Gossamer and Mud

These days all one hears is "We have to fight this War on Terror...." Every time I hear that phrase I want to cover my ears and cry as if someone tied me down and made me listen to "Barbie Girl" by Aqua over and over again. It's not because the connection between Iraq and the terrorism we have suffered is pretty much non-existent. A lot of us agree and still use the term.

No, my problem is that it's bad writing. While you declare war on someone or something, you don't fight the war ON them, you fight a war AGAINST them. A matter of words, perhaps; but words are important because they're all we have here. Even more insidious, is the use of this word "terror" when we mean "terrorism." You can't fight a war against an emotion. There will always be terror. Terror is neither good nor bad. It's terrorism we hate.

The phrase "War on Terror" is therefore meaningless. It is newspeak. It's big and bad and means very little. I applaud Charlie Rose for using the phrase, "war against terrorism"(I can't remember when he said it, but I know he did). We are trying to weed out terrorism, not terror. That's like saying "War on Fear."

everything i do is judged
and they mostly get it wrong
but oh well
'cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged
and the woman who lives there can tell
the truth from the stuff that they say
and she looks me in the eye
and says would you prefer the easy way
no, well o.k. then
don't cry

Office Space rocked. Great movie. When it came out, that's the kind of job I had. I'm poor, and my life is so much better. Imagine.

Oh love, you were a sickly child
And how the wind knocked you down
Put on your spurs, swagger around
In the desperate kingdom of love

Holy water cannot help you now
Your mysterious eyes cannot help you
Selling your reason will not bring you through
The desperate kingdom of love

There's another who looks from behind your eyes
I learn from you how to hide
From the desperate kingdom of love

At the end of this burning world
You'll stand proud, face upheld
And I'll follow you, into Heaven or Hell
And I'll become, as a girl
In the desperate kingdom of love

I decided that I had to get out of the house. No more excuses to stay inside. So went out to go to the store. I got as far as the karate place and made the sudden decision to go to Mayorga instead.

I usually ignore the book exchange rack. It's full of murder mysteries and fantasy; I have nothing against either of those, except I can't be bothered to read them. And then there it was. Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones. The exact book my therapist told me to get when I saw her 26 hours earlier.

I had to get it, and furthermore, I have this urge to get this big newsprint book to write in. And, damn it, I think I will.

I said I wasn't going to do this unless I did something with it every day. So here I am, doing something.

I'm tired though, and I have nothing to say.

Ok, lie. I always have something to say.

The new Radar is out, and apparently Charlie Rose is a "Toxic Bachelor." Who knew!? Apparently, he's kinky too.

I'm sorry, but Charlie Rose being a womanizer is like finding out that Mr. Rogers was a womanizer. You just don't see it.

I'm watching his show now. I'm just.... weirded out.

I will share more on this month's Radar tomorrow. I should go to bed at a normal time.

What if I told you, you were beautiful
With your scars and missing parts and aging face
What if I told you
You were very necessary to
the chain
the vein
the children of a young and foolish race

You're my angel
You're my devil too
When you fall, raise your eyes
And know the sun and moon will rise
Again and lift you up above this mad, raging zoo.

Boredom is a dangerous thing. Boredom breeds depression. And mania. Heh, contemplate that irony. Ok, fine, that was a bit kitchy, and that's what is really dangerous about boredom. It breeds desperate mediocrity.

I don't remember where I got this. I think it's Anne Rice, from one of the early Vampire Chronicles:

"I believe in nothing; everything is sacred. I believe in everything; nothing is sacred."

And nothing is sacred, and yet every little thing matters. Or nothing matters, and it's all holy.

I promise you I had a point when I started this post, and it got lost. I think the point is that the very blood in my veins is on fire, but like I child, I can't tell you for what.

All there is now is this general desire. It's desire without an object. I am desperately in love, but with no one. My voice is loud and pure and clear and soprano and sweet, and no one can hear it.

I have advanced one step beyond unrequited love. There is no one there to return it.

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
As she came riding through the dark;
No moon to keep her armour bright,
No man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, "I'm tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
A wedding dress or something white
To wear upon my swollen appetite."
Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way,
You know i've watched you riding every day
And something in me yearns to win
Such a cold and lonesome heroine.
"And who are you?" she sternly spoke
To the one beneath the smoke.
"Why, I'm fire," he replied,
"And I love your solitude, I love your pride."

New blog, old me.

Today I didn't get a job that I applied for and interviewed for twice. Everyone has offered condolences. It feels awkward because I'm ok with not having this job. The person who got the job wanted it a hell of a lot more than I did. So people, stop. I'm not upset, so don't feel sorry for me. If there's one thing I can't handle right now, it's pity.

Not getting this job opens up a new realm of possibilities. I could train to be a hospice volunteer. Now, I know what some of you will say. How could you possibly handle working with people who you knew were going to die pretty soon. Well, I think I could do it. I think people who are dying, particularly those who are dying alone, have the right to a little company if they want it. I want to find out if I can handle it. And if I can do it, I should. The biggest problem in this world is that we don't have any responsibility for each other. We each act as if we live in a vacuum.

When I go, what will I have left? Right now, the answer is "nothing" and that bothers me a great deal. It may be ego. But it's more than wanting to write the Great American Novel. I want the world to be a tiny bit better because I lived in it. It's the least I can do for having been allowed to live in relative comfort.

Anyway, the world is full of possibilities, and all those things I yearn for aren't just for me. Because if I'm the only one enjoying them, that's lonely.