Single Vision
by Stanley Kunitz
Before I am completely shriven
I shall reject my inch of heaven.
Cancel my eyes, and, standing, sink
Into my deepest self; there drink
Memory down. The banner of
My blood, unfurled, will not be love,
Only the pity and the pride
Of it, pinned to my open side.
When I have utterly refined
The composition of my mind,
Shaped language of my marrow till
Its forms are instant to my will,
Suffered the leaf of my heart to fall
Under the wind, and, stripping all
The tender blanket from my bone,
Rise like a skeleton in the sun,
I shall have risen to disown
The good mortality I won.
Drectly risen with the stain
Of life upon my crested brain,
Which I shall shake against my ghost
To frighten him, when I am lost.
Gladly as any poison, yield
My halved conscience, brightly peeled;
Infect him, since we live but once,
With the unused evil in my bones.
I'll shed the tear of souls, the true
Sweat, Blake's intellectual dew,
Before I am resigned to slip
A dusty finger on my lip.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Today I am grateful that:
I have the opportunity to help in a way that others can't.
I have the choice to say No or I can't do that.
I have the day off tomorrow, to more or less do as I wish.
I have a place to work, then I have another place to work.
My teacher application is 'pending review'.
I have the ability to change my mind and open myself to alternative ideas.
I have someone in life that hugs me and let's me hug her.
My car started today. A house? You have a place to live?
I want to pray. I want to see as many parts of myself that can be useful.
I have a family that loves me, I have friends who care.
My hands are warm most of the time. My hands show the evidence of the life I've lived.
I have the opportunity to help in a way that others can't.
I have the choice to say No or I can't do that.
I have the day off tomorrow, to more or less do as I wish.
I have a place to work, then I have another place to work.
My teacher application is 'pending review'.
I have the ability to change my mind and open myself to alternative ideas.
I have someone in life that hugs me and let's me hug her.
My car started today. A house? You have a place to live?
I want to pray. I want to see as many parts of myself that can be useful.
I have a family that loves me, I have friends who care.
My hands are warm most of the time. My hands show the evidence of the life I've lived.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Everyone seems to have their own spin on Obama. He is now the 44th President of the United States and in good health. Didn't need the bulletproof glass and so far as we've heard Trav Bickle didn't show up with sunglasses and a mohawk to the inauguration. High hopes. Everyone seems to have high hopes great expectations. I should be hopeful too. And am. I believe this is a great man we have in our midst. More than just a politician but a great man. So help him God. WE say again and again. So help him God. Tonight he gets to glitz and glam above all the bright lights that shine his way but a tenacious task ahead of him. He admits it. He points to the probabilities of all that lies ahead. Time to deliver on the promise of change.
I was sitting at my phone job desk, hooked into the system when he was swon in to office. I saw quite clearly as he repeated the oath word for word. I was chewing over my own uncertainties, my own shortcomings and there was a man who had stepped into a place of greatness, an inspiration to all Americans that anything is possible. Anything is possible. So it's no coincidence that as I sat on my couch in my apartment, getting tired and thinking about sleep, that instead of watching more nightly news and other crap, I thought of all the innovators, people of change, who instead of doing what they always do so easily, I got off the couch and came back to this laptop and decided to write a little... out of the need to write. The freedom that it brings the soul to just think about what's really going on right now. What's going on right now is quite good. Options are still open status. I'm working my second job tomorrow, an orientation, but for which I get paid. I remember it being pretty much a snow job but that's okay. It's my second job on top of the one that I have lined up for overtime. My girlfriend made me good soup for dinner and expected very little in return. Just to cuddle a little while before we went to bed. I still have this roof over my head and I got a number from a guy at my Tuesday night group. A guy that I gthink wants to keep his head straight like mine.
Shawn talked about anger in a way that made me almost cry it was so close to my own story. One of the things he talked about was putting pen on the paper and talking things out with a friend, weighing the pros and cons of his situation and the importance of just trying to be nice. Just trying to be pleasant. I almsot lost that chance once because I was too tied up in my head to know that you could just be quiet, serene at the dinner table. Nothing had to mean anything. It just was what it was. Dinner. Eating. Unwinding fom the day. And my day needed unwinding for some reason. About 2:30 I realized how tense I was. Haven't really equated anything with not smoking at all for three days. I've had one bad day of it in about nine days. I always make sure to set the clock to zero if I have more than a few. You have to. You have to be rigorously honest about that very thing. Shawn stopped for a while I think, and so far as I know keeps going. But the emotions keep going with you and before you know it you're either not getting what you think you deserve or losing something you already have and don't want to. Then, suddenly, it's an outrage. Someone has made a major mistake and they should pay for what they've done. But did anyone have to die over what was done or what happened? Usually not. Usually it's nothing more than a minor infraction.
What would Obama do? There's a guy who can get downright fiery without completely losing his cool. He's a wonder to watch because he can't swear. He has to be a powerful rhetorician without getting terribly emotional. He just knows when to lay down the gavel and when to palm it in his hand, like Morgan Freeman in Lean On me. Forget that I just compared him to Morgan Freeman. Anyway, I think there is an importance to putting stuff down on paper as much as possible. To get it out of the cranial echo chamber. The echo chamber. It is late. Sometimes tthe answer is sit. Lie still. Sleep on it-- save the rest of what;s lingering for another day.
