Saturday, May 25, 2002
Entredeux
Being between -- between two places, two worlds, two people, two states of consciousness, two hearts, two minds. Betweentwo. Betweentwo.
As Jeneane says Helene Cixous says:
Human beings are equipped for daily life, with its rites, with its closure, its commodities, its furniture. When an event arrives which evicts us from ourselves, we do not know how to 'live.' But we must. Thus, we are launched into a space-time whose coordinates are all different from those we have always been accustomed to.
Aha! Aha! Ahas happen because of entredeux journeys.
Rituals are meant to be catalysts for certain kinds of entredeux – to evict us, launch us – force us to alter our perceptions, perspectives, permissions. To force Ahas.
Soon, soon.
I am surprised that no one has emailed me and said, What are you weird? You don’t really believe that magic ritual stuff do you? Well, almost no one. Frank Paynter asked me. He asked me some other questions, too, and I wound up writing “The Story of My Life in 5 E-mails.” If he shares any of that on his blog, you will know if I believe in magic.
Meanwhile, I will share with you one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite magical novelists, Alice Hoffman. It’s from Turtle Moon.
Every May, when the sea turtles begin their migration across West Main Street, mistaking the glow of streetlights for the moon, people go a little bit crazy. At least one teenage boy comes close to slamming his car right into the gumbo-limbo tree that grows beside the Burger King. Girls run away from home, babies cry all night, ficus hedges explode into flame, and during one particularly awful May, half a dozen rattlesnakes set themselves up in the phone booth outside the 7-Eleven and refused to budge until June.
Magic is a way to view the world.
In another hour, I will leave and go outside, where three fir trees form a perfect triangle, where the roof of a strip of garages blocks the view of those trees from the windows of my elderly frightened neighbors, who, no doubt will call the cops if they see the flicker of candlelight, if they notice the subtle whirl of shadow and sage smoke.
The clouds obscure the gleam of the full moon, but I know where it is. The same moon that nestles above the cloud cover here in upstate NY is the same moon that watches over Boulder. The moon is entredeux.
Comments
Being between -- between two places, two worlds, two people, two states of consciousness, two hearts, two minds. Betweentwo. Betweentwo.
As Jeneane says Helene Cixous says:
Human beings are equipped for daily life, with its rites, with its closure, its commodities, its furniture. When an event arrives which evicts us from ourselves, we do not know how to 'live.' But we must. Thus, we are launched into a space-time whose coordinates are all different from those we have always been accustomed to.
Aha! Aha! Ahas happen because of entredeux journeys.
Rituals are meant to be catalysts for certain kinds of entredeux – to evict us, launch us – force us to alter our perceptions, perspectives, permissions. To force Ahas.
Soon, soon.
I am surprised that no one has emailed me and said, What are you weird? You don’t really believe that magic ritual stuff do you? Well, almost no one. Frank Paynter asked me. He asked me some other questions, too, and I wound up writing “The Story of My Life in 5 E-mails.” If he shares any of that on his blog, you will know if I believe in magic.
Meanwhile, I will share with you one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite magical novelists, Alice Hoffman. It’s from Turtle Moon.
Every May, when the sea turtles begin their migration across West Main Street, mistaking the glow of streetlights for the moon, people go a little bit crazy. At least one teenage boy comes close to slamming his car right into the gumbo-limbo tree that grows beside the Burger King. Girls run away from home, babies cry all night, ficus hedges explode into flame, and during one particularly awful May, half a dozen rattlesnakes set themselves up in the phone booth outside the 7-Eleven and refused to budge until June.
Magic is a way to view the world.
In another hour, I will leave and go outside, where three fir trees form a perfect triangle, where the roof of a strip of garages blocks the view of those trees from the windows of my elderly frightened neighbors, who, no doubt will call the cops if they see the flicker of candlelight, if they notice the subtle whirl of shadow and sage smoke.
The clouds obscure the gleam of the full moon, but I know where it is. The same moon that nestles above the cloud cover here in upstate NY is the same moon that watches over Boulder. The moon is entredeux.
Comments
It’s the thinking that counts
Periodically, over at AKMA and Himmer and Sanders, and often spilling over to other fiefdoms in Blogaria, are meandering meaningful conversations about religion, afterlife, and all of the associated dogmas, beliefs, wishes, and hopes.
Again, b!X inadvertently reassures me that, somewhere along the line, I miraculously managed not to damage his soul. In his “In Heaven, Everything is Fine” post, he speculates on what if there were a Heaven in which everyone gets to spend eternity. In this thought experiment, he says:
It presents us with a profound choice: To live our lives however selfishly or destructively as we desire, since there will be no repercussions. Or to derive from this complete separation of worlds a deep sense of our own individual and collective power.
We and we alone would be responsible for making the world. We and we alone get to decide just what sort of world we wish to have.
I do believe that if b!X and Marek J. got together to join politically active forces, the universe definitely would bend a little in the right direction.
Now, whether it bends tonight when I conduct my Ritual for RageBoy is yet to be seen.
The crows already gathered in force at exactly 3 p.m. to begin cawing down the moon. Their insistent chant filled the circle of trees at the far end of the new park behind my building. It has begun, I thought, as I sat beside my re-planted garden, worshiping the drifting sun, offering the threads of my mind to Apollo, begging the beneficence of Pan with the new proliferation of basil bowing to his wanton will.
I hope it doesn’t rain before midnight.
I am thinking that, perhaps, for the Summer Solstice, when I will be on the coast of Maine, I will create a ritual for b!X – another Scorpio struggling to find a loving place in this world. Sounds about right to me.
Comments
Periodically, over at AKMA and Himmer and Sanders, and often spilling over to other fiefdoms in Blogaria, are meandering meaningful conversations about religion, afterlife, and all of the associated dogmas, beliefs, wishes, and hopes.
