Monthly Archives: July 2012

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Fantastic.

Mystery of the Iniquity

EDITOR COMMENTS IN ITALIC

Nostradamus is quoted as saying mankind would discover a machine in space that was sent to us by the WATCHERS!

In 1899: Tesla developed a high-voltage, radio transmission equipment in Colorado Springs. Tesla announced that he was receiving a electrical signal which appears to intelligent. The signal was clearly repeated periodically with such a clear suggestion of number and order. This lead him to believe that the signal was extraterrestrial communication with aliens. At first he assumed they were originating from Mars. Later he changed that opinion and stated in one of his new conferences that the signal was coming from somewhere else in space. ¹
Does not surprise me that Tesla knew of communications from extra-terrestrials, and many thought him to be a lunatic. When in fact he invented many things the government has kept from the public.
A few years later: Guglielmo Marconi was…

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It’s the little things that get me…

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It’s the little things that get me…

*if you are a mamby pamby that gets grossed out, don’t read this*

 

I went to Fred Meyers to get some stuff in preparation for the return of the girlchild. As I was going in there was a girl who had a sign that said “Homeless, just need a hotel for a couple days.”

Now normally, as I am pretty freaking poor, I can’t give them money or anything more than a kind word or a smile. But something about the shame on this girl made me look twice. She couldn’t have been more than 19, 20; but her eyes looked so rueful, it reminded me of my own broken childmother. The girl had blood on her pants but being a woman, I knew she hadn’t murdered anyone and she wasn’t hurt (if you catch my drift.) Now, it was at that point that I realized I had never even thought about that aspect of homelessness. I immediately thought, I wonder if homeless girls ever get pregnant to avoid this? I realize this is a ludicrous thought to you now, but the one time that I was truly homeless, I was pregnant and did not have to worry about such things. Now before you get all “Awww that’s awful!” It was the perfect time to be homeless really, given what this girl was dealing with. Any other time that I was “homeless” it was more of a youthful choice, a rebellion and I knew plenty of places I could go for a week or shower or clean clothes or freaking tampons. It broke my heart. I didn’t have the money for a hotel room, but I did get the girl a pair of clearance pants and a big box of the tampons she wanted. A temporary comfort. It’s the little things we in our first world problem world of cable bills and cell phone overages that we don’t think about often enough. Things like tampons. Clean clothes. A place to wash.

And next month, hopefully she will either have somewhere to be, money to buy tampons or be able to steal some before she is too embarrassed to go in the store.

 

I have been thinking too much lately…even more than my “normal.”

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I have been thinking too much lately…even more than my “normal.”

And in those thoughts, I find myself again looking at the results of particular decisions and paths that I have been feeling unsure of lately. But in this examination with the benefit of hindsight, I find that I am ok with my world right now.

*Forgive my vagueness in the forthcoming thoughts, but I really don’t want to expose anyone’s stuff on my blog.*

For example, we all (in my experience anyway) want to do things differently than our parents, whether in a huge way or a small way. Sometimes, we find ourselves as parents seeming to repeat our parent’s mistakes or even doing things “worse” in our perception. But after a crisis, with the added layer of experience and evolution of thought we sometimes can look at something we think we were doing wrong and realize we did it right. We just didn’t know it then. Perhaps something that your parent did and exposed you to, allowed to happen, taught you to teach your children something different that people found particularly developmentally inappropriate, something kids should not be exposed to in order to save their innocence of thoughts. But because you taught them, because you told them something earlier than the experts suggest: you taught them to address a problem rather than to hide it and allow it to permeate their childlike minds.

Perhaps in another situation, what you felt you were teaching your children was to be compliant and to be passive aggressive, and called it “choosing your battles” like your mother taught you….But what you were really teaching your children was to maintain and be strong until they had the proper fortifications to change their own path.

And yet in another, maybe you thought you were giving your child an easier path, teaching them nothing but to look for an easy way out or to depend on others to do “it” for them, but really, you were teaching them that there is no set way to do things and there is NOTHING wrong with doing things different from the masses and asking for help to do it since there are no directions for this method. This is the very definition of change.

In fact, nothing has ever changed in this world for the better without someone doing something outside the “norm.” Take heart people who are movers, shakers, boat rockers and/or parents: You are probably not messing up. 😉 You are simply doing something different, which is scary. BUT not necessarily wrong. Take faith that in the future you will understand the choices you make today and the path they lead you down tomorrow. You are cutting a path for others. Embrace your machete.

change  (chnj)

v. changedchang·ingchang·es
v.tr.

1.

a. To cause to be different: change the spelling of a word.
b. To give a completely different form or appearance to; transform: changed the yard into a garden.
2. To give and receive reciprocally; interchange: change places.
3. To exchange for or replace with another, usually of the same kind or category: change one’s name; a light that changes colors.
4.

a. To lay aside, abandon, or leave for another; switch: change methods; change sides.
b. To transfer from (one conveyance) to another: change planes.
5. To give or receive the equivalent of (money) in lower denominations or in foreign currency.
6. To put a fresh covering on: change a bed; change the baby.
v.intr.

