I Promise to Commit No Acts of Violence…


or: “The Way I Grow Up”

Since the last post was from January, I don’t think that anyone will mind at all that I am posting out of turn.  I doubt, also, that anyone reads this blog anymore, if ever they did.

The last two months are a little hazy.  I lost two people very dear to me.  It is funny to me to say TWO people dear to me, although I really do mean it to each of them in their own way.

Jenni and I split.  It was ugly.  We were both right to be angry, we both fucked up pretty bad.  Some of her things are still here waiting to be moved out.  It makes it harder, just because I know it will all be gone soon.  I pretty much know what is hers and I am trying to get the table outside cleaned off so that when she comes, she won’t have to be here that much longer.  I told her I didn’t want to be here when she got the rest of it; it’s hard for both of us, but mostly I’m thinking about me.  I don’t want to see her.  I get too angry and I’m trying to lose that part of myself.

I have been using my time not working to do a lot of soul searching.  I am broke.  I’m using my brother’s computer.  A lot of my time is spent gardening, hiking, cooking, playing with my dog, and sometimes just sitting in the sun, closing my eyes, and thinking.  A lot of thinking.

When my dad died everything changed for me.  It has just become embedded in every thought I have.  It makes me sad often, and every once in a while i break down and sob uncontrollably.  I have avoided doing it in front of other people so far; it’s rather unbecoming.  It has made my mood a little more erratic, but it could have also to do with everything else that is going on.  Little by little I am losing my mind, but each instance convinces me that little by little I am just becoming the person I was always meant to be.


“This One’s For My Brother…”

~The Devil Makes Three

or: “The WABAC Machine”

Some people believe that only the things that are imagined or conceived can truly exist.  Modern philosophy will decidedly state that a tree fallen without witness to bear does, in fact, make no sound at all.  And why should it?  Save the curtain-call for the populated theater.  This would, however, equally mean that such things do not exist at all prior to their (most likely) abrupt cogitation.  Imagine the powerlessness of it.  Where does thought come from? What dictates what you will think?  What is the driving force of consideration?  The problem with “I think, therefore I am” is that that particular thought never occurred before.  One thinks such things because the thoughts simply come to them.  How do I know I exist? Oh, obviously since that thought came to me, I must.  Without knowing where the thought came from, the answer is quite meaningless.

The question “why can’t i get this song out of my head?” seems just as important to answer as “how do i know i exist?”  Why do I have to listen to “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” play through my head instead of “All along the Watchtower”??  Why do the random firing of my synapses find the patter that causes this to happen to fall into for a short period of time?  Because I can’t help it?  Then what, if anything, can I help?

Unfortunately, all of this questioning, and the answers, inevitably lead to a set of giant wrought iron doors behind which the omni-puppeteering force that makes me not believe in it sits.  It leads to a crystal ball where Zephora the Seer can look into the future this force has created for me.  Or, at least, the one it lets me believe I chose for myself.  It leads to us walking around with hourglasses in our hearts.  It seems to me (a phrase i both love and hate) that from thought follows action.  Or inaction, as the situation may dictate.  And from the combination of the two, existence is derived.

There is nothing but static.  Nothing but everything.  And it is only a byproduct of its own being from nothing.  Not Deus ex machina, but simply Machina.  A self-sustaining anti-progressive, anti-regressive, anti-existing, nothing.  This is singularity.  This is the beginning, the end.  This is.

Unfortunately, all of this leads to nothingness.  No actions, no consequences.  No gravity, earth or oxygen.  We are the result of dormancy.

Ama, et fac quod vis.

Crowned Tails and Swimming Dogs

or : “Fool me twice…”

Part 2:

Somehow my empathetic nature lead me to not only save my sweet lady-betta but, along with the help of Jenni, save several other sad and lonely fishes of all sorts.  Including, ironically, Günter.  It happened so quickly that i am still puzzled over the whole thing.  We made sure that all of the fish were compatable: Mollies, Tertras, Chichlids… it was a shoo-in for a “helping hands” “diversity exists in the ocean – and in our hearts” poster.  All was supposed to go well…  Until Günter got made a bitch of.