Again, b!X inadvertently reassures me that, somewhere along the line, I miraculously managed not to damage his soul. In his “In Heaven, Everything is Fine” post, he speculates on what if there were a Heaven in which everyone gets to spend eternity. In this thought experiment, he says:
It presents us with a profound choice: To live our lives however selfishly or destructively as we desire, since there will be no repercussions. Or to derive from this complete separation of worlds a deep sense of our own individual and collective power.
We and we alone would be responsible for making the world. We and we alone get to decide just what sort of world we wish to have.
I do believe that if b!X and Marek J. got together to join politically active forces, the universe definitely would bend a little in the right direction.
Now, whether it bends tonight when I conduct my Ritual for RageBoy is yet to be seen.
The crows already gathered in force at exactly 3 p.m. to begin cawing down the moon. Their insistent chant filled the circle of trees at the far end of the new park behind my building. It has begun, I thought, as I sat beside my re-planted garden, worshiping the drifting sun, offering the threads of my mind to Apollo, begging the beneficence of Pan with the new proliferation of basil bowing to his wanton will.
I hope it doesn’t rain before midnight.
I am thinking that, perhaps, for the Summer Solstice, when I will be on the coast of Maine, I will create a ritual for b!X – another Scorpio struggling to find a loving place in this world. Sounds about right to me.
Comments
Friday, May 24, 2002
I’m not kidding, really.
I’m ready for the full moon – ritual objects representative of roots and wings: a feather that appeared before me on a path in the woods, to which I attached a tail made of fabric strips imprinted with RB’s words; a stick of wood inscribed with ancient symbols, wrapped in a double helix of golden glass, three rose quartz circles and various “milogras.” Abalone inserted into the tip. Don’t believe me? Here they are:
Selene, Diana, Hecate. Pan, Cernnunos.
Eagle, Bear, Raven, Buffalo.
Lilith, Lamia, Innana.
We are ready to rock and roll.
Comments
I’m ready for the full moon – ritual objects representative of roots and wings: a feather that appeared before me on a path in the woods, to which I attached a tail made of fabric strips imprinted with RB’s words; a stick of wood inscribed with ancient symbols, wrapped in a double helix of golden glass, three rose quartz circles and various “milogras.” Abalone inserted into the tip. Don’t believe me? Here they are:
Selene, Diana, Hecate. Pan, Cernnunos.
Eagle, Bear, Raven, Buffalo.
Lilith, Lamia, Innana.
We are ready to rock and roll.
Comments
"Anthurian" is the word!
Actually, it's a new blog worth reading. He's a collegue of Jeneane's, and the way that they discovered that they each are bloggers is wonderful. Check out her story and his blog. And then send him an email and tell him the Crone sent ya'.
Comments
Actually, it's a new blog worth reading. He's a collegue of Jeneane's, and the way that they discovered that they each are bloggers is wonderful. Check out her story and his blog. And then send him an email and tell him the Crone sent ya'.
Comments
Countdown to the Full Moon
On Sunday, May 26 at about 8 a.m. on the East Coast, the moon will be at it’s fullest. This is the time of the Full Flower Moon, the Full Milk Moon. Somewhere between midnight and midnight, RageBoy will know.
The words are ready. RageBoy gave us the words. The objects are almost ready. Feather, stick, beads, crystals, sacred images. We are waiting for the moon. Full, it magnifies any energies generated. A full moon on Sun-day. The yin with the yang. Opposites superimposed. The ultimate connectedness.
If you’re so inclined, when the moon hangs full in your night sky on Sunday, say the words, feel the universe bend just enough.
Comments
On Sunday, May 26 at about 8 a.m. on the East Coast, the moon will be at it’s fullest. This is the time of the Full Flower Moon, the Full Milk Moon. Somewhere between midnight and midnight, RageBoy will know.
The words are ready. RageBoy gave us the words. The objects are almost ready. Feather, stick, beads, crystals, sacred images. We are waiting for the moon. Full, it magnifies any energies generated. A full moon on Sun-day. The yin with the yang. Opposites superimposed. The ultimate connectedness.
If you’re so inclined, when the moon hangs full in your night sky on Sunday, say the words, feel the universe bend just enough.
Comments
Truth Telling
I'm stealing this directly from Tom Tomorrow's site, This Modern World, which is quoting the following from from Media Whores Online (but Tom's link doesn't get you to the Whore's post). Thanks to b!X who pointed me to it in an email. (Why the hell isn't he posting this himself????)
"Don't miss this story in this morning's Times. I'm going to steal a summary from Media Whores Online, because they understand what the Times seems to be overlooking:
In a stunning revelation, the New York Times has reported that among the two FBI office counterterrorism chiefs who received the now famously neglected Phoenix memorandum last July was none other than John O'Neill -- then the top counterterrorist officer in the FBI's New York City's office, and the FBI's leading expert on Osama bin Laden.
O'Neill knew perfectly well what Al Qaeda was up to, and had been knocking on doors (and, at times, heads) for years to get his colleagues and superiors to understand what he did.
The last straw came in July 2001, when (as he told the French authors Guillaume Dasquié and Jean-Charles Brisard in an interview), O'Neill became fully aware that the Bush administration, anxious over negotiations for a Caspian Sea oil pipe line, had decided to back off of tracking bin Laden and opposing the Taliban, lest it risk alienating powerful Saudi families. Instead of going after the Taliban and bin Laden, the Bush Administration decided to negotiate and try to buy off the Taliban and bin Laden.
Unfortunately for the Administration, the pipe-line negotiations broke down in August.
And on September 11, bin Laden struck.
What no one has known until now is that at the very moment that O'Neill was finally giving up, in July, he was being apprised of the Phoenix memorandum -- a memo, it seems, that practically nobody inside the Bush Administration was willing to treat seriously other than himself.
