health here lately. There hasn't been a whole lot to write about. Losing a lot of weight, even though I've taken several liberties with the diet I put myself on. Currently at 236, which is about 5 pounds down from this time last week. And that's with absolutely no exercise at all. I hope to start walking a couple of miles a day, but the weather of late has not permitted it. It doesn't look like it will let up any time soon, either. My doctor wants me to slim down into the 220s...that sounds to me as if it would be difficult to do, but then again I never would have thought I'd lose so much since all this began.
I am concerned now, though, about what's happening to me. There have been a couple of occasions in the last week or so where I had a bit of chest pain. I didn't think they were serious enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room, but then again, how would I know? I don't have a standard with which to measure the severity of each individual episode. Most of them seemed to be GERD related, but my medication seems to be effective in keeping me from having heartburn, so I just don't know.
Yesterday, however, was a little different. The pains lasted for longer periods of time. I thought maybe it was because my back was hurting very badly. A pain that feels like extreme soreness in the middle of the back and lower shoulders. No doubt the chest pain is caused by the soreness in the muscles in the immediate vicinity, but I worry because it seems to be centered in the immediate vicinity of the heart. As I said, they lasted longer than has been usual, but it really kind of scares me that they were recurring. The discomfort would settle down and then another 30 minutes or an hour they would return.
If it gets this way again I will probably break down and do something about it. So far, so good this morning.
I am concerned now, though, about what's happening to me. There have been a couple of occasions in the last week or so where I had a bit of chest pain. I didn't think they were serious enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room, but then again, how would I know? I don't have a standard with which to measure the severity of each individual episode. Most of them seemed to be GERD related, but my medication seems to be effective in keeping me from having heartburn, so I just don't know.
Yesterday, however, was a little different. The pains lasted for longer periods of time. I thought maybe it was because my back was hurting very badly. A pain that feels like extreme soreness in the middle of the back and lower shoulders. No doubt the chest pain is caused by the soreness in the muscles in the immediate vicinity, but I worry because it seems to be centered in the immediate vicinity of the heart. As I said, they lasted longer than has been usual, but it really kind of scares me that they were recurring. The discomfort would settle down and then another 30 minutes or an hour they would return.
If it gets this way again I will probably break down and do something about it. So far, so good this morning.
1.05.2010
A blast from my past...
HO HO THE CLOWN
A legend in Oklahoma television broadcasting, I actually had my photograph taken with him back in 1988. I was wearing a cool Joy Division t-shirt with the cover of "Closer" on it. Jeez, I wish I knew what happened to that picture.
HO HO THE CLOWN
A legend in Oklahoma television broadcasting, I actually had my photograph taken with him back in 1988. I was wearing a cool Joy Division t-shirt with the cover of "Closer" on it. Jeez, I wish I knew what happened to that picture.
I WAS ON "THE RANT" LAST NIGHT!!!!""The Rant" is a public opinion spot on the local Oklahoma news broadcast from KFOR channel 4. It's basically a forum where people can e-mail short comments about a predetermined topic. 6 or 7 of these opinions are aired just before the weather forecast. It's the creation of news anchor Kevin Ogle, son of legendary news reporting pioneer Jack Ogle. His brother Kent, a superior anchor IMO, works the morning and noon shows. He also has a brother named Kelly who is the chief anchor at a rival station, KWTV. Kelly is well known for creating his own op-ed piece called "My 2 Cents". "The Rant" is almost certainly Kevin's attempt to steal some of Kelly's thunder. The only difference is that his "Rant" is made up of audience's responses (to be fair, Kevin almost always gives equal opportunity to both sides of any particular issue). Personally I prefer the "Rant" over Kelly's 2 Cents, because, face it, there are rarely occasions when I give a flying flip about what Kelly Ogle has to say, no matter who correct he is or how eloquently he presents his point of view. "The Rant" shows both sides of the coin, and a lot of the time the participants display just how backwards a lot of us Oklahomans really are. Who knows...the fact that they included my "rant" last night could very well place me right square in the middle of that category. That's fine by me! I've wanted to be on "The Rant" for a long time, and I do believe in what I wrote about.
The topic:
Trouble between cellmates at a prison in England. One prisoner is an atheist - the other a Christian. The atheist inmate complained that the Christian prisoner is a Bible thumper who won't quit talking about God. Authorities ended up moving the Christian to another cell. A bad precedent - caving to one prisoner's complaints? Or was it the right move to keep the peace?
My wife, quite unhappy with my answer, pointed out that I had dodged the actual question of whether the move was the right thing to do under the circumstances. She takes a very common (and reasonable) view: if a person is in prison they don't deserve to have ANY rights whatsoever, by virtue of the fact that they are incarcerated and shouldn't be pandered to. I can see how that makes perfect sense insomuch as a guilty verdict and a prison sentence strips a man of many of the rights he enjoyed as a free citizen.
But I think that viewpoint only stands from the outside looking in. Prisoners DO have rights, within the system. One of those rights is Freedom of Religion. I imagine they have Freedom of Speech up to a point. One might say, "But the Christian was only exercising those freedoms...religion and speech." And they would be absolutely right. But isn't it also true that the atheist has freedom FROM religion? Why should he be subjected to incessant proselytizing? Surely people from both sides can see the foolishness of the prison authorities in housing the two together in the first place. Take it a step further and imagine cells shared by a Muslim and a Christian, or a Satanist and a Christian, a Hindu and a Christian...there's a common denominator developing here...but then again, I'm sure those kinds of pairings happen all the time with no incidents. In fact, I would bet that solid friendships are likely forged in such situations by people who can respect others' faiths and mind their own business. You have to remember that the culprit in this "Rant" situation was "a Bible Thumper", and we all know what that means. The ONLY people who should have to live in a cell with a Bible Thumper is another Bible Thumper. Otherwise it should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. It sounds like I'm mocking, but I'm NOT.