I was sitting at my phone job desk, hooked into the system when he was swon in to office. I saw quite clearly as he repeated the oath word for word. I was chewing over my own uncertainties, my own shortcomings and there was a man who had stepped into a place of greatness, an inspiration to all Americans that anything is possible. Anything is possible. So it's no coincidence that as I sat on my couch in my apartment, getting tired and thinking about sleep, that instead of watching more nightly news and other crap, I thought of all the innovators, people of change, who instead of doing what they always do so easily, I got off the couch and came back to this laptop and decided to write a little... out of the need to write. The freedom that it brings the soul to just think about what's really going on right now. What's going on right now is quite good. Options are still open status. I'm working my second job tomorrow, an orientation, but for which I get paid. I remember it being pretty much a snow job but that's okay. It's my second job on top of the one that I have lined up for overtime. My girlfriend made me good soup for dinner and expected very little in return. Just to cuddle a little while before we went to bed. I still have this roof over my head and I got a number from a guy at my Tuesday night group. A guy that I gthink wants to keep his head straight like mine.
Shawn talked about anger in a way that made me almost cry it was so close to my own story. One of the things he talked about was putting pen on the paper and talking things out with a friend, weighing the pros and cons of his situation and the importance of just trying to be nice. Just trying to be pleasant. I almsot lost that chance once because I was too tied up in my head to know that you could just be quiet, serene at the dinner table. Nothing had to mean anything. It just was what it was. Dinner. Eating. Unwinding fom the day. And my day needed unwinding for some reason. About 2:30 I realized how tense I was. Haven't really equated anything with not smoking at all for three days. I've had one bad day of it in about nine days. I always make sure to set the clock to zero if I have more than a few. You have to. You have to be rigorously honest about that very thing. Shawn stopped for a while I think, and so far as I know keeps going. But the emotions keep going with you and before you know it you're either not getting what you think you deserve or losing something you already have and don't want to. Then, suddenly, it's an outrage. Someone has made a major mistake and they should pay for what they've done. But did anyone have to die over what was done or what happened? Usually not. Usually it's nothing more than a minor infraction.
What would Obama do? There's a guy who can get downright fiery without completely losing his cool. He's a wonder to watch because he can't swear. He has to be a powerful rhetorician without getting terribly emotional. He just knows when to lay down the gavel and when to palm it in his hand, like Morgan Freeman in Lean On me. Forget that I just compared him to Morgan Freeman. Anyway, I think there is an importance to putting stuff down on paper as much as possible. To get it out of the cranial echo chamber. The echo chamber. It is late. Sometimes tthe answer is sit. Lie still. Sleep on it-- save the rest of what;s lingering for another day.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
He smelled like an old car. American. A Mercury Grand Marquis.
Or perhaps a Plymouth Valiant. I have ridden in both in more
desparate times. I am ashamed to admit that this is true.
I sometimes wonder if it is the truth to this date.
But this is not about me. I need to my own truths by saying anything.
He smelled like an old American car, once owned by a smoker,
someone who drove often, long distances. The upholstery
ground out by strange passengers, self-doubt, complacency.
The windows would seem to have never been opened,
the anger, self-depracation, held in, the years alone scarring the interior.
Friday, January 09, 2009
I dedicate this to the one who made me leave
one morning because she needed her juice.
I must have needed her warmth that badly,
but walking back, I began hating her the most,
the only one I can remember. May she live as she decides, though she’ll leave trails
of lust and possibility if she decides.
OK, Mother, I’ll say it so they’ll know:I did not have to freeze that winter.
Sickness did not have to enter those rooms.
-From "freezing" , Langan
Before you begin again, remember your last words to me
How light they were, spoken in weakness,
how they played the odds, how they always played the odds,
John said, the word was in the beginning, take it or leave it.
Off and on, for the rest of eternity. Pass the buck, though
we may like to do so, the word is still there, patient,
but immovable, even more so than an obelisk, statues,
thunderclouds, a seated devotee.
The last words spoken before the thunder,
which merely clapped like the judgement of reception
into heaven or hell, the champagne light or the wine, wicked.
I knew what was said, in that time, I wasn't dumb or deaf,
but the proof was stacked against me, you.
X would not be defined any other way than how the calculists
have always determined that X could be defined.
No regrets, no regrets, just a hope to be good again.
How light they were, spoken in weakness,
how they played the odds, how they always played the odds,
John said, the word was in the beginning, take it or leave it.
Off and on, for the rest of eternity. Pass the buck, though
we may like to do so, the word is still there, patient,
but immovable, even more so than an obelisk, statues,
thunderclouds, a seated devotee.
The last words spoken before the thunder,
which merely clapped like the judgement of reception
into heaven or hell, the champagne light or the wine, wicked.
I knew what was said, in that time, I wasn't dumb or deaf,
but the proof was stacked against me, you.
X would not be defined any other way than how the calculists
have always determined that X could be defined.
No regrets, no regrets, just a hope to be good again.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
My friend offered me wisdom about discipline
But I only half-heard
the way people---like me---do,
when we are distracted from the focus,
we are interested in so many other things aside
from the threat of the focus.
The color of our oxfords, the speed of our cars,
the weather, the financial report, robbery,
forging documents, the dog's hair, adultery,
picnics, lightning.