At the end of August, in disgust, O'Neill left the FBI to take what he somewhat ruefully regarded as his "retirement" job --as head of security at the World Trade Center. There, on September 11, John O'Neill died at the hands of his arch-enemy bin Laden's fiendish followers.
Connect the dots? Well, duh! O'Neill got the Phoenix message. No one would listen. No one. The Bushies had backed off bin Laden. So O'Neill changed jobs -- and went on to die a martyr's death. While all the people who ignored him, on up the chain to the Oval Office, live on -- ghoulishly making political hay out of his sacrifice and their own incompetence -- and, in a sense, their own perfidy.
But here's the really amazing thing -- having unearthed this blockbuster, the New York Times reporters David Johnston and Don Van Natta, Jr., simply bury it in their story.
They report, incredibly, that O'Neill simply "retired" back in August -- ignoring the well-known background, leaving the dots unconnected!!
What did O'Neill know back in July? Whom did he try to warn? What happened when he did so? What did his "retirement" -- and its tragic consequences -- have to do with his frustrated efforts to get Bush's people to listen to him about the Phoenix memo, and/or about everything else he knew about Osama bin Laden's clear and present danger to American lives?
Here are some questions that the Bush people don't want asked, by the New York Times, by a National Board of Investigation, or by anyone else."
Comments
I'm stealing this directly from Tom Tomorrow's site, This Modern World, which is quoting the following from from Media Whores Online (but Tom's link doesn't get you to the Whore's post). Thanks to b!X who pointed me to it in an email. (Why the hell isn't he posting this himself????)
"Don't miss this story in this morning's Times. I'm going to steal a summary from Media Whores Online, because they understand what the Times seems to be overlooking:
In a stunning revelation, the New York Times has reported that among the two FBI office counterterrorism chiefs who received the now famously neglected Phoenix memorandum last July was none other than John O'Neill -- then the top counterterrorist officer in the FBI's New York City's office, and the FBI's leading expert on Osama bin Laden.
O'Neill knew perfectly well what Al Qaeda was up to, and had been knocking on doors (and, at times, heads) for years to get his colleagues and superiors to understand what he did.
The last straw came in July 2001, when (as he told the French authors Guillaume Dasquié and Jean-Charles Brisard in an interview), O'Neill became fully aware that the Bush administration, anxious over negotiations for a Caspian Sea oil pipe line, had decided to back off of tracking bin Laden and opposing the Taliban, lest it risk alienating powerful Saudi families. Instead of going after the Taliban and bin Laden, the Bush Administration decided to negotiate and try to buy off the Taliban and bin Laden.
Unfortunately for the Administration, the pipe-line negotiations broke down in August.
And on September 11, bin Laden struck.
What no one has known until now is that at the very moment that O'Neill was finally giving up, in July, he was being apprised of the Phoenix memorandum -- a memo, it seems, that practically nobody inside the Bush Administration was willing to treat seriously other than himself.
At the end of August, in disgust, O'Neill left the FBI to take what he somewhat ruefully regarded as his "retirement" job --as head of security at the World Trade Center. There, on September 11, John O'Neill died at the hands of his arch-enemy bin Laden's fiendish followers.
Connect the dots? Well, duh! O'Neill got the Phoenix message. No one would listen. No one. The Bushies had backed off bin Laden. So O'Neill changed jobs -- and went on to die a martyr's death. While all the people who ignored him, on up the chain to the Oval Office, live on -- ghoulishly making political hay out of his sacrifice and their own incompetence -- and, in a sense, their own perfidy.
But here's the really amazing thing -- having unearthed this blockbuster, the New York Times reporters David Johnston and Don Van Natta, Jr., simply bury it in their story.
They report, incredibly, that O'Neill simply "retired" back in August -- ignoring the well-known background, leaving the dots unconnected!!
What did O'Neill know back in July? Whom did he try to warn? What happened when he did so? What did his "retirement" -- and its tragic consequences -- have to do with his frustrated efforts to get Bush's people to listen to him about the Phoenix memo, and/or about everything else he knew about Osama bin Laden's clear and present danger to American lives?
Here are some questions that the Bush people don't want asked, by the New York Times, by a National Board of Investigation, or by anyone else."
Comments
Thursday, May 23, 2002
Frank Paynter resurrects my AHA!
Back in the early feminist seventies, we were all having AHAs! -- that was how one woman writer back then (who, of course, I can't remember where or when) described the moment when we realized what had been holding us back, what had been making us angry. In the course of his e-mail interviews with me, Frank Paynter unearths the Ms. Magazine article that changed my life. My AHA! Read it here.
I had a chance to actually meet Lilly Rivlin, who wrote the article, several years ago when some of us who had contributed to Which Lilith: Feminists Writers Re-Create the First Woman -- including the editors -- gathered in a theater in Kinderhook, NY to read our pieces. What a phenomenal woman! We hugged a lot, cried a little, she gave me her card and then we each went off in our own direction to follow our chosen paths. But I've never forgotten her or how her words changed my life.
Comments
Back in the early feminist seventies, we were all having AHAs! -- that was how one woman writer back then (who, of course, I can't remember where or when) described the moment when we realized what had been holding us back, what had been making us angry. In the course of his e-mail interviews with me, Frank Paynter unearths the Ms. Magazine article that changed my life. My AHA! Read it here.
I had a chance to actually meet Lilly Rivlin, who wrote the article, several years ago when some of us who had contributed to Which Lilith: Feminists Writers Re-Create the First Woman -- including the editors -- gathered in a theater in Kinderhook, NY to read our pieces. What a phenomenal woman! We hugged a lot, cried a little, she gave me her card and then we each went off in our own direction to follow our chosen paths. But I've never forgotten her or how her words changed my life.