That's what the atheist convict deserves, the majority insist. I say it's not for other prisoners to mete out punishment above and beyond what the prison system is capable of doing as it's duty, even if they don't think of what they are doing as "punishment"...just as I have no doubt that the majority would never admit that a continuous, endless bombardment of "God talk" should be considered as "punishment" in the first place. This is a point to which I disagree. Just think of it this way: how would you like it if the only television station you could get in your house was the Trinity Broadcasting Network and you had no way of turning the set off or the volume down? I think your ideas about this being "punishment" might change after a few days (I realize that there are those who watch absolutely nothing but TBN anyway, and I don't mean to offend these folks...but you have to admit that when you get to that point you have crossed the line into fanaticism).
But I suppose I should tell you my "Rant" response. And then I will try to defend it. Hopefully I won't/don't come off like one of the less tolerant "Ranters" that are always good for a chuckle or two.
Where's the "Christian compassion" in driving a man insane? I say preach the gospel, shut up and let God take care of it.
Okay, so I don't address the issue straight up. But as I see it, if the Bible Thumper had respected the atheists wishes, reasonable as they undeniably were, there would BE NO ISSUE. Sure, the Bible tells followers to go out and preach to all the world. But I've always been of the opinion that to "preach" does not necessarily mean "to speak". A man preaches the gospel by the life he lives. Think about it. I'm not saying that Christians shouldn't "preach" in the accepted use of the word. But to do it that way with someone who has already rejected the message seems disrespectful, especially in light of the fact that a "true Christian lifestyle" would have been much more persuasive at that point than the blah blah blah of a self-appointed prison evangelist.
Go ahead, I say. Preach your message. Extend the invitation. But then it's time to LIVE the message you preach, which is (or should be) "Love Your Neighbor as You Love Yourself". Treat him the way you would want to be treated. I doubt very seriously if this Bible Thumper would have appreciated repeated readings from the works of Bertrand Russell courtesy of his atheist cell mate. Or a pin-up poster of Madelyn Murray O'Hair hanging on the wall. Or God's name being used in vain constantly.
And maybe he got just that. Just maybe the separation wasn't at the sole instigation of the atheist. Which brings me back to the topic of last night's "Rant". I admit I sort of skirted the issue, but I thought that the underlying reasons were a lot more thought provoking than whether or not the prison folks did the right thing in separating them. The right thing? I wouldn't venture to say. The HUMANE thing? Absolutely. It seems like a winning situation for all involved. The atheist got some peace. The Christian got a whole 'nother soul to try and convert. The prison officials avoided a potentially serious situation...
...and I FINALLY got my e-mail shown on "The Rant"! I can't seem to wipe the smile off of my face! he he
1.04.2010
Springsteen Hammersmith Odeon 1975 DVD
It goes without saying that the 1975 Hammersmith Odeon concert DVD is essential viewing for any serious Bruce Springsteen fan. It's staggering to think that not only did the man command the stage so early in his career, but that he continues, 35 years later, to do the same. He never turned into the kind of artist who rests on his laurels, going on tour every couple of years so his great-great-great grand kids can pay for college tuition. The only artist I can think of who compares is Bob Dylan and, face it, Zimmy has not been nearly as consistent in releasing top notch albums as has the Boss. The Rolling Stones can boast of more longetivity, but their shows are so huge and lucrative only because all rock and roll lovers born between the years of 1962 to the present want to say, "Oh, yeah! I've SEEN the Stones!" Never mind that their performances are sloppy and they seem to be even a bit bored with themselves. They don't love the audience like Bruce Springsteen does.A fact which was evident even as early as 1975, touring on the heels of his 3rd record, the established masterpiece "Born to Run". Even if he seems somewhat guarded it is still quite obvious that he's feeding off the vibe of the crowd. A gathering who, I might add, express their appreciation with the vigor and zeal of the newly converted. It didn't take too many years afterward for Springsteen to lower his guard and embrace his fans in a much more transparent manner, but make no mistake: that night at the Hammersmith Odeon he held every one of them in the palm of his hands and the regard was mutual.
Some have complained that the lighting in this DVD recording is too dark, insufficient. Maybe they're right up to a point. Personally, I think the spotlights playing on the deep shadow give the concert a nice ambience. Then there are those who have bitched and moaned about the "film quality". Please. It's a wonder (and a blessing) that this footage even exists at all. Besides, it's not THAT bad. It was filmed in 1975, for crying out loud, what do they expect? Blu-Ray picture quality? Surely no one, however, can complain about the sound. The DTS 5.1 Surround sound is awesome. Maybe the best 5.1 mix I've ever heard. If you close your eyes and wait until a song is over you can almost believe that you're sitting right in the middle of the crowd.
My only real complaint, and it is so trivial as to be laughable, is that STUPID HAT Springsteen wears during most of the performance! Maybe it was the equivalent of a security blanket. I guess that's all fine and good, but he reminded me of that doofus Adam Duritz (of Counting Crows), with his ridiculous thick dreadlocks...and I seem to recall Duritz gallivanting on the stage with a similar hat in some televised show I caught back when I actually liked his band (which is to say, before they started releasing shitty albums).
The musicianship is exactly what you'd expect from the E Street Band: top notch. It goes without saying that the songs, at least most of them, are just about as good as it gets. I've never cared all that much for Bruce's debut album, "Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J." but he infuses those tracks with such new life and relevence that I want to listen to it again to see what I've missed. In particular, "Lost in the Flood", which even I have to admit was probably the high point on "Greetings". This version takes it almost to the level of "Backstreets" and, gasp, even "Jungleland", both of which appear here in majestic versions. He takes, in my opinion, just a few too many liberties with the vocal part of the former, but "Jungleland" is almost perfect, especially Clarence Clemons' saxophone solo toward the end (as far as I'm concerned the Big Man is the only rock and roll saxophone player worth paying attention to...for more proof listen to his fragile, haunting solo in "Secret Garden").