Discipline was the key to reopened doors , he said,
discipline was a portal to the cold glass of hope,
discipline was keeping the spine stacked one bone
upon the next corresponding bone.
discipline was steadying muscle, nerve & breath:
it is not parading with fire,
it is making a narrow entrance, unnanounced salvation.
For discipline to work, all that is necessary is:
assume the position. Fold hands.
Smile inwardly and wait for the image of something
to enter your heart and smile back.
There should be no gala, only contained celebration.
But I only half-heard
the way people---like me---do,
when we are distracted from the focus,
we are interested in so many other things aside
from the threat of the focus.
The color of our oxfords, the speed of our cars,
the weather, the financial report, robbery,
forging documents, the dog's hair, adultery,
picnics, lightning.
Discipline was the key to reopened doors , he said,
discipline was a portal to the cold glass of hope,
discipline was keeping the spine stacked one bone
upon the next corresponding bone.
discipline was steadying muscle, nerve & breath:
it is not parading with fire,
it is making a narrow entrance, unnanounced salvation.
For discipline to work, all that is necessary is:
assume the position. Fold hands.
Smile inwardly and wait for the image of something
to enter your heart and smile back.
There should be no gala, only contained celebration.
A quite conversation in the alley behind the building.
Because sometimes, upon further inspection,
disciplined work does not pass the eye of the judges.
Where does self-punishment fall within the gambit?
Other than consequences for poor choices,
waking up in the rain, underneath a capsized tent,
or the one thousand mornings I had to look at
myself over in the mirror, and wonder who looked back
Or is it more: shouting at the seagulls again,
their irreverence at our gravity, our being land-locked.
Because sometimes, upon further inspection,
disciplined work does not pass the eye of the judges.
Where does self-punishment fall within the gambit?
Other than consequences for poor choices,
waking up in the rain, underneath a capsized tent,
or the one thousand mornings I had to look at
myself over in the mirror, and wonder who looked back
Or is it more: shouting at the seagulls again,
their irreverence at our gravity, our being land-locked.
The questions come, they warm, they soothe, they adhere.
But they also bond to the many spirits which gather:
such as wormwood, Aziel, the bunch whom Milton met,
Mammon, Baal, hanging around the door waiting for your exit.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Getting on the right track Or The Choice is mine.
Or How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.
I once encountered many blind alleys,
but today, as long as I have faith, my path is clear.
This has all been slow progress for me.
Like so many, I do not always surrender completely;
I allow the cares and worries of the day distort my thinking.
But as soon as I get back on the right track, I realize that I have everything I need.
Whatever problems confront me, large or small, they can be solved wisely.
Or they can be solved my way. The choice is mine.
Or How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.
I once encountered many blind alleys,
but today, as long as I have faith, my path is clear.
This has all been slow progress for me.
Like so many, I do not always surrender completely;
I allow the cares and worries of the day distort my thinking.
But as soon as I get back on the right track, I realize that I have everything I need.
Whatever problems confront me, large or small, they can be solved wisely.
Or they can be solved my way. The choice is mine.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Seinfeld on George Burns...
George Burns was a master of enjoying life, which as you grow I think you find is a very rare quality amongst the human species, that we kind of go through this experience and we struggle with various things and we often times fail to stop and go - you know what, this is pretty great, just on a basic level. And George Burns was one of those people who just appreciated “Hey, I’m in show business, life is great…” One thing I did kind of get from him is like, if I get a really good cup of coffee, I like to just go — you know what, just hang on a second. This is a fantastic cup of coffee. Isn’t this a great, and I’ll ask everyone, isn’t this great coffee? Cos you know, it’s not always great. This one is great, you know... And that is one of the things that I really did learn from him. And why I had such respect for him is that I will stop and make that moment. You know, you will enjoy life more if you do that. You know, you get a great parking spot, just go… Hold it a second, I mean look at that spot. I mean it’s--we could have been blocks away and we’re right here.
Hang on a second... just hold on for a moment. And take in the moment- suck it in with a deep breath and just...notice. Become aware. The packages don't need to get there on time. Even if they were sent on time, they might not have gotten there. You will not be forgotten entirely. The message that you love these people will still be received, will still be heard. Just -slow- down-for- a- moment. Realize what is here now. Realize what is here. The cup of coffee. The ice cream. The sunset. The evening. The crunch of snow underfoot. The warmth of stepping inside from the blustery evening, getting warm... et cetera, et cetera.
George Burns was a master of enjoying life, which as you grow I think you find is a very rare quality amongst the human species, that we kind of go through this experience and we struggle with various things and we often times fail to stop and go - you know what, this is pretty great, just on a basic level. And George Burns was one of those people who just appreciated “Hey, I’m in show business, life is great…” One thing I did kind of get from him is like, if I get a really good cup of coffee, I like to just go — you know what, just hang on a second. This is a fantastic cup of coffee. Isn’t this a great, and I’ll ask everyone, isn’t this great coffee? Cos you know, it’s not always great. This one is great, you know... And that is one of the things that I really did learn from him. And why I had such respect for him is that I will stop and make that moment. You know, you will enjoy life more if you do that. You know, you get a great parking spot, just go… Hold it a second, I mean look at that spot. I mean it’s--we could have been blocks away and we’re right here.