Comments
I have always had a thing for Spike
If you’re not a Buffy fan, then you probably don’t know who Spike is. If you read my poem about Tin Men and Fallen Angels, then you now why I’ve always had a thing for Spike. Either way or no way, you should still read this, (found via this emailed to me by b!X, who is finally back doing some good political postings). I’m not even going to try to add anything. Salon's Stephanie Zacharek gets it good.
Comments
If you’re not a Buffy fan, then you probably don’t know who Spike is. If you read my poem about Tin Men and Fallen Angels, then you now why I’ve always had a thing for Spike. Either way or no way, you should still read this, (found via this emailed to me by b!X, who is finally back doing some good political postings). I’m not even going to try to add anything. Salon's Stephanie Zacharek gets it good.
Comments
RageBoy knows the words.
Powerful words. Words of power. Uncontained power that need to be embraced. RageBoy gave me the words to draw down the moon. Wait. Wait. It’s almost time. Unplug yourself, Halley. It’s almost time.
Comments
Powerful words. Words of power. Uncontained power that need to be embraced. RageBoy gave me the words to draw down the moon. Wait. Wait. It’s almost time. Unplug yourself, Halley. It’s almost time.
Comments
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
Does Rob Breszny know about my planned virtual ritual?
This is my Free-Will Astrology reading for this week:
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): The fork did not quickly gain acceptance as an everyday eating utensil. Though introduced to Europe in the eleventh century, it was regarded as an upper class affectation for hundreds of years. "Instead of eating with her fingers like other people," a medieval clergyman wrote of a Venetian noblewoman, "the princess cuts up her food into small pieces and eats them by means of little golden forks with two prongs." I invoke this historical fact, Pisces, to draw a comparison to your life. The innovation you're now in the midst of making may be ignored and even ridiculed at first, but ultimately it will become indispensable.
Comments
This is my Free-Will Astrology reading for this week:
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): The fork did not quickly gain acceptance as an everyday eating utensil. Though introduced to Europe in the eleventh century, it was regarded as an upper class affectation for hundreds of years. "Instead of eating with her fingers like other people," a medieval clergyman wrote of a Venetian noblewoman, "the princess cuts up her food into small pieces and eats them by means of little golden forks with two prongs." I invoke this historical fact, Pisces, to draw a comparison to your life. The innovation you're now in the midst of making may be ignored and even ridiculed at first, but ultimately it will become indispensable.
Comments
GEEK Force needs you before July 4
You can go to the site and read this, or read it here:
Global Effort to Eradicate Know-nothings
We have gone through many incarnations over the years. What are we now? Your guess is as good as ours. Perhaps we've (d)evolved into pure brand. You'll notice that the only link currently offered here is our logo to the left -- which links to our CafePress store. Is this all that has become of us? Does the path end here? Your guess is as good as ours. We've been resurrected in the past, and maybe we will be again. Well, we do have something of an idea brewing for the Fourth of July, but that's strictly hush-hush right now. All we're free to say right now is that we need pro-corporate quotes, preferably from people inside corporate America. Specifically, we need quotes that illustrate anti-labor, anti-environment, anti-public interest viewpoints etc. Quotes which illustrate corporate disdain for greater social justice. Quotes which demonstrate their desire for control over the rest of us. If you've got any, email them to us, preferably with specific attribution and source citation so we can confirm them. And let us be perfectly clear: We are looking for statements defending corporatism, but that clearly imply the threats of corporatism. They could be quotes against attempts at organizing a union. They could be quotes about how environmental laws interfere with the free market. They could be quotes which illustrate a regard only for stockholders, and to Hell with anyone else. We are not looking for anti-corporate quotes. The reasons for this will become clear once this project goes public.
Do it or the Crone with zap you with zits.
Comments
You can go to the site and read this, or read it here:
Global Effort to Eradicate Know-nothings
We have gone through many incarnations over the years. What are we now? Your guess is as good as ours. Perhaps we've (d)evolved into pure brand. You'll notice that the only link currently offered here is our logo to the left -- which links to our CafePress store. Is this all that has become of us? Does the path end here? Your guess is as good as ours. We've been resurrected in the past, and maybe we will be again. Well, we do have something of an idea brewing for the Fourth of July, but that's strictly hush-hush right now. All we're free to say right now is that we need pro-corporate quotes, preferably from people inside corporate America. Specifically, we need quotes that illustrate anti-labor, anti-environment, anti-public interest viewpoints etc. Quotes which illustrate corporate disdain for greater social justice. Quotes which demonstrate their desire for control over the rest of us. If you've got any, email them to us, preferably with specific attribution and source citation so we can confirm them. And let us be perfectly clear: We are looking for statements defending corporatism, but that clearly imply the threats of corporatism. They could be quotes against attempts at organizing a union. They could be quotes about how environmental laws interfere with the free market. They could be quotes which illustrate a regard only for stockholders, and to Hell with anyone else. We are not looking for anti-corporate quotes. The reasons for this will become clear once this project goes public.
Do it or the Crone with zap you with zits.
Comments
Do you believe in magic?
i'll tell you about the magic
it can free your soul
but it's like trying to
tell a stranger bout
rock and roll
--- the Lovin' Spoonfulls
I'm sure a believer in the magic of the web. My young Polish friend Marek J. is going to telephone me; I've already spoken by phone several times with Jeneane; Frank Paynter is interviewing me for his blog; I get personal emails from the legendary RageBoy.... what more could a cybercrone want?
For now, maybe to make her debut doing a long-distance virtual ritual. So I've decided that on the full moon, this Sunday, I'm going to perform a ritual on behalf of RageBoy. I'm not going to tell you what it is intended to do, but if you feel the earth move and the universe shift a little, you know that it's working. Do I believe in magic? I believe that there is a significant overlap between the processes of magic and the unconscious workings of the mind. And so, I am in the process of creating a ritual object and ritual words, which, combined with the "right" intention, might just work.