Lots of songs from the second album, "The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle", the best of which is probably the extended rendition of "Kitty's Back". Pianist Roy Bittan and the late, great keyboardist Danny Federici are given ample time for solos, both of which are jaw-dropping. "Kitty's Back" has a build-up and release that makes you want to stop whatever you're doing and just start dancing. It is that effective even in it's studio version (not an easy task to achieve, I assure you), but here, in the context of a live show, it is nothing short of exuberant.
Of course there was no way he wasn't going to do "Born to Run"...35 years later it's the same, only substitute "no way he wasn't going to" to "no way he COULDN'T do". For better or worse it is his signature song. That's not exactly a bad thing when you consider that it is very likely the PERFECT rock and roll song. That's just my opinion, based on my standards, of course. But surely if you disagree you still have to at least admit that it's on the short list. Sounds really good in this set, fresh off of the printing press, as it were.
"Thunder Road" is presented here in a stripped down version. Great songs hold up to such deconstruction. The version on the overlooked "MTV Plugged" live album features Bruce and Roy Bittan all on their own in a version that I almost think is better than the original. So, obviously I like this song preformed in such a sparse manner. That's what you get with the Hammersmith Odeon version.
I know...I know. I sound like a raving Bruce Springsteen fanatic. Sometimes I feel like that's exactly what I am. But most of the time I'm fairly realistic about what he's done, what he's capable of, where his music fits into the grand scheme of things... If I seem to go overboard just a little with this DVD it's because I am so excited about getting to see such a historic performance by a man who, regardless of what anyone may think of him, is an American icon and one of our countrie's great treasures.
If I may make a confession: when the terrorists attacked the Twin Towers on 9/11 it was something so unbelievable that I just couldn't bring myself to accept the full impact. Call it denial. I've no doubt I was one of many who had that reaction. But a week or so later Bruce Springsteen sang '"My City of Ruins" on the "America: A Tribute to Heroes" broadcast... what can I say? It broke the floodgates. In three and a half minutes he showed me all that was lost and could never be regained. He broke down my resistance and then, with the song's "Rise Up" finale he offered so much hope... hope in such a time, in such a situation. Can you even imagine that? The man stood there with guitar in hand, but Bruce Springsteen got out of the way so that the message could get through. Such strength to sing this overwhelming song when I'm sure every fiber of his body longed to just cry, weep, wail. And the message? Do not forget the pain. Never let the feelings fade from memory, hard as they are to bear. But even more importantly, don't forget that hope does not die, that faith is more than just a word in a book, that when all is said and done we really ARE in this thing together. And that we WILL "rise up".
So yeah, Bruce Springsteen is my hero. One of them, at least. I won't deny it and I'm not ashamed of it. There is something working through him that speaks to me, that moves me. His Muse must know me pretty well to give him words and lyrics that I can identify with so closely... that Muse must know a LOT of people, if you get what I'm saying. And it's sort of comforting to know that so many people have so much in common with me. I was going to say, "even if it's only the man's music", but it's not just that. We can relate because of the things the he sings about, important and real, and the poetry of his writing. Lots of common denominators in there.
But where was I? Oh, yeah. The Hammersmith Odeon 1975 concert. Great show. That's about all I wanted to say about it. Great show.
1.03.2010
So, I’m sure you’re all wondering how my “quit smoking pot” New Year’s resolution is coming along. Admittedly it’s only been 3 days, but there was a time when I couldn’t make it even that long without a sack in my pocket.
It’s been fine, thank you, though I did have to toke until noon on the first in order to eradicate the quarter ounce I had received 3 or 4 days earlier. I’d been given a couple of bowls to tide me over about a week and a half ago. I could have just stopped then and there…I was more than prepared to do just that. But the deal was already in the making and the lure of a final hoorah was too much to resist.
The “charity” bowls were…I want to say “really good”, but I’d have to add that such a description only implies that the weed was incredibly potent. It brought me to the point where I was actually frightened to take another hit. I really wish I could explain the feeling/mindset…maybe that’s why I’m alternately fascinated and terrified by it. I cannot comprehend it or understand it at all. After all the years of getting high I automatically look at it as an adventure, and I suppose it still is. The only difference is that I can’t handle it like I used to. Because I’m older? I don’t think so, though that may play a role. Is it because of my bipolar and the medications I take for it? Again, I have doubts. Whatever the reason, I think it’s time I took it seriously before I go mad. And that is exactly what I fear will happen. I would go so far as to say that I believe I’ve skirted the edges of madness a few times while under the influence. Sounds really cool to put it that way…very Jim Morrison-esque. But every time I’ve “been there” it has been a mortifying experience. One that I don’t want to repeat…I mean, I’ve had times where I doubted my own perception of reality without the aid of narcotics. But I don’t have any control of when those occasions rear their ugly heads. I do know that they are magnified when brought on by chemical influence. Why do I take the chance, then?
The last bag was about the same. Unlike the usual routine, the first night was kind of “blah” and the second night the stuff kicked in pretty hard. I knew it was gonna get wild about 5 songs into the Bruce Springsteen Hammersmith Odeon 1975 DVD. I became caught up in listening for individual cheers in the audience applause. In the time between songs I would listen to the people who yelled…the whole intensity of the show itself, the idea (fascinating to me) that this show was recorded 35 years ago…ah, as you see I am stymied as to how I can convey it. It was GREAT, but at the same time I was freaked out by just how awesome it was. I had to turn it off, go into the bedroom, lie down and listen to some really challenging classical music just to occupy my brain and get it off of what had just happened.
Maybe that’s what makes it so weird. I LOVE the way it’s making me feel, and yet for some reason that very thing scares the hell out of me.