Hang on a second... just hold on for a moment. And take in the moment- suck it in with a deep breath and just...notice. Become aware. The packages don't need to get there on time. Even if they were sent on time, they might not have gotten there. You will not be forgotten entirely. The message that you love these people will still be received, will still be heard. Just -slow- down-for- a- moment. Realize what is here now. Realize what is here. The cup of coffee. The ice cream. The sunset. The evening. The crunch of snow underfoot. The warmth of stepping inside from the blustery evening, getting warm... et cetera, et cetera.
I dug this post. I will try to read it more often. From the Milkman's Sobriety MSN Group Bully.
when you begin to realize that you have options about the thoughts that you activate and entertain — then you will be the Deliberate Creator of your own experience. As long as you think you don't have a choice about what you think because you don't have a choice about the circumstances that surround you, then you are like a cork bobbing on a raging sea, going wherever it bounces you. But when you understand that you have options, choices in every moment, on every subject, then you begin to make those choices because of the way those choices feel as you make them.
And now, you are using the Guidance that comes forth from within you to guide you to the Well-Being; to the prosperity; to the love of self and others; to the experience that you knew you would have — the experience that is possible for all — to the experience that really is only experienced by those who come to understand the Art of Allowing.
So, it is good for you to reach for some thoughts that give you some relief from the discord or resistance that you have presently going on, for with each attempt at reaching for a thought that feels better, you release more resistance. And as you release more resistance, you fill back up with who-you-are, and your thriving resumes. And we want to really emphasize the word "resumes," because thriving is always the dominant part of your experience. But, we will acknowledge that some of you are going to have to croak before you resume thriving, (Fun!) because some of you have pinched it off pretty good. Some of you have developed some powerful habits of thought. Some of you have developed some strong enemies that you take great delight in every day pushing very hard against.
And some of you thrive on some subjects and suffer on others. You have different vibrational frequencies, depending upon the subject at hand that is activated. But we want you to know that you have access to Guidance that will lead you always in the direction of your thriving on all subjects. But you've got to figure out which direction is going toward your objective, and which direction is going away from your objective. And before you can do that, you've got to figure out what your objective is.
when you begin to realize that you have options about the thoughts that you activate and entertain — then you will be the Deliberate Creator of your own experience. As long as you think you don't have a choice about what you think because you don't have a choice about the circumstances that surround you, then you are like a cork bobbing on a raging sea, going wherever it bounces you. But when you understand that you have options, choices in every moment, on every subject, then you begin to make those choices because of the way those choices feel as you make them.
And now, you are using the Guidance that comes forth from within you to guide you to the Well-Being; to the prosperity; to the love of self and others; to the experience that you knew you would have — the experience that is possible for all — to the experience that really is only experienced by those who come to understand the Art of Allowing.
So, it is good for you to reach for some thoughts that give you some relief from the discord or resistance that you have presently going on, for with each attempt at reaching for a thought that feels better, you release more resistance. And as you release more resistance, you fill back up with who-you-are, and your thriving resumes. And we want to really emphasize the word "resumes," because thriving is always the dominant part of your experience. But, we will acknowledge that some of you are going to have to croak before you resume thriving, (Fun!) because some of you have pinched it off pretty good. Some of you have developed some powerful habits of thought. Some of you have developed some strong enemies that you take great delight in every day pushing very hard against.
And some of you thrive on some subjects and suffer on others. You have different vibrational frequencies, depending upon the subject at hand that is activated. But we want you to know that you have access to Guidance that will lead you always in the direction of your thriving on all subjects. But you've got to figure out which direction is going toward your objective, and which direction is going away from your objective. And before you can do that, you've got to figure out what your objective is.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
I'll be damned, I thought, and I saw Seamus' name in the paper, not for any charity, or award,
no accolade of any kind, not murder, not molestation, not yet. But a $100 fine and 9 months' probation for driving on a suspended license. Who knew what the penalty was for something like that. But I knew I was doing that back when we were 17. He may have done when we were in the same car. Suspended license. What the hell do you have to do to get a license suspended? Not that I have any room to judge. It's never happened to me but that doesn't mean it couldn't.
So I thought I'd check it out just to see what you really would have to do that and here it was:
-Accumulating too many points on your driving record
-Lying on a driver license application
-Driving with no proof of insurance
-Being convicted of driving while under the influence of alcohol or drugs
-Leaving the scene of an accident
-Using your vehicle to flee from a law enforcement officer
-Refusing to pay a traffic ticket
-Failing to comply with court-ordered child support or alimony payments
-Violating the terms of Nebraska's graduated licensing system for teen drivers
It's a weird feeling, trying to piece together another person's life, or just know what still goes through their minds. It could be as simple as not paying a traffic ticket. And that's understandable for someone who rarely abided by the law, stiff upper lip toward the drudgery of authority. Even if it's speeding or wrong u-turn or failure to stop. Stuff that the average citizen will get stopped with. Driving is a privilege is that saying of the statement. From the time I turned sixteen years old, driving is a privilege. I don't make light of it, there's truth in that. I've driven with reckless abandon over the years, thinking that's just a quickest way from point A to B. Plus, I drove several different cars over the years, and haven't wrecked one for a long time, no big deals. I'm still sixteen, I'm still prone to trying to get there faster, to display some erratic driving. But for the most part, I drive within the lines. No reason to get real stupid out there. That's more of a truth than anything else.