Those of you Buffy fans who saw the very last scene of the series finale last night might have a vague idea of the direction I'm going. So, on Sunday, May 26, when the moon rises full over your heart, think of RageBoy. I will be.
Comments
i'll tell you about the magic
it can free your soul
but it's like trying to
tell a stranger bout
rock and roll
--- the Lovin' Spoonfulls
I'm sure a believer in the magic of the web. My young Polish friend Marek J. is going to telephone me; I've already spoken by phone several times with Jeneane; Frank Paynter is interviewing me for his blog; I get personal emails from the legendary RageBoy.... what more could a cybercrone want?
For now, maybe to make her debut doing a long-distance virtual ritual. So I've decided that on the full moon, this Sunday, I'm going to perform a ritual on behalf of RageBoy. I'm not going to tell you what it is intended to do, but if you feel the earth move and the universe shift a little, you know that it's working. Do I believe in magic? I believe that there is a significant overlap between the processes of magic and the unconscious workings of the mind. And so, I am in the process of creating a ritual object and ritual words, which, combined with the "right" intention, might just work.
Those of you Buffy fans who saw the very last scene of the series finale last night might have a vague idea of the direction I'm going. So, on Sunday, May 26, when the moon rises full over your heart, think of RageBoy. I will be.
Comments
Tuesday, May 21, 2002
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
Today I’m going to blog about a bunch of “Bs” that I know. No, they’re not Bastards, although there are some who might hold that opinion of them.
I’ll start with rageBoy, whose life (you know if you track him on EGR) reads like one long acidy, usually libidinous, trip. Even though my GEEKforce son (another B I’ll get to later) tried to get me to subscribe to EGR’s Topica list for years, an early skim of rBoy’s assumedly skewed-brain ramblings gave me pause. A long pause. A few years pause. But somehow, here I am, not only subscribed to EGR but linked there as well. Go figure. Bs in my bonnet.
Recently rBoy discovered rob Breszny, who’s the strange brain behind Free Will Astrology. Until recently , I subscribed to a weekly astrological newsletter from Breszny, who also writes from a lopsided right brain. His bizarre readings were often strangely relevant, and I used to post them on my blog. I discovered Breszny through my B-son, as I also discovered rBoy. From what I can assume, Breszny and rBoy tripped through their coming of age in at about the same time. As did my Brother, whose brain, however, took a sharp turn to the left instead of the right. Except when he writes his music. Oddly enough, I unsubscribed to Breszny just before I decided to subscribe to rBoy. That was lucky, since I'm sure that my brain certainly would have had a major misfire trying to absorb all of that eclectic bombast. Bs in my brain.
Which leads me to b!X, my Scorpio son, of another generation than the other Bs, and, as far as I can tell since I live across the country from him, pretty much drug-free (except for nicotine and alcohol and caffeine; but I think those count too). I just discovered that both rBoy and b!X are Scorpios. (Well, I always knew b!X was; did I ever tell you that he was yelling at the world before he was all the way out of my beautiful vagina?) My Brother is also a Scorpio. Not that that’s important, but it is coincidentally interesting. There’s something fundamentally similar about b!X and rBoy. Something about having a distinct voice and the urge to use it. Only b!X has been too silent lately. That worries me. Blog b!X! Blog!! Bs in my family.
Believing in the importance of coming full circle, I’m back to rBoy and his continuing saga of self-instruction. Yes, I said Instruction not Destruction. Like the magician, the jester, the fool, -- Loki, Coyote -- with misdirection and sad reflection, his virtual antics hold a mirror to both his own complex truths and even some of our own. Blog, rBoy. Blog. Be. Be. Be.
Comments
Today I’m going to blog about a bunch of “Bs” that I know. No, they’re not Bastards, although there are some who might hold that opinion of them.
I’ll start with rageBoy, whose life (you know if you track him on EGR) reads like one long acidy, usually libidinous, trip. Even though my GEEKforce son (another B I’ll get to later) tried to get me to subscribe to EGR’s Topica list for years, an early skim of rBoy’s assumedly skewed-brain ramblings gave me pause. A long pause. A few years pause. But somehow, here I am, not only subscribed to EGR but linked there as well. Go figure. Bs in my bonnet.
Recently rBoy discovered rob Breszny, who’s the strange brain behind Free Will Astrology. Until recently , I subscribed to a weekly astrological newsletter from Breszny, who also writes from a lopsided right brain. His bizarre readings were often strangely relevant, and I used to post them on my blog. I discovered Breszny through my B-son, as I also discovered rBoy. From what I can assume, Breszny and rBoy tripped through their coming of age in at about the same time. As did my Brother, whose brain, however, took a sharp turn to the left instead of the right. Except when he writes his music. Oddly enough, I unsubscribed to Breszny just before I decided to subscribe to rBoy. That was lucky, since I'm sure that my brain certainly would have had a major misfire trying to absorb all of that eclectic bombast. Bs in my brain.
Which leads me to b!X, my Scorpio son, of another generation than the other Bs, and, as far as I can tell since I live across the country from him, pretty much drug-free (except for nicotine and alcohol and caffeine; but I think those count too). I just discovered that both rBoy and b!X are Scorpios. (Well, I always knew b!X was; did I ever tell you that he was yelling at the world before he was all the way out of my beautiful vagina?) My Brother is also a Scorpio. Not that that’s important, but it is coincidentally interesting. There’s something fundamentally similar about b!X and rBoy. Something about having a distinct voice and the urge to use it. Only b!X has been too silent lately. That worries me. Blog b!X! Blog!! Bs in my family.
Believing in the importance of coming full circle, I’m back to rBoy and his continuing saga of self-instruction. Yes, I said Instruction not Destruction. Like the magician, the jester, the fool, -- Loki, Coyote -- with misdirection and sad reflection, his virtual antics hold a mirror to both his own complex truths and even some of our own. Blog, rBoy. Blog. Be. Be. Be.