At any rate, it was pretty much the same thing until 12 o’clock on the first day of the new year/decade. I look back, even so early in the resolution, and I can’t figure out why I didn’t stop getting stoned the first time I thought I was going to die that hazy afternoon at Sam’s Club (see my previous post). It was never the same after that. Not that there weren’t some decent times between then and now (even if I CAN’T remember most of them). But the glory days were over. Marijuana has been like a traitorous lover who I’ve become so used to that I wouldn’t abandon her, even though she would like nothing more than to drag me down.
I’m sure, three months from now, I’ll start feeming again. I’ll have forgotten the power of the things that have made it so easy to consider quitting. I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now I want nothing more than to be drug free.
Until the shit is legalized, that is! J
It’s been fine, thank you, though I did have to toke until noon on the first in order to eradicate the quarter ounce I had received 3 or 4 days earlier. I’d been given a couple of bowls to tide me over about a week and a half ago. I could have just stopped then and there…I was more than prepared to do just that. But the deal was already in the making and the lure of a final hoorah was too much to resist.
The “charity” bowls were…I want to say “really good”, but I’d have to add that such a description only implies that the weed was incredibly potent. It brought me to the point where I was actually frightened to take another hit. I really wish I could explain the feeling/mindset…maybe that’s why I’m alternately fascinated and terrified by it. I cannot comprehend it or understand it at all. After all the years of getting high I automatically look at it as an adventure, and I suppose it still is. The only difference is that I can’t handle it like I used to. Because I’m older? I don’t think so, though that may play a role. Is it because of my bipolar and the medications I take for it? Again, I have doubts. Whatever the reason, I think it’s time I took it seriously before I go mad. And that is exactly what I fear will happen. I would go so far as to say that I believe I’ve skirted the edges of madness a few times while under the influence. Sounds really cool to put it that way…very Jim Morrison-esque. But every time I’ve “been there” it has been a mortifying experience. One that I don’t want to repeat…I mean, I’ve had times where I doubted my own perception of reality without the aid of narcotics. But I don’t have any control of when those occasions rear their ugly heads. I do know that they are magnified when brought on by chemical influence. Why do I take the chance, then?
The last bag was about the same. Unlike the usual routine, the first night was kind of “blah” and the second night the stuff kicked in pretty hard. I knew it was gonna get wild about 5 songs into the Bruce Springsteen Hammersmith Odeon 1975 DVD. I became caught up in listening for individual cheers in the audience applause. In the time between songs I would listen to the people who yelled…the whole intensity of the show itself, the idea (fascinating to me) that this show was recorded 35 years ago…ah, as you see I am stymied as to how I can convey it. It was GREAT, but at the same time I was freaked out by just how awesome it was. I had to turn it off, go into the bedroom, lie down and listen to some really challenging classical music just to occupy my brain and get it off of what had just happened.
Maybe that’s what makes it so weird. I LOVE the way it’s making me feel, and yet for some reason that very thing scares the hell out of me.
At any rate, it was pretty much the same thing until 12 o’clock on the first day of the new year/decade. I look back, even so early in the resolution, and I can’t figure out why I didn’t stop getting stoned the first time I thought I was going to die that hazy afternoon at Sam’s Club (see my previous post). It was never the same after that. Not that there weren’t some decent times between then and now (even if I CAN’T remember most of them). But the glory days were over. Marijuana has been like a traitorous lover who I’ve become so used to that I wouldn’t abandon her, even though she would like nothing more than to drag me down.
I’m sure, three months from now, I’ll start feeming again. I’ll have forgotten the power of the things that have made it so easy to consider quitting. I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now I want nothing more than to be drug free.
Until the shit is legalized, that is! J
1.01.2010
12.31.2009
A Rusty Knife (new poetry)
Here's some poetry I just wrote. Got it posted up in the Bipolar Confessional, where you may want to visit if you like stuff along these lines.
"A Rusty Knife"
Cool little blessed teddy bears
A million little blessed teddy bears
Come to the sundown ritual
Bring your spotless goldfish, just put him in a jar
And gather at the foot of the mountain
Where fools perish and prophets hide
Now my mind's gone blank is it sometimes wont to do
I've forgotten everything you've said not too long after you said it
And it frightens me but what else can a man do?
Price to pay, eh chap?
A trollop dropped a wall-full of bricks and made an awful divide
Betwixt the things I don't remember and the fine line which sunders in two
Knowing and not knowing
Being and not being
Thinking and not thinking
Living but not living.
Dying but not dying.
Betwixt the things I don't remember
And the things I can't forget
You seem very disappointed that I will not attempt to describe the way these episodes feel, what's going on in my mind, how I perceive "reality", it's purpose, the fleeting nature of the whole damn thing.
I am genuinely sorry for that state of affairs, but alas, what power doth mortal man hold to fuck around with the hands of time, to try to tie them behind his back. I reserve the right to keep my mouth shut and set out to do a shaker's dance. Just out behind the church, right front of the out house. Cross that field of flowers, crushing the lucky ones, and meet me, that's what it was all about, mister, you've got no idea, and furthermore, we weren't even shakers, only two kids too young to be messed up yet. So little of it survives in my memory. I can't even remember who she was. Or what she looks like, even. I only know that the cold steel of the blade she had hidden in her "Sunday Best" skirt was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my life.
It was a sharp blade. But old. Rust stuck to it and black dirty from all the blood shed carnage clinging onto the hard metal. This rendered the knife even more painful than a clean, sharp-edged sword.
Okay...give me a moment...
What was all that? I seem to have wondered off
Did you say
Something about shakers?
Or did you say quakers?
Soul Shakers and Earth Quakers
Could it actually be
Thor
Who crashes his camera
He hasn't a hammer
The flash is a freaky thing
It sticks to the back of the eyelid
It burns and it burns and it burns
Thor, is that you?