Anyway, we all have our vices, I suppose. For Seamus, it's breaking the law, and God knows what else. I know it's at least his second time on probation. There's a guy running from himself, avoiding the consequences. Trying to just get away with it. Hopefully, it's nothing more than that. He'd be off probation by now. That was February. It's be his month. And he turns 33 tomorrow. That's a hard thought. Just coincidental how I found that. I am beginning to imagine that everything happens for a reason, that God puts us in people's paths to offer us opportunities for grace, for learning, to give us knowledge about what we are doing here.
no accolade of any kind, not murder, not molestation, not yet. But a $100 fine and 9 months' probation for driving on a suspended license. Who knew what the penalty was for something like that. But I knew I was doing that back when we were 17. He may have done when we were in the same car. Suspended license. What the hell do you have to do to get a license suspended? Not that I have any room to judge. It's never happened to me but that doesn't mean it couldn't.
So I thought I'd check it out just to see what you really would have to do that and here it was:
-Accumulating too many points on your driving record
-Lying on a driver license application
-Driving with no proof of insurance
-Being convicted of driving while under the influence of alcohol or drugs
-Leaving the scene of an accident
-Using your vehicle to flee from a law enforcement officer
-Refusing to pay a traffic ticket
-Failing to comply with court-ordered child support or alimony payments
-Violating the terms of Nebraska's graduated licensing system for teen drivers
It's a weird feeling, trying to piece together another person's life, or just know what still goes through their minds. It could be as simple as not paying a traffic ticket. And that's understandable for someone who rarely abided by the law, stiff upper lip toward the drudgery of authority. Even if it's speeding or wrong u-turn or failure to stop. Stuff that the average citizen will get stopped with. Driving is a privilege is that saying of the statement. From the time I turned sixteen years old, driving is a privilege. I don't make light of it, there's truth in that. I've driven with reckless abandon over the years, thinking that's just a quickest way from point A to B. Plus, I drove several different cars over the years, and haven't wrecked one for a long time, no big deals. I'm still sixteen, I'm still prone to trying to get there faster, to display some erratic driving. But for the most part, I drive within the lines. No reason to get real stupid out there. That's more of a truth than anything else.
Anyway, we all have our vices, I suppose. For Seamus, it's breaking the law, and God knows what else. I know it's at least his second time on probation. There's a guy running from himself, avoiding the consequences. Trying to just get away with it. Hopefully, it's nothing more than that. He'd be off probation by now. That was February. It's be his month. And he turns 33 tomorrow. That's a hard thought. Just coincidental how I found that. I am beginning to imagine that everything happens for a reason, that God puts us in people's paths to offer us opportunities for grace, for learning, to give us knowledge about what we are doing here.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Just like that it comes up and bites you in the throat, this corporate shit they sling your way
And I have had on several occasions thought to myself as I walked in the door...you're a lucky son of a bitch you think these guys still want you around. You could say that for just about anything I suppose. You're lucky these people even want you around, you say. But you go to the show anyway because it's where you are at. It's street cred, if nothing else. It doesn't make you who are, but it's something you know how to do. But then the boredom sets it, the discontent, the happiness that you have a place to go everyday. I ask myself often if this is living. It's not hell. Far from that. You've been to hell and you're trying not to go back... hell is a shattered state of the mind, the core of selfishness, where you are a shell. Anyway, it's not hell. Until you feel it wrap its tight talons around the base of your neck like it's been. Soft. Soft place in the heart of the concrete landscape... The quiet, nothing going on, you're biding time there. Trying to make things look like youre busy. They said that something like 250,000 lost their jobs last year. I mean, fine, the news is depressing, and to say so is not news. It's all yellow journalism. We read it, watch for confirmation. Or gratitude, depending on which side of the envelope you want to write. But looming in this environment we see that jobs are scarce, it's a bitch and not a bull market. Act like you're busy, act like its your purpose. The question is which percentage of those 250 thou were acting like they had a purpose, like they were producers. Those are the real tragedies. They went to work everyday to please somebody and something and it just wasn't enough. Or something had to be done. I'm not in that class. I still earn a paycheck because I didn't leave, decided I would stay until they made me, or until I just up and decided to make another move. I can't admit that entirely but every now and then it shows... not here for anything but plug the time that will wind up into my bank account. There for dollars. At one point it was different. In the beginning the light at the end of the tunnel was a train. I couldn't stand it because I never had my feet under me. I wasn't just passing time. I was trying not to drown. I tried to take a job at my last employer that would land me serious dollars. And it would have. If I had any skill at it. If I had had any inkling of how make it work for me. I would have cleared something like 40 thou. I was living in a shithole apartment in the city and with that money I could have probably rented or bought a house. But it wasn't right for me. It was a bitch deal when they needed me to be a bulldog out of the gate. So I flopped. Then I got this gig and training seemed like enough, until I hit the floor and then...then it was rough sailing...lots of shit to remember, lots of people to please, and if you didn't remember it, you were in trouble. But somewhere someway over about a year I felt things clicking. I wasn't dreading going to work in the morning. I was starting to like it... they gave me projects, assignments, responsibilities. I mastered a few things that were valuable. I was making it work. I fit in. For a short time, until I balked at the wrong assignment. I said, I'm not sure if I want to be doing this ALL the time. Not without a little extra incentive, what is my incentive? How will I be graded when this is part of someone else's job. All the little wormy things you say when you just really want to know the answer to the question, how am I gonna get mine?? Stockading, bivouacing. Waiting for the apocalypse. Summer break, what above my 401K wilt thou bequeath unto me. Selfish to the core. The slip from purgatory back into hell, greed.