1. To become different or undergo alteration: He changed as he matured.
2. To undergo transformation or transition: The music changed to a slow waltz.
3. To go from one phase to another, as the moon or the seasons.
4. To make an exchange: If you prefer this seat, I’ll change with you.
5. To transfer from one conveyance to another: She changed in Chicago on her way to the coast.
6. To put on other clothing: We changed for dinner.
7. To become deeper in tone: His voice began to change at age 13.
n.

1. The act, process, or result of altering or modifying: a change in facial expression.
2. The replacing of one thing for another; substitution: a change of atmosphere; a change of ownership.
3. A transformation or transition from one state, condition, or phase to another: the change of seasons.
4. Something different; variety: ate early for a change.

Love and light for Denver/Aurora…

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Love and light for Denver/Aurora…

I’m not going to spend a lot of time or energy writing about this, but I felt there were a couple of things that I needed to say. Someone that I care about was there in that theater when it happened and he is ok. Thank whatever you want to thank. He is a fantastic father of 4, one of my favorite musicians and a law student. He will be forever changed by this and my wish is that it is only for the better, that he will be able to deal with his emotions and heal.

That being said, all over the internet, Facebook, whatever are so many people saying “this is why we should all carry guns…” or something to that sentiment.

No.

Why would people be so insensitive to say something like that? One, more guns does not equal less problems. Two, a theater full of people with guns all trying to be a hero and take down a bad guy could have been as bad or worse that what happened. Three, way to encourage survivor guilt, you imbeciles.

I grew up around guns. Until the last 5 years, I have always had rifles for hunting and/or handguns for “protection.” Five years ago, I probably would have said I would always have guns. But when things like this happen, when you have a gun pointed in your face, when some of your best friends and people you care about suffer from straight up tragedies because of guns….You kinda get a bad taste in your mouth for them. I can’t believe how much my attitude on gun control has changed in the last few years.

Think about what you say people.  And then send your love and light onto those who really need it right now.

 

 

Wanderlust, the genes are strong…..

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Wanderlust, the genes are strong…..

Over the years I have simultaneously hated and loved moving. As a child, I hated having to lose hard won friends and MY collected items; they were mine! Why should I have to leave them?

As a teenager, I felt empowered in my lack of belongings. Me, my guitar and a backpack of clothes were all I really cared throughout my world. I eventually got some stuff, but found it very easy and cathartic even to get rid of it all and start over. I did this more often than probably seems healthy, even into my young adulthood. But once my kids were old enough to feel as though things were their possessions and express sorrow over letting go of somethings, I began to associate so much of my childhood with the childhood I was creating for them. And then I started keeping things.

Now mind you, I know I joke about being one pile of crap falling over away from being on “hoarders”, but really I am not that bad. I am on the eclectic end of cluttered but I definitely have too much stuff. I try to have a yard sale and get rid of things when I move, but I don’t move very often anymore so it accumulates…and then I panic. It’s the oddest thing.

I find comfort in my stuff and yet, having things makes me panic. I have not quite really figured out the pathology of it. But I know that as soon as things in my world, material and immaterial start piling up my first instinct is to cut and run. I want to move. I want to declutter. I want to start over. I’m bored. I’m safe. It is fucking terrifying.

Over the last few years, I have found that I can stifle the feeling by rearranging furniture. Painting a room something crazy. redecorating. retheming. But it only works for so long. Most landlords don’t enjoy my molesting their properties with paint and featherdusters and anything else I can slather obnoxious colors on the walls with. Then it happens…. I start to get the wanderlust. My feet start to get that familiar itch…I start to fantasize. I start planning my escape.

Does anyone else cope this way? Suffer this way? I can’t be the only one…..

I am rearranging my house right now. 3 rooms at time. Oy. It’s a hot mess up in here….How long will this change placate me?

Missing a Ghost

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Missing a Ghost

I think on some level Adam Duritz and I are bipolar soulmates. His lyrics have spoken to me throughout the years in unexpected and evolving ways. Since I was 13 years old, I have experienced my life through August and Everything After to Underwater Sunshine.

Today, I am “raining in baltimore.”