If it is...stop, please o magnificent god of thunder
cease from this mental torture you inflict
Upon one only humble
Your disregard for me saddens and discourages
I've worshiped you, Thor
I've brought burnt offerings to you
The spotless lamb, a pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
This suffering must come to an end
I'll take the rusty sword that brought me here
And slice the beast's neck
And hold it above, let it drain like a fountain
A pail for the blood
So, Thor, look down and consider your worthy servent
Mighty Thor, Manipulator of Gods
Trust me, if I thought I could
I would once more wield my dirty blade
...if I ever thought that this very blade had power to slay deity...
I would thrust it deep into Thor's guts, below the heart, so that the blade will cut sharp when I yank it up and cut in half the organ that pumped blood through his useless body.
Laughing, beaming
"A Rusty Knife"
Cool little blessed teddy bears
A million little blessed teddy bears
Come to the sundown ritual
Bring your spotless goldfish, just put him in a jar
And gather at the foot of the mountain
Where fools perish and prophets hide
Now my mind's gone blank is it sometimes wont to do
I've forgotten everything you've said not too long after you said it
And it frightens me but what else can a man do?
Price to pay, eh chap?
A trollop dropped a wall-full of bricks and made an awful divide
Betwixt the things I don't remember and the fine line which sunders in two
Knowing and not knowing
Being and not being
Thinking and not thinking
Living but not living.
Dying but not dying.
Betwixt the things I don't remember
And the things I can't forget
You seem very disappointed that I will not attempt to describe the way these episodes feel, what's going on in my mind, how I perceive "reality", it's purpose, the fleeting nature of the whole damn thing.
I am genuinely sorry for that state of affairs, but alas, what power doth mortal man hold to fuck around with the hands of time, to try to tie them behind his back. I reserve the right to keep my mouth shut and set out to do a shaker's dance. Just out behind the church, right front of the out house. Cross that field of flowers, crushing the lucky ones, and meet me, that's what it was all about, mister, you've got no idea, and furthermore, we weren't even shakers, only two kids too young to be messed up yet. So little of it survives in my memory. I can't even remember who she was. Or what she looks like, even. I only know that the cold steel of the blade she had hidden in her "Sunday Best" skirt was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my life.
It was a sharp blade. But old. Rust stuck to it and black dirty from all the blood shed carnage clinging onto the hard metal. This rendered the knife even more painful than a clean, sharp-edged sword.
Okay...give me a moment...
What was all that? I seem to have wondered off
Did you say
Something about shakers?
Or did you say quakers?
Soul Shakers and Earth Quakers
Could it actually be
Thor
Who crashes his camera
He hasn't a hammer
The flash is a freaky thing
It sticks to the back of the eyelid
It burns and it burns and it burns
Thor, is that you?
If it is...stop, please o magnificent god of thunder
cease from this mental torture you inflict
Upon one only humble
Your disregard for me saddens and discourages
I've worshiped you, Thor
I've brought burnt offerings to you
The spotless lamb, a pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
This suffering must come to an end
I'll take the rusty sword that brought me here
And slice the beast's neck
And hold it above, let it drain like a fountain
A pail for the blood
So, Thor, look down and consider your worthy servent
Mighty Thor, Manipulator of Gods
Trust me, if I thought I could
I would once more wield my dirty blade
...if I ever thought that this very blade had power to slay deity...
I would thrust it deep into Thor's guts, below the heart, so that the blade will cut sharp when I yank it up and cut in half the organ that pumped blood through his useless body.
Laughing, beaming
12.30.2009
12.27.2009
Quite some time back, on this very blog, I published a post entitled “10 Reasons I’m Glad I Stopped Smoking Pot.” I don’t know, maybe there weren’t exactly ten of them, but there were enough to where your average Joe would say, “Wow, it’s a good thing you finally quit after all these years.”
Of course, he would have been right. Each of the reasons were good enough to make any sane doper think twice before firing it up again.
But I have a confession I’d like to make.
I never stopped smoking weed.
I didn’t even TRY all that hard.
I was doing the whole “Christianity thing” at the time and I felt like I SHOULD stop. I TRIED. But the lure of a good trip was too much for this old man to resist. After all, I had been a stoner for almost 20 years---which I realize is not all that long for a 47 year old man. I mean, I didn’t start until I was thirty years old, and most smokers I know began toking it up by the time they were in their teens.
So I started doing it again. Sometimes I would try to justify it and reconcile it with my “faith”. Other times I just resigned myself to “doing it even though I know it’s wrong”, figuring I’d be forgiven anyway. Kind of like a lot of Christians do with tobacco. And then there were times when I’d just say “fuck it, I like it, and I’m gonna do it.”
As time went by I grew further and further away from Christianity as a religion. Consequently I felt less guilt over my penchant for getting good and stoned.
But, in my defense to those who would judge me for smoking the demon reefer, my consumption did drop significantly. I went from being an EVERYDAY pothead to a pothead who only bought a sack every two or three weeks. I’d blaze through a quarter in three of four days and then I wouldn’t even want to THINK about doing it again. A few times I even thought about quitting. I’d say to myself, “If I could only focus on the really shitty things that come along with the overall experience I would be better able to lay it down for good.” Which, IMO, is very sound advice.
It would seem, however, that when the crappy aspects are put on the scales with everything I like about pot, they tip to the side of the good stuff every single time.
So you get the picture.
I was just fine with that. I admit I lied about it a few times when asked if I was still smoking pot. I liked to think in terms of relativity---after all, there is quite a gulf to bridge between the fortnightly dabble and the “wake and bake”. I might as well say I didn’t smoke at all.
I had no intentions of quitting---at least that was the case until a few months back.