Anyway, I'm entirely sick of this story. It's been my story the last couple years, until... I fell soft. I went back into the underbrush, trying to hide. And within the last couple weeks, a total meltdown. This shit is not that difficult really. Not at all. Unless you aren't paying attention, unless you are asleep at the wheel. Then, shit gets tough. You have to put out fires again, you've gotta surf instead of merely wade. You're running for your life so you don't join the ranks of the 250 thou. You can't afford that, you won't make rent. You won't be able to breathe and you will begin to panic. You'll look at banks in that special way, you'll be calculating bank vault volume. You'll need to have a gun which is the last thing anybody wants. It'd be like having a pack of cigarettes when you're trying to quit. You'll carry it with you everywhere. Just in case. Suddenly, you're putting out fires again. You're bargaining with your chips, you tell them anything just to get them off your back. You tell half-truths. You twist it in your favor. I told them today how I gave someone a chunky rate because that's all there was but someone else found something that saved $300...I said they okayed it. They didn't even put up a fight. They hadn't but I don't know where I got the price, how I got the price. Why, you'd practically have to be asleep at the wheel not to see that it was something fishy. I stuttered, stammered through it, I didn't know where it came from.
And I have had on several occasions thought to myself as I walked in the door...you're a lucky son of a bitch you think these guys still want you around. You could say that for just about anything I suppose. You're lucky these people even want you around, you say. But you go to the show anyway because it's where you are at. It's street cred, if nothing else. It doesn't make you who are, but it's something you know how to do. But then the boredom sets it, the discontent, the happiness that you have a place to go everyday. I ask myself often if this is living. It's not hell. Far from that. You've been to hell and you're trying not to go back... hell is a shattered state of the mind, the core of selfishness, where you are a shell. Anyway, it's not hell. Until you feel it wrap its tight talons around the base of your neck like it's been. Soft. Soft place in the heart of the concrete landscape... The quiet, nothing going on, you're biding time there. Trying to make things look like youre busy. They said that something like 250,000 lost their jobs last year. I mean, fine, the news is depressing, and to say so is not news. It's all yellow journalism. We read it, watch for confirmation. Or gratitude, depending on which side of the envelope you want to write. But looming in this environment we see that jobs are scarce, it's a bitch and not a bull market. Act like you're busy, act like its your purpose. The question is which percentage of those 250 thou were acting like they had a purpose, like they were producers. Those are the real tragedies. They went to work everyday to please somebody and something and it just wasn't enough. Or something had to be done. I'm not in that class. I still earn a paycheck because I didn't leave, decided I would stay until they made me, or until I just up and decided to make another move. I can't admit that entirely but every now and then it shows... not here for anything but plug the time that will wind up into my bank account. There for dollars. At one point it was different. In the beginning the light at the end of the tunnel was a train. I couldn't stand it because I never had my feet under me. I wasn't just passing time. I was trying not to drown. I tried to take a job at my last employer that would land me serious dollars. And it would have. If I had any skill at it. If I had had any inkling of how make it work for me. I would have cleared something like 40 thou. I was living in a shithole apartment in the city and with that money I could have probably rented or bought a house. But it wasn't right for me. It was a bitch deal when they needed me to be a bulldog out of the gate. So I flopped. Then I got this gig and training seemed like enough, until I hit the floor and then...then it was rough sailing...lots of shit to remember, lots of people to please, and if you didn't remember it, you were in trouble. But somewhere someway over about a year I felt things clicking. I wasn't dreading going to work in the morning. I was starting to like it... they gave me projects, assignments, responsibilities. I mastered a few things that were valuable. I was making it work. I fit in. For a short time, until I balked at the wrong assignment. I said, I'm not sure if I want to be doing this ALL the time. Not without a little extra incentive, what is my incentive? How will I be graded when this is part of someone else's job. All the little wormy things you say when you just really want to know the answer to the question, how am I gonna get mine?? Stockading, bivouacing. Waiting for the apocalypse. Summer break, what above my 401K wilt thou bequeath unto me. Selfish to the core. The slip from purgatory back into hell, greed.
Anyway, I'm entirely sick of this story. It's been my story the last couple years, until... I fell soft. I went back into the underbrush, trying to hide. And within the last couple weeks, a total meltdown. This shit is not that difficult really. Not at all. Unless you aren't paying attention, unless you are asleep at the wheel. Then, shit gets tough. You have to put out fires again, you've gotta surf instead of merely wade. You're running for your life so you don't join the ranks of the 250 thou. You can't afford that, you won't make rent. You won't be able to breathe and you will begin to panic. You'll look at banks in that special way, you'll be calculating bank vault volume. You'll need to have a gun which is the last thing anybody wants. It'd be like having a pack of cigarettes when you're trying to quit. You'll carry it with you everywhere. Just in case. Suddenly, you're putting out fires again. You're bargaining with your chips, you tell them anything just to get them off your back. You tell half-truths. You twist it in your favor. I told them today how I gave someone a chunky rate because that's all there was but someone else found something that saved $300...I said they okayed it. They didn't even put up a fight. They hadn't but I don't know where I got the price, how I got the price. Why, you'd practically have to be asleep at the wheel not to see that it was something fishy. I stuttered, stammered through it, I didn't know where it came from.