This circus is falling down on it’s knees
The big top is crumbling down
It’s raining in Baltimore fifty miles east
Where you should be, no one’s around
I need a phone call
I need a raincoat
I need a big love
I need a phone call
These train conversations are passing me by
And I don’t have nothing to say
You get what you pay for
But I just had no intention of living this way
I need a phone call
I need a plane ride
I need a sunburn
I need a raincoat
And I get no answers
And I don’t get no change
It’s raining in Baltimore, baby
But everything else is the same
There’s things I remember and things I forget
I miss you I guess that I should
Three thousand five hundred miles away
But what would you change if you could?
I need a phone call maybe I should buy a new car
I can always hear a freight train Baby, if I listen real hard
And I wish, I wish it was a small world
Because I’m lonely for the big towns
I’d like to hear a little guitar
I guess it’s time to put the top down
I need a phone call
I need a raincoat
I really need a raincoat
I really really need a rain coat
I really really really need a rain coat
I really need a raincoat

Corn and Margherita Pizza, WHAAAAAAT?

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Corn and Margherita Pizza, WHAAAAAAT?

I occassionally have cravings. And these last couple days I been craving corn and homemade pizza…..so I made margherita pizza and grilled some corn, simple wrapped in foil and doused in Old Bay seasoning.

The pizza is so pretty!

  1. I cheated and bought a store crust, I like the Rustic brand;
  2. I brushed it with white truffle oil;
  3. Threw on some spicy marinara;
  4. Some freshly squeezed and sliced mozzarella straight out of their watery home;
  5. Lovingly placed some sundried tomato halves on top;
  6. Chiffonaded some fresh basil with my magic scissors (ok so its not really chiffonaded);
  7. Microplaned some delicious parmigiana;
  8. Then put that bad boy in the oven at 425, for about 14 minutes.

Gorgeous.

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Be jealous bitches.

What do I have to say about anything, really.

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What do I have to say about anything, really.

I have been struggling the last month or so to find something meaningful to write about. I have written a couple of poems, reposted a couple of blogs and given some sort of something every few days, but nothing of substance. I find myself very introspective these days and trying to weed out what is appropriate to write about and what isn’t is particularly difficult for me as this isn’t an anonymous blog. Many thoughts I would like to share are probably not appropriate in a

“Before you speak, think -Is it necessary? Is it true? Is it kind? Will it hurt anyone? Will it improve on the silence?” ~ Sri Sathya Sai Baba

kinda way, however taking into account Mr. Ruiz’s 3rd agreement*, I can’t assume that, so here goes. 

I am working a job that makes me feel very humbled. I am happy to finally have a job, but at the same time often angry about it. I have become a job snob and many times feel that this job is below me. Now, before you hate on me, understand this. This is a job I have done before and for many years. BUT it is also a job that I have spent nearly $100,000 dollars to prevent myself from having to work and look how that has turned out. I’m angry.

Above and beyond that, I took this job and have turned down several interviews that may have been “better” jobs but I was under the impression this job was something different, would provide insurance and more hours. As it sits, I have only been scheduled 8-14 hours a week and on really shitty days. I am the FNG and it shows. Yay me.

My relationship is in the f**king crapper which I am sure is no surprise to anyone who knows me. I am just not relationship material. I cling to things and people even after I have outgrown them or something. I always hope people will grow with me, but it seems I always grow away from people. I have not mastered this magically ability to foster and nurture myself while supporting others; I seem to foster and nurture them until I am so withered I retreat into myself only to find myself distanced and resentful of the other party who feels entirely neglected and uncared for. I don’t know how to romantically love someone else and myself at the same time in a healthy way. One of us is neglected. And being sad makes me angry.

I feel like the Hulk.

Only less productive.

I try so hard to find the light, I always have and until recently, the last year or so I have been really good at focusing, reevaluating and changing directions to make something work. But I don’t know if my soul is tired, my give a shit too strained or if I am simply getting too old to deal with the drama, but I am over it.

Instead of putting on a happy face and looking for the lesson, the opportunities, the reason things are the way they are and having faith that they will work out and staying in the moment, I just feel like given the world a great big

And that is just so not like me.

I play tough.

I seem smart and evolved.

I could even convince you that I am some sort of indigo child that is misunderstood and anachronistic.

But really I am just fucked up.

And sick of everything.

See why I haven’t been writing?

Oy.

“In a web that is my own, I begin again…..”

 

 

Mens et manus

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Mens et manus

I was thinking, a little nostalgically I suppose today about people I have loved. And the oddest thing occurred to me, something I have briefly pondered before but really examined today: I remember hands.

Some people remember a lover’s eyes, lips, hair, voice, whatever.

Poets write of lips and hips.

“Eyes are the windows to the soul….”

Not for me. I had to really try to think of some people’s eye colors who I should just KNOW but their hands? I can instantly picture them:

How they looked.

How they felt.

If they had callouses or not, and where.

The shape of their nails.

Length of their nails.

Size of their hands.

Whether they chewed their nails or not.

Scars on their hands.

Tattoos on their hands.

Rings that they wore.

Whether their palms were smooth or always wrinkled.

How they held a cigarette.

How they played a guitar.

How they held onto a steering wheel or a gear shift.

Whether they were right-handed or left.

Just a casual thought that makes me smile, I wanted to share.