Comments
Monday, May 20, 2002
Best Blogroll I've Ever Seen!
Got this from stavrosthewonderchicken. Start with this homepage and then check out the blogroll. Love it.
Comments
Got this from stavrosthewonderchicken. Start with this homepage and then check out the blogroll. Love it.
Comments
Big Picture, Little Picture
Little picture: RIP Basil. And tomatoes. A couple of inches of snow and two nights of frost will do it. As in life, timing is everything.
Big Picture: Madeline Albright rightfully calls the Bush administration “bi-polar.” I was pointed to this from b!X, who is finally posting again, which makes me happy because I rely on him to keep the big picture in front of my nose. (The struggle of libraries to maintain their strong support of intellectual freedom is another important issue dear to my heart that he recently posted about.)
"They talk about the importance of the rule of law, but seem allergic to treaties designed to strengthen the rule of law in areas such as money-laundering, biological weapons, crimes against humanity, and the environment," Albright said in a commencement speech at Tufts University's Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy.
I don’t agree with all of Albright’s positions, but in this case, “You go, sister crone!”
Comments
Little picture: RIP Basil. And tomatoes. A couple of inches of snow and two nights of frost will do it. As in life, timing is everything.
Big Picture: Madeline Albright rightfully calls the Bush administration “bi-polar.” I was pointed to this from b!X, who is finally posting again, which makes me happy because I rely on him to keep the big picture in front of my nose. (The struggle of libraries to maintain their strong support of intellectual freedom is another important issue dear to my heart that he recently posted about.)
"They talk about the importance of the rule of law, but seem allergic to treaties designed to strengthen the rule of law in areas such as money-laundering, biological weapons, crimes against humanity, and the environment," Albright said in a commencement speech at Tufts University's Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy.
I don’t agree with all of Albright’s positions, but in this case, “You go, sister crone!”
Comments
OK. Here’s the thing…..
I’m obsessing over what really is a compliment about my writing from Mike Golby (see previous post). I’m not sure why I’m obsessing. I think it has something to do with my really wanting to be a female version of RageBoy but not having the balls. (heh)
It’s got something to do with being super-sensitive to the privacy issues of the others in my life. For example, I’ve never blogged about my brother. You don’t even know I have a brother-who-makes-me-crazy, right? And I rarely say anything about my ex-husband. He guards his privacy jealously. And I don’t use my last name very often because it’s my ex-husband’s last name and I don’t want to infringe upon his privacy. B!X reads this blog; but he’s a remarkably accepting guy and has never even suggested that I censor what I write.
Last night I dreamed about blogging, and I woke up wondering if Mike Golby’s wife reads his blog and if so what she thinks. I think we all know what RageBoy’s heart’s desire thinks. I doubt if Jeneane’s family (other than her husband) reads her blog. If they do, what do they think? Does she care?
I never wrote about my father until after he died. My mother’s still here, and I only write the most general things about my life these days with her, even though there’s an awful lot of frustration and sorrow and even anger that my gut would probably like to spill out on these pages. I don’t know why I don’t do that. Maybe those are the in-the-world details that I choose to omit. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? (Am I a good witch or a bad witch?)
Maybe my blogging reticence does have something to do with my need to keep a balance, not fall off the edge and take anyone with me. Maybe it’s because I have done that in the past and don’t want to do it here. Maybe it does have something to do with the “wisdom” of age.
Well, Mike, I’ll bet you never thought that your insightful words would cause such a stir in my psyche. And, you see, that’s what I really like about blogging – the interchange, the stirring up of ideas and perspectives and feelings and ideologies. The interchange. The Comments.
It occurs to me here that Shelley and Halley write beautifully and personally and balanced, and they get lots of Comments anyway. They spark interchange.
The question for me still remains: Do I want to stir things up or do I just want to write the kinds of “personal essays” with which I seem to be most comfortable. Sometimes too much comfort gets stale and boring. Just something for me to think about.
Comments
I’m obsessing over what really is a compliment about my writing from Mike Golby (see previous post). I’m not sure why I’m obsessing. I think it has something to do with my really wanting to be a female version of RageBoy but not having the balls. (heh)
It’s got something to do with being super-sensitive to the privacy issues of the others in my life. For example, I’ve never blogged about my brother. You don’t even know I have a brother-who-makes-me-crazy, right? And I rarely say anything about my ex-husband. He guards his privacy jealously. And I don’t use my last name very often because it’s my ex-husband’s last name and I don’t want to infringe upon his privacy. B!X reads this blog; but he’s a remarkably accepting guy and has never even suggested that I censor what I write.
Last night I dreamed about blogging, and I woke up wondering if Mike Golby’s wife reads his blog and if so what she thinks. I think we all know what RageBoy’s heart’s desire thinks. I doubt if Jeneane’s family (other than her husband) reads her blog. If they do, what do they think? Does she care?
I never wrote about my father until after he died. My mother’s still here, and I only write the most general things about my life these days with her, even though there’s an awful lot of frustration and sorrow and even anger that my gut would probably like to spill out on these pages. I don’t know why I don’t do that. Maybe those are the in-the-world details that I choose to omit. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? (Am I a good witch or a bad witch?)
Maybe my blogging reticence does have something to do with my need to keep a balance, not fall off the edge and take anyone with me. Maybe it’s because I have done that in the past and don’t want to do it here. Maybe it does have something to do with the “wisdom” of age.
Well, Mike, I’ll bet you never thought that your insightful words would cause such a stir in my psyche. And, you see, that’s what I really like about blogging – the interchange, the stirring up of ideas and perspectives and feelings and ideologies. The interchange. The Comments.
It occurs to me here that Shelley and Halley write beautifully and personally and balanced, and they get lots of Comments anyway. They spark interchange.