There are some that have been hurt by trusting another and this hurt is from within themselves and without bounds and takes their focus and they think and ruminate over and over making the hurt within then grow. The key is that this hurt is within them; the other has already gone and time passes and with the passing of time, all hurts begin to heal naturally provided we can get out of the way of that healing nature. I tell you that if we keep opening up the wound, we are wounded over and over. Fact is, and please get what I’m saying here… this hurt keeps some together even they shouldn’t be together and it tells us that we really do give some of our personal space to the other person that we love. This hurt warns us by giving us a feeling when we sense that our beloved is leaving; it is the early warning system of mate retention, and it can be wrong; it is just a warning. Yes warnings can be false alarms, like a car horn that is stuck on; that loud warning only means the horn is stuck on! So I say the hurt caused by breaks in trust are like car horns, they get our attention so we can make wise choices
The man holding on for dear life to what still remains is often as tethered to tragedy as the man who has everything to lose and is quite blinded from what he cannot see.
The reason being that the former will begin to see that he no longer has breathing room and will focus all his attention on the act of breathing, hoping that the berth will widen. His hope is gigantic and yet, he still finds himself believing that he has some sort of role in that widening.
But his insight may be that the least bit of error on his part could spell yet another setback, in a time where setbacks are not affordable.
The man who has everything to lose spends much of his time building ramparts around him as well, because he lives with the awareness that there is rope to burn, and he acts accordingly.
He changes at his leisure, burning bridges as he sees fit, without any regard for the wider consequences, occasionally to him making needed changes to his life and never truly assesses the damage. This man could later become a man who leads himself blindly into the fold. He may at some point become aware of the wreckage of his past and find the need for a freer life. Or he never changes at all and loses everything.
But so to the man looking for the rescue. But the closer to the bottom one becomes, swiping at all he has like an old man on his way home with his groceries, the more desparate with fear he realizes he now has become. The fear alone promotes failure. Once you've lost everything then the burden of keeping it all together is no longer there. No need to play defense, no need to toe the line. What a treacherous way to live it seems.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
grateful for:
-PB & J at 12:30 in the morning
-that last few minutes before you have to get the hell out of bed
-dual car keys, one to start & heat up the car and the other to have to open other doors
-Grape juice (looove grape juice)
-a workout facility just a stone's throw from my apartment
-composition
-prayers for the highest power
Strap boots on. Walk 100 paces and begin workout. It's pretty uncanny since I never would have exercised in past times. Not entirely the truth, as I remember going to the Creighton gym by myself and asking to chevk out a basketball. Off and on since I left high school. I like exercising, staying somewhat focused on my physical well-being. My physical well-being is not always so well, I think. A fine line maintainence of the joints, tendons and yes even the limbs. It's all connected, I've been able to verify that for myself... mental, physical, spiritual and emotional--- which seems to belong in some rambunctious pot.
-PB & J at 12:30 in the morning
-that last few minutes before you have to get the hell out of bed
-dual car keys, one to start & heat up the car and the other to have to open other doors
-Grape juice (looove grape juice)
-a workout facility just a stone's throw from my apartment
-composition
-prayers for the highest power
Strap boots on. Walk 100 paces and begin workout. It's pretty uncanny since I never would have exercised in past times. Not entirely the truth, as I remember going to the Creighton gym by myself and asking to chevk out a basketball. Off and on since I left high school. I like exercising, staying somewhat focused on my physical well-being. My physical well-being is not always so well, I think. A fine line maintainence of the joints, tendons and yes even the limbs. It's all connected, I've been able to verify that for myself... mental, physical, spiritual and emotional--- which seems to belong in some rambunctious pot.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
http://www.reuters.com/article/entertainmentNews/idUSTRE4B21JC20081203
I couldn't believe I remembered this one but I specifically remember her being on the PBS Blues special they had a couple years ago. Not sure which volume it was but it very well may have been the first diected by Martin Scorscese. He did a pretty faithful job of attempting to put all the folk and blues singers into their proper perspective. If you weren't terribly grounded in the blues, which I don't necessarily think I am, Odetta came off as a little strange-sounding. I remember she had this way of singing and then give a loud-WHOP sound from her mouth, deep lungs. Anyway, I can't say much about her because my knowledge is very limited, only that I know she was an influence to many. Dylan gives her props in this article as being highly influential as do a lot of civil rights activists and anyone who appreciates the maintaining of a strong musical base as means of preserving the culture and mores of a people. But that's a bit high-flown, I suppose.
I couldn't believe I remembered this one but I specifically remember her being on the PBS Blues special they had a couple years ago. Not sure which volume it was but it very well may have been the first diected by Martin Scorscese. He did a pretty faithful job of attempting to put all the folk and blues singers into their proper perspective. If you weren't terribly grounded in the blues, which I don't necessarily think I am, Odetta came off as a little strange-sounding. I remember she had this way of singing and then give a loud-WHOP sound from her mouth, deep lungs. Anyway, I can't say much about her because my knowledge is very limited, only that I know she was an influence to many. Dylan gives her props in this article as being highly influential as do a lot of civil rights activists and anyone who appreciates the maintaining of a strong musical base as means of preserving the culture and mores of a people. But that's a bit high-flown, I suppose.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Interesting take on Amsterdam. I try to keep in touch now that my relatives are getting older.