It must be noted that it had been SEVERAL years since I thought my tolerance level would EVER be brought down to the point where I truly enjoyed marijuana like I did, say, 5 or 6 years ago. That, combined with the mood stabilizing elements of the medication I take, had me convinced that the “good old days: of getting REALLY fucked up were long gone history. Ha ha! Even now it seems absurd to think that a person would be able to maintain a good weed experience when the THC has to battle mood stabilizers that are already entrenched in the blood. Still, when you only smoke every two weeks the down time weakens the tolerance level so you can hope for at least one good night under the influence. Maybe two, if the dope is potent enough. Otherwise the rest of the baggie is wasted, and I’m not the kind who can just stash away any left-overs for the next time I’m ready. If I’ve got it, I WILL smoke it. That has been my policy and a rule that I have never been able to break.
Anyway, on the afore mentioned occasion I was with some guys---two good friends I’d known for a long time, and one guy who I had never met previously, but who seemed like a decent feller. We were to have a cook-out that evening and were on the way to Sam’s Club to buy some steaks when JF whipped out some bud and a pipe. JF has been know to sell a little bit now and then, but I’ve rarely bought from him because he never has anything but the real high dollar, ass-kickin’ weed. He’s good about sharing, though.
On this particular occasion I had no idea of just HOW ass-kickin’ his stuff was. I should have only taken one toke. Hell, a little half-sized toke would have served me well. It would have been more than enough. But the ol’ “smoke it if you got it” mentality kicked in. So I ripped off two monster hits.
If I had only known…
We walked into that huge store/warehouse and the next thing you know I’m giggling like a fool. I looked over to my companion, the one I didn’t know, and I could tell, by the expression on his face and in his eyes, that he was “stoned to the bone”. He saw me looking at him and at that moment a bond of friendship was forged.
I was in awe at the sheer immensity of Sam’s Club, with it’s countless crates of goods stacked almost to the ceiling. I sauntered over to the meat section where my other friends were picking out steaks for the upcoming BBQ. I can’t explain it, but I got the strangest, creepiest feeling looking at all the different kinds of meat. I wondered how many different animals made up the selection. I noticed the colors, the shapes, the sizes, everything about them. For some reason it really disturbed me, so I left that department and walked down one of the frozen food aisles.
I don’t know what triggered it, but all of a sudden I became convinced that I was going to die right then and there. All I could think of was that I was so far away from my wife and son. It saddened me to think of how they would take the news of my passing. The feeling was so strong that I feared I would crumble to my knees, that my friends would have to take me to the hospital or something. I wondered how they would react to the situation.
In the back of my mind, though, through all of this, I kept telling myself, “Calm down, relax. You’re just really high and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be this intoxicated. Just ride it out. Remember, it’s supposed to be fun. Ride it out, you’ve been here before and done this many, many times---it will all turn out just fine.”
Once I saw the logic in this thinking I was able to chill out and the premonition of dying passed. I settled into a state of mind where I was inordinately interested in the other people shopping in the store. I’d take note of the food items they were putting in their carts. I’d watch them rolling from aisle to aisle and I realized that there was one common denominator among them all: they were ALIVE, living, and the engine of their existence was SPIRIT. ONE spirit. And so I felt a kinship with them because of this. It was simply fascinating to watch them, and that’s when I knew the hurdle had been crossed and I was in the initial stages of what promised to be a very good marijuana experience. (I realize that some or this may seem a bit strange, but so it goes in the wild and wonderful world of cannabis)
The night eventually turned out to be a very good one. The best moments occurred when I lay down at the end of the night, on the verge of passing out, and got lost in auditory hallucinations that reminded me of why I became a stoner in the first place.
Still, that whole “dying” thing had me thinking about quitting. Even though the rest of the night was great, you have to understand just how unnerving it was to be certain of my imminent demise.
Not long afterwards I was able to purchase another sack of the really good stuff. The expensive kind. Sure enough I had another experience in which I thought I was gonna die. It was like, I thought, “Everybody dies sometime and none of them know exactly when it is going to happen…How do I know this isn’t my time? Within the next few seconds, even?” And the paranoia kicked in, magnifying and multiplying the fear. I had to really try hard to occupy my mind with something else so I wouldn’t think about it. That wasn’t not easy, because most everything else was all out of whack, too.
I made it through that episode without losing my mind. Maybe it was the old cartoons I watched, with the sound turned down, that saved me? Or perhaps I broke through to a safe place by watching “Koyaanisqatsi”. Those are pretty much the only memories I have of that night, other than doing the “feel-like-I’m-fixin’-to-die rag”.
A couple of months went by after that without anything bad happening. Probably because the pot I was getting did not have the same incredible potency as the shit that messed with my head.
But the last few times I’ve smoked were incredibly intense experiences. In many ways even more frightening than the premonitions of death I had. I don’t really want to go into detail in describing those occasions or WHY they were more unnerving than those in the past. Suffice to say that I finally came to the realization that it would be best if I made a New Year’s resolution for the turn of the decade to get serious about quitting. I figure it shouldn’t be all that hard if I just call to mind the memory of how terrifying the last couple of trips were. If I could do that I should have no trouble leaving it behind.
I say that---I know it’s true---I feel like I can do it---and yet I still plan on buying and toking up one more quarter ounce before the year is over. Hasn’t come through as quickly as it usually does, so the weed I’d hoped to consume on Christmas day---which was supposed to be my last---still has not arrived. I don’t have any reason to believe that it WON’T come through, but since the order has already been placed I have no intention of cancelling it. If I get it in the next couple of days I will have it smoked up before New Year’s Day and can start afresh on the first of the year. BUT, if it doesn’t arrive in time I will just have to say, “Oh, well. This is my last satchel”, and enjoy it even if it stretches into the early days of the next decade. Then I’ll stop buying. Then I’ll stop smoking (the first resolution will be a lot easier than the second, but we’ll see. I won’t beat myself up for fudging on the second every now and again).
I know. I know. Why don’t I just nip it in the bud (pardon the pun) right now and don’t mess around with that last bag? Especially knowing what it’s capable of doing---the negatives, I mean, as opposed to the positive effects (which, regardless, always seem to overshadow the bad shit).