The question for me still remains: Do I want to stir things up or do I just want to write the kinds of “personal essays” with which I seem to be most comfortable. Sometimes too much comfort gets stale and boring. Just something for me to think about.
Comments
Sunday, May 19, 2002
Golby Explains Why My Blog Has So Few Comments
(Actually, I had been wondering about that.)
He says:
Unlike, as Nithia and I were discussing, our friend and resident crone of the blogs, Elaine , I am not an 'holistic' blogger. Sorry, Elaine, we were talking male / female, yin / yang, and you came up as the perfect example of the complete blogger. You're open to the Web in a private way, you give all sides of yourself while retaining those in-the-world details you choose to omit. You are, or have become, extremely difficult to comment on because you generally paint a full picture without compromising yourself.
Hmmm.. Hmmmmmmmm. Mike Golby makes me think about that. He’s right. I don’t compromise myself.
Hmm. I guess that’s true. I write my blog like a newspaper commentary. I omit details that would compromise me. Hmmm. Because my kids read my blog? Because non-blogger friends read my blog? Because I am manipulating what you think of me? Because I am inventing myself as I want to be rather than presenting myself as I am? Because I really am balanced and holistic?
So, this is what I Commented back to Golby:
Heh. Balance? I've been through depression, divorce, deaths.... just like so many others. I spent several crazy years drinking and disco-ing and "dating" (that's a euphemism) even a little toking -- and this while trying to raise my two incredible kids. I've come a long way, baby, and if I seem more balanced now it's because I had a lot of professional help getting through my dark night of the soul. But don't put me on any pedestal yet. I've got a few more wild dances in me to set the scales askew.
These days, however, my life is constrained by the fact that I live in a small one-bedroom apartment across the hall from my mother so that I can do what needs to be done for her. (Imagine living across the hall from your mother; it’s very inhibiting in any number of ways.) To make room for my sewing machine and the various artsy/craftsy stuff I do, I only have one twin bed in my bedroom. And there’s no one around here with whom I’m likely to have a relationship that would necessitate a bigger bed. I’ve sort of taken a hiatus from ballroom dancing because I can’t find anyone to dance with who’s really fun and sexy and worth spending time with. My thirty-something attitudes and energies have nowhere to go in this confined lifestyle. I miss the passionate life that I once led . And so I keep as my mantra lines from Theordore Roethke’s “The Lost Son” – A lively understandable spirit / once entertained you. / It will come again. / Be still. / Wait.
Balance. Yes. That’s the one thing that “aging” (god, I hate that word) has helped me to better understand. But just to throw things off balance for a minute, let me share some “poetry” I wrote not that long ago in response to a challenge from an distinctly unbalanced poet/colleague/friend to do an erotic poetry chapbook in collaboration with him. Here were some of my contributions to “Eating Disorders and Other Mastications,” which is what I titled the chapbook.
1.
something about turkey necks,
gizzards nestled in palm of hand
stroked with oil
moist heated,
until firm, juice-laden,
ready for needing,
nibbling, gnawing --
lip-licking
fine night dining,
giving thanks.
2.
no skinny men, please,
unless they’re hairy
from their necks down
(so that I have to hunt
for distinguishing features)
even on their backs,
like beasts to groom
with taming tongue,
or stroke against --
sweet skin on fur
smelling of caves, leaves,
banked fires.
3.
My mother’s words
were words of fear:
stay away from dark
eyes, streets, corners, bars,
skin, moons, hearts –
things that lurk, lure, linger.
And so, of course,
I conjure shadows,
wait at crossroads,
shrive the stranger
of a heart gone wild.
4.
unsatisfied still after
too much plum wine,
steamy rice,
bold-faced fortunes,
I let you (lead you
bring you)
stave my hunger
with your limpid kumquat,
leave me dripping
with the dredges
of those hot green teas.
5.
Saturday Night Fevers
Those were the nights!
tho’ I never did the coke
in the shadows behind the bar
where the blue-eyed bouncer
(strategically sun-bronzed and bleached,
macho-hot in open shirt gleaming gold)
found new places for fast hands.
But I’d arrive gone already
from toking on the road,
primed for fast stepping,
skirt hiked high on thigh,
smile that said ready
to hustle me dizzy,
spinning close and low,
dropping now --
all arms
and sweat
and bass-booming blood
binding me to the heat
of those gone dancing nights.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose. Now is the time for balance. At least most of the time. Sigh.
Comments
(Actually, I had been wondering about that.)
He says:
Unlike, as Nithia and I were discussing, our friend and resident crone of the blogs, Elaine , I am not an 'holistic' blogger. Sorry, Elaine, we were talking male / female, yin / yang, and you came up as the perfect example of the complete blogger. You're open to the Web in a private way, you give all sides of yourself while retaining those in-the-world details you choose to omit. You are, or have become, extremely difficult to comment on because you generally paint a full picture without compromising yourself.
Hmmm.. Hmmmmmmmm. Mike Golby makes me think about that. He’s right. I don’t compromise myself.
Hmm. I guess that’s true. I write my blog like a newspaper commentary. I omit details that would compromise me. Hmmm. Because my kids read my blog? Because non-blogger friends read my blog? Because I am manipulating what you think of me? Because I am inventing myself as I want to be rather than presenting myself as I am? Because I really am balanced and holistic?
So, this is what I Commented back to Golby:
Heh. Balance? I've been through depression, divorce, deaths.... just like so many others. I spent several crazy years drinking and disco-ing and "dating" (that's a euphemism) even a little toking -- and this while trying to raise my two incredible kids. I've come a long way, baby, and if I seem more balanced now it's because I had a lot of professional help getting through my dark night of the soul. But don't put me on any pedestal yet. I've got a few more wild dances in me to set the scales askew.