Aparently not all dalmations have four legs.  Pongo, the dalmation molly, had set his sights on alpha.  And there was no backing down.  twenty minutes later my fish tank had turned into an episode of “As the World Turns”.  Stella, the female betta was getting fed up with Günter’s unrelenting abuse.  Pongo, unsure about his feelings about the bi-racial love he had developed for her in a short 28 seconds felt compelled to protect and defend her, while still being weary of her free spirit.  Huey, Duey, and Louie , the three neon tetras, all crowded around a glow in the dark rubber plant.  While Liley, their awkward asian step-sister floated close, but not too close listening to them talk about her over their shoulders.  All the while, Uncle Tom, the token minority kept mostly to himself.  No one went near him, except by accident.  [Additional commentary cencored]

finally it came down to it.  Pongo literally had Günter pinned down in a corner nipping at his dorsal anytime he attempted to break away.  The scene from Cool Hand Luke – where Dragline and luke have the boxing match and Drag line beats the living crap out of Luke but he keeps getting up anyway – was imminent.  Except Günter, being Luke, would get up to show that he was tough and was some how the hero, and Pongo would have eaten his eyeball.  Movie lessons are not true lessons – this is real life – fish eat fish.  I had come to the conclusion that Günter was getting his just desserts.  Hard but honest.  Big fish in a little pond.  Bitch in the tank.

He now resides in the plastic bowl from which he came.  Sad and lonely.  Jenni gave me a bowl that she is not currently using to set him in permanently.  He seems to me the type that is happier in his bittersweet lonliness.  He reminds Jenni of me.

Apologies for the second post in two days.  I don’t see that being a blog-hog goes against all that tyhe rum creeters stand for… but i may be wrong.  I figured that after reading the last post, you would be so enthralled in their story, you wouldn’t be able to wait for an update.  So there it is.  Tragedy, loss, heartbreak, true love that can never be, and a healthy dose of racism to even things out.  Pics to follow.

UPDATE:  Apart from Huey, Duey and Louie, there existed in my tank a fourth neon tetra.  He went without a name for a good 24 hours.  Unfortunately, in this cruel society, without a name, you are nothing.  And so, true to form, he parished during the night.  I awoke to find him floating at the surface, blank stare in his eyes, heart missing from his chest.

UPDATE #2:  Unable to bear the loss of whats-his-face, Louie decided to take his own life today sometime between the hours of 8AM and… 9PM…

Home, Sweet, Huh?

Or: ” ‘I cursed myself at being surprised’ ” – Death Cab for Cutie

I look forward to my post every week.  I have even sat down to write it out.  I have started and then trailed off.  I have stared at the screen, the keyboard, waiting for either or both to tell me what to write.  Mostly I just feel like an intruder at this point.  Peeking my head into a balloon, popping it from the inside out.

I bought a set of fish.  Two crowntail bettas.  One male, light tan with blue tips on his fins and mane (?).  The female is half his size.  They do not grow as big, you know.  She is a rich burgundy and purple.  They shared a one gallon tank for a little over twenty-four hours before I had to take her out.  When I got home from work she was cowering in the back bottom corner of the tank; right where she was when I left this morning.  I dropped in a few pellets of food to see if that would encourage her to stick up fpr herself.  She actually moved… she swam out and grabbed one.  The male saw this and immediately puffed out and chased her around the glow-in-the-dark rubber plant Jenni had added to the tank.  Once she was settled back in her “propper” place, according to him, he circled over her a few times, then took back to full reign over the black and scattered flourescent pebbles that act as ground cover.  She looked terrified.  Bettas are aparently very smart fish.  They recognize people.  You can teach them tricks.  And they like their own space…

I took her out and set her in the plastic bowl that she had come in.  This just wont do.  Tomorrow I am going to go back to PetCo to get her her own tank.  No creature should have to live in fear.  She has eaten since.  She swims around her little bowl, more confined and less decorated, but, im sure, feeling the relief of freedom nonetheless.  I set her plastic bowl on my desk next to the tank.  The male Betta could see her through the glass and began pounding his nose at it to get to her.  Poor kid.  I think I may name the male Günter.  I haven’t decided for sure yet.  As for the female, I’m still in the dark with ideas.  Suggestions welcome.