I can’t answer that. I imagine it’s like how a tobacco user wants to have “that last cigarette”.
So, if you’re reading this, whether you know me in person or not, won’t you please send out some good thoughts and positive vibrations of encouragement? I don’t think I’ll need them, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.
To anyone who I have deceived, insomuch as not admitting that I have smoked pot during the last few years (and that list, I assure you, is a small one), I’m sorry. I never want to “lie”. If I have done so it was because I didn’t want people I care about to think lowly of me. But I suppose that, in the long run and in most cases, I should not care what anyone thinks anyway. It’s my life, isn’t that what they say?
I’m not ragging on weed in general. Far from it. I’ve had a lot of good experiences while under the influence. I’ve learned a lot about myself and have been shown a whole different way of looking at things that I might never have known had I not tried marijuana. I firmly believe that it should be legalized. It’s not for everyone and not everyone should use it. But for those who enjoy it, can handle it without becoming slackers, it should be readily available.
My reasons for quitting have nothing to do with it’s being legal. I don’t know how strong my resolution would be, however, if it WERE legalized. My issues with it don’t have much to do anymore with how easy or hard it is to procure. But, that said, the temptation could well break me down. Especially in light of how I’ve championed legalization for the last 20 years. You know, “IT’S FINALLY LEGAL!!! This is what I’ve waited for! Let’s go to 7-11 and buy a pack of hoglegs!”
I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that any time soon, though. Do you?
So…My New Year’s resolution is…
Of course, he would have been right. Each of the reasons were good enough to make any sane doper think twice before firing it up again.
But I have a confession I’d like to make.
I never stopped smoking weed.
I didn’t even TRY all that hard.
I was doing the whole “Christianity thing” at the time and I felt like I SHOULD stop. I TRIED. But the lure of a good trip was too much for this old man to resist. After all, I had been a stoner for almost 20 years---which I realize is not all that long for a 47 year old man. I mean, I didn’t start until I was thirty years old, and most smokers I know began toking it up by the time they were in their teens.
So I started doing it again. Sometimes I would try to justify it and reconcile it with my “faith”. Other times I just resigned myself to “doing it even though I know it’s wrong”, figuring I’d be forgiven anyway. Kind of like a lot of Christians do with tobacco. And then there were times when I’d just say “fuck it, I like it, and I’m gonna do it.”
As time went by I grew further and further away from Christianity as a religion. Consequently I felt less guilt over my penchant for getting good and stoned.
But, in my defense to those who would judge me for smoking the demon reefer, my consumption did drop significantly. I went from being an EVERYDAY pothead to a pothead who only bought a sack every two or three weeks. I’d blaze through a quarter in three of four days and then I wouldn’t even want to THINK about doing it again. A few times I even thought about quitting. I’d say to myself, “If I could only focus on the really shitty things that come along with the overall experience I would be better able to lay it down for good.” Which, IMO, is very sound advice.
It would seem, however, that when the crappy aspects are put on the scales with everything I like about pot, they tip to the side of the good stuff every single time.
So you get the picture.
I was just fine with that. I admit I lied about it a few times when asked if I was still smoking pot. I liked to think in terms of relativity---after all, there is quite a gulf to bridge between the fortnightly dabble and the “wake and bake”. I might as well say I didn’t smoke at all.
I had no intentions of quitting---at least that was the case until a few months back.
It must be noted that it had been SEVERAL years since I thought my tolerance level would EVER be brought down to the point where I truly enjoyed marijuana like I did, say, 5 or 6 years ago. That, combined with the mood stabilizing elements of the medication I take, had me convinced that the “good old days: of getting REALLY fucked up were long gone history. Ha ha! Even now it seems absurd to think that a person would be able to maintain a good weed experience when the THC has to battle mood stabilizers that are already entrenched in the blood. Still, when you only smoke every two weeks the down time weakens the tolerance level so you can hope for at least one good night under the influence. Maybe two, if the dope is potent enough. Otherwise the rest of the baggie is wasted, and I’m not the kind who can just stash away any left-overs for the next time I’m ready. If I’ve got it, I WILL smoke it. That has been my policy and a rule that I have never been able to break.
Anyway, on the afore mentioned occasion I was with some guys---two good friends I’d known for a long time, and one guy who I had never met previously, but who seemed like a decent feller. We were to have a cook-out that evening and were on the way to Sam’s Club to buy some steaks when JF whipped out some bud and a pipe. JF has been know to sell a little bit now and then, but I’ve rarely bought from him because he never has anything but the real high dollar, ass-kickin’ weed. He’s good about sharing, though.
On this particular occasion I had no idea of just HOW ass-kickin’ his stuff was. I should have only taken one toke. Hell, a little half-sized toke would have served me well. It would have been more than enough. But the ol’ “smoke it if you got it” mentality kicked in. So I ripped off two monster hits.
If I had only known…
We walked into that huge store/warehouse and the next thing you know I’m giggling like a fool. I looked over to my companion, the one I didn’t know, and I could tell, by the expression on his face and in his eyes, that he was “stoned to the bone”. He saw me looking at him and at that moment a bond of friendship was forged.
I was in awe at the sheer immensity of Sam’s Club, with it’s countless crates of goods stacked almost to the ceiling. I sauntered over to the meat section where my other friends were picking out steaks for the upcoming BBQ. I can’t explain it, but I got the strangest, creepiest feeling looking at all the different kinds of meat. I wondered how many different animals made up the selection. I noticed the colors, the shapes, the sizes, everything about them. For some reason it really disturbed me, so I left that department and walked down one of the frozen food aisles.
I don’t know what triggered it, but all of a sudden I became convinced that I was going to die right then and there. All I could think of was that I was so far away from my wife and son. It saddened me to think of how they would take the news of my passing. The feeling was so strong that I feared I would crumble to my knees, that my friends would have to take me to the hospital or something. I wondered how they would react to the situation.