These days, however, my life is constrained by the fact that I live in a small one-bedroom apartment across the hall from my mother so that I can do what needs to be done for her. (Imagine living across the hall from your mother; it’s very inhibiting in any number of ways.) To make room for my sewing machine and the various artsy/craftsy stuff I do, I only have one twin bed in my bedroom. And there’s no one around here with whom I’m likely to have a relationship that would necessitate a bigger bed. I’ve sort of taken a hiatus from ballroom dancing because I can’t find anyone to dance with who’s really fun and sexy and worth spending time with. My thirty-something attitudes and energies have nowhere to go in this confined lifestyle. I miss the passionate life that I once led . And so I keep as my mantra lines from Theordore Roethke’s “The Lost Son” – A lively understandable spirit / once entertained you. / It will come again. / Be still. / Wait.
Balance. Yes. That’s the one thing that “aging” (god, I hate that word) has helped me to better understand. But just to throw things off balance for a minute, let me share some “poetry” I wrote not that long ago in response to a challenge from an distinctly unbalanced poet/colleague/friend to do an erotic poetry chapbook in collaboration with him. Here were some of my contributions to “Eating Disorders and Other Mastications,” which is what I titled the chapbook.
1.
something about turkey necks,
gizzards nestled in palm of hand
stroked with oil
moist heated,
until firm, juice-laden,
ready for needing,
nibbling, gnawing --
lip-licking
fine night dining,
giving thanks.
2.
no skinny men, please,
unless they’re hairy
from their necks down
(so that I have to hunt
for distinguishing features)
even on their backs,
like beasts to groom
with taming tongue,
or stroke against --
sweet skin on fur
smelling of caves, leaves,
banked fires.
3.
My mother’s words
were words of fear:
stay away from dark
eyes, streets, corners, bars,
skin, moons, hearts –
things that lurk, lure, linger.
And so, of course,
I conjure shadows,
wait at crossroads,
shrive the stranger
of a heart gone wild.
4.
unsatisfied still after
too much plum wine,
steamy rice,
bold-faced fortunes,
I let you (lead you
bring you)
stave my hunger
with your limpid kumquat,
leave me dripping
with the dredges
of those hot green teas.
5.
Saturday Night Fevers
Those were the nights!
tho’ I never did the coke
in the shadows behind the bar
where the blue-eyed bouncer
(strategically sun-bronzed and bleached,
macho-hot in open shirt gleaming gold)
found new places for fast hands.
But I’d arrive gone already
from toking on the road,
primed for fast stepping,
skirt hiked high on thigh,
smile that said ready
to hustle me dizzy,
spinning close and low,
dropping now --
all arms
and sweat
and bass-booming blood
binding me to the heat
of those gone dancing nights.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose. Now is the time for balance. At least most of the time. Sigh.
Comments
I'm Going Where Bob Dylan Went
That's up to the Caffe Lena in Saratoga, which is the oldest continuously run coffeehouse in America. According to its history page, Bob Dylan played there on his first tour of the East. Don McLean first played "American Pie" on the Caffè Lena Stage. Arlo Guthrie sang there long before the rest of the world heard his music.
I'm heading up this evening with some friends to hear a friend of theirs, Joan Taub, whose unique and powerful alto voice has been featured recently with the Four Fabulous Females. Her vocal style has been described as a smokey Patsy Cline, crossed with the strength and sweetness of Georgia Brown. This is her first solo performance, featuring warm love ballads and breezy boppin' blues.
Of course, I'm taping the series finale of X-Files, even though I haven't watched it much since Duchovny left. But, hey, this is IT, folks.
Comments
That's up to the Caffe Lena in Saratoga, which is the oldest continuously run coffeehouse in America. According to its history page, Bob Dylan played there on his first tour of the East. Don McLean first played "American Pie" on the Caffè Lena Stage. Arlo Guthrie sang there long before the rest of the world heard his music.
I'm heading up this evening with some friends to hear a friend of theirs, Joan Taub, whose unique and powerful alto voice has been featured recently with the Four Fabulous Females. Her vocal style has been described as a smokey Patsy Cline, crossed with the strength and sweetness of Georgia Brown. This is her first solo performance, featuring warm love ballads and breezy boppin' blues.
Of course, I'm taping the series finale of X-Files, even though I haven't watched it much since Duchovny left. But, hey, this is IT, folks.
Comments
Rage on, Mick.
Mick Jagger, now 60 years old, is going on tour with his Rolling Stones. Some think that he’s too old. I agree with Providence Journal columnist Mark Patinkin, who had this to say in a recent article:
Years from now, if the Stones need walkers to dance across stage, perhaps even I’ll admit it’s time. But if you can still play the game, there’s room in this culture for those who choose not to retire gracefully from it.
Tina Turner and Mick Jagger, my esteemed contemporaries. Maybe I shouldn’t look to rock stars as role models, but they are the ones who are push the envelope on the stereotypes of "older" people. That’s what I like about their personas. That and they’re not afraid of getting in the faces of their critics. They’ve still got it and they flaunt it. Flaunt. Flaunt.
Yes, indeed, rock, roll, and rage on.
Comments
Mick Jagger, now 60 years old, is going on tour with his Rolling Stones. Some think that he’s too old. I agree with Providence Journal columnist Mark Patinkin, who had this to say in a recent article:
Years from now, if the Stones need walkers to dance across stage, perhaps even I’ll admit it’s time. But if you can still play the game, there’s room in this culture for those who choose not to retire gracefully from it.
Tina Turner and Mick Jagger, my esteemed contemporaries. Maybe I shouldn’t look to rock stars as role models, but they are the ones who are push the envelope on the stereotypes of "older" people. That’s what I like about their personas. That and they’re not afraid of getting in the faces of their critics. They’ve still got it and they flaunt it. Flaunt. Flaunt.
Yes, indeed, rock, roll, and rage on.
Comments