In the back of my mind, though, through all of this, I kept telling myself, “Calm down, relax. You’re just really high and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be this intoxicated. Just ride it out. Remember, it’s supposed to be fun. Ride it out, you’ve been here before and done this many, many times---it will all turn out just fine.”
Once I saw the logic in this thinking I was able to chill out and the premonition of dying passed. I settled into a state of mind where I was inordinately interested in the other people shopping in the store. I’d take note of the food items they were putting in their carts. I’d watch them rolling from aisle to aisle and I realized that there was one common denominator among them all: they were ALIVE, living, and the engine of their existence was SPIRIT. ONE spirit. And so I felt a kinship with them because of this. It was simply fascinating to watch them, and that’s when I knew the hurdle had been crossed and I was in the initial stages of what promised to be a very good marijuana experience. (I realize that some or this may seem a bit strange, but so it goes in the wild and wonderful world of cannabis)
The night eventually turned out to be a very good one. The best moments occurred when I lay down at the end of the night, on the verge of passing out, and got lost in auditory hallucinations that reminded me of why I became a stoner in the first place.
Still, that whole “dying” thing had me thinking about quitting. Even though the rest of the night was great, you have to understand just how unnerving it was to be certain of my imminent demise.
Not long afterwards I was able to purchase another sack of the really good stuff. The expensive kind. Sure enough I had another experience in which I thought I was gonna die. It was like, I thought, “Everybody dies sometime and none of them know exactly when it is going to happen…How do I know this isn’t my time? Within the next few seconds, even?” And the paranoia kicked in, magnifying and multiplying the fear. I had to really try hard to occupy my mind with something else so I wouldn’t think about it. That wasn’t not easy, because most everything else was all out of whack, too.
I made it through that episode without losing my mind. Maybe it was the old cartoons I watched, with the sound turned down, that saved me? Or perhaps I broke through to a safe place by watching “Koyaanisqatsi”. Those are pretty much the only memories I have of that night, other than doing the “feel-like-I’m-fixin’-to-die rag”.
A couple of months went by after that without anything bad happening. Probably because the pot I was getting did not have the same incredible potency as the shit that messed with my head.
But the last few times I’ve smoked were incredibly intense experiences. In many ways even more frightening than the premonitions of death I had. I don’t really want to go into detail in describing those occasions or WHY they were more unnerving than those in the past. Suffice to say that I finally came to the realization that it would be best if I made a New Year’s resolution for the turn of the decade to get serious about quitting. I figure it shouldn’t be all that hard if I just call to mind the memory of how terrifying the last couple of trips were. If I could do that I should have no trouble leaving it behind.
I say that---I know it’s true---I feel like I can do it---and yet I still plan on buying and toking up one more quarter ounce before the year is over. Hasn’t come through as quickly as it usually does, so the weed I’d hoped to consume on Christmas day---which was supposed to be my last---still has not arrived. I don’t have any reason to believe that it WON’T come through, but since the order has already been placed I have no intention of cancelling it. If I get it in the next couple of days I will have it smoked up before New Year’s Day and can start afresh on the first of the year. BUT, if it doesn’t arrive in time I will just have to say, “Oh, well. This is my last satchel”, and enjoy it even if it stretches into the early days of the next decade. Then I’ll stop buying. Then I’ll stop smoking (the first resolution will be a lot easier than the second, but we’ll see. I won’t beat myself up for fudging on the second every now and again).
I know. I know. Why don’t I just nip it in the bud (pardon the pun) right now and don’t mess around with that last bag? Especially knowing what it’s capable of doing---the negatives, I mean, as opposed to the positive effects (which, regardless, always seem to overshadow the bad shit).
I can’t answer that. I imagine it’s like how a tobacco user wants to have “that last cigarette”.
So, if you’re reading this, whether you know me in person or not, won’t you please send out some good thoughts and positive vibrations of encouragement? I don’t think I’ll need them, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.
To anyone who I have deceived, insomuch as not admitting that I have smoked pot during the last few years (and that list, I assure you, is a small one), I’m sorry. I never want to “lie”. If I have done so it was because I didn’t want people I care about to think lowly of me. But I suppose that, in the long run and in most cases, I should not care what anyone thinks anyway. It’s my life, isn’t that what they say?
I’m not ragging on weed in general. Far from it. I’ve had a lot of good experiences while under the influence. I’ve learned a lot about myself and have been shown a whole different way of looking at things that I might never have known had I not tried marijuana. I firmly believe that it should be legalized. It’s not for everyone and not everyone should use it. But for those who enjoy it, can handle it without becoming slackers, it should be readily available.
My reasons for quitting have nothing to do with it’s being legal. I don’t know how strong my resolution would be, however, if it WERE legalized. My issues with it don’t have much to do anymore with how easy or hard it is to procure. But, that said, the temptation could well break me down. Especially in light of how I’ve championed legalization for the last 20 years. You know, “IT’S FINALLY LEGAL!!! This is what I’ve waited for! Let’s go to 7-11 and buy a pack of hoglegs!”
I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that any time soon, though. Do you?
So…My New Year’s resolution is…
12.26.2009
12.24.2009
12.23.2009
12.22.2009
12.19.2009
My son had this posted on his blog...
I haven't laughed so hard in ages.
By the way, he is perhaps the biggest Beatles fan in town. At this very moment he is playing "Ob-La-Do Ob-La-Da" on his piano. It's one of at least 10 Beatles songs he knows how to play. Suffice to say that I am proud of him...and that the brainwashing techniques I used on him when he was but a wee infant were successful.
I haven't laughed so hard in ages.
By the way, he is perhaps the biggest Beatles fan in town. At this very moment he is playing "Ob-La-Do Ob-La-Da" on his piano. It's one of at least 10 Beatles songs he knows how to play. Suffice to say that I am proud of him...and that the brainwashing techniques I used on him when he was but a wee infant were successful.
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