I like revisiting this because it shows up in my dreams. The only place I really have been
able to call the home of my family. Omaha, yes, but Amsterdam is where all the points
converge for us. It was pretty well calcified when I saw my whole family and their tombstones
lined up in the cemetery, one by one...
http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.zillowblog.com/zillow_blog/images/sanfordcarpet.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.zillowblog.com/my-hometown-amsterdam-ny/2006/07/&usg=__YLQmbt4U8cdRuNthlVo9E8e_lMM=&h=320&w=505&sz=73&hl=en&start=1&um=1&tbnid=NVOg3SFJbZ_YWM:&tbnh=82&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Damsterdam%2Bny%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN
I like revisiting this because it shows up in my dreams. The only place I really have been
able to call the home of my family. Omaha, yes, but Amsterdam is where all the points
converge for us. It was pretty well calcified when I saw my whole family and their tombstones
lined up in the cemetery, one by one...
http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.zillowblog.com/zillow_blog/images/sanfordcarpet.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.zillowblog.com/my-hometown-amsterdam-ny/2006/07/&usg=__YLQmbt4U8cdRuNthlVo9E8e_lMM=&h=320&w=505&sz=73&hl=en&start=1&um=1&tbnid=NVOg3SFJbZ_YWM:&tbnh=82&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Damsterdam%2Bny%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN
Monday, November 10, 2008
Someone brought up a point about the new Wal-MArt which opened up recently, which Brooke and I decided to go shopping at this weekend. The location is up on the hill on 72nd Street where the Ranch Bowl used to be. Of course, that's my frame of reference because the fact of the Ranch Bowl is as old as my any of my memories of Omaha. Then Angie makes a comment, God, I just don't know because we used to do so many things at the Ranch Bowl and now it's a Wal-Mart! Which was a point I hadn't even connected at all, but God, amazingly true...then immediately, I got to thinking about the various shows I was able to see at the Bowl... one hell of a bruiser of a place to see a gig...
It started back in 1991 with Pearl Jam for me. My first real concert ever. My parents let me go out on a Thursday night, school next day for the first time ever. And I had enough to go see this show. Went with Sigler in his parents' grocery getter to see Eddie Vedder and the boys. Tribe After Tribe opened. 311, a few times. Mudhoney, Frank Black, Mike Doughty, Blue October, Galactic, Koko Taylor, Clutch, Shannon Curfman, James McMurtry, Bob Mould, and of course, I can't remember any others for some odd reason... when a band came through there, without fail, the drumbeats would ripple through you and the guitar would wail through the air. Total bruiser bar with a hard concrete floor and chain link separating the bar from the main floor. I know it was during a couple of the 311 shows where the crowd was so thick, everybody so excited and moshing around I also got knocked over and stomped completely. You had to fight the tide through that, because it would skin you alive if you succumbed to it. Tickets to the Bowl were never more than 20 or 25 bucks and I guess that's maybe due to the hike in cost for tickets or something like that. Toward the end, when I saw Koko Taylor in what must have been 2001, they set up tables on the floor and put drapes over them, lit candles. That particular show was probably one of my first blues shows (not many since actually) where it was all class and the rest was blues. Totally different atmosphere than anything I could have hoped for. The back story of how I got in there, involving me picking up the guitarist and drummer from the airport, still kind of blows my mind.
I suppose a major reason why I can't remember a lot of shows was because the ones I mentioned already were the big ones. The Bowl was legendary for their local shows and I couldn't count how many bands I saw there. Crappy, thrashy, junky bands. Bands that so far as anyone knows went nowhere. But that was the beauty of the place... I know my friend Garrity said he saw Widespread Panic there a while back in its history and the show got called because neighbors had filed a complaint for the noise. Something like that was said to have happened for Bob Weir's Ratdog. I thought that was the point of having music in bars and not outside. Even so, the place would get packed so tight that it was like a sweat lodge in there. During the winter, the windows would fog up on the outside, and then people would be ducking outside real quick to have a smoke, freeze near death, then come back in and pick it up again.
The thing you could never truly forget was that there WAS in fact a bowling alley. My sister and her friends used to play there on weekends, for lack of anything better to do. It was a real deal bowling alley and rock joint. You could play volleyball on a team during the summer if that was your thing. Now it's a f*&%in Wal-Mart for all that's worth. In its last days, the place looked delapidated, its spirit crushed.
It started back in 1991 with Pearl Jam for me. My first real concert ever. My parents let me go out on a Thursday night, school next day for the first time ever. And I had enough to go see this show. Went with Sigler in his parents' grocery getter to see Eddie Vedder and the boys. Tribe After Tribe opened. 311, a few times. Mudhoney, Frank Black, Mike Doughty, Blue October, Galactic, Koko Taylor, Clutch, Shannon Curfman, James McMurtry, Bob Mould, and of course, I can't remember any others for some odd reason... when a band came through there, without fail, the drumbeats would ripple through you and the guitar would wail through the air. Total bruiser bar with a hard concrete floor and chain link separating the bar from the main floor. I know it was during a couple of the 311 shows where the crowd was so thick, everybody so excited and moshing around I also got knocked over and stomped completely. You had to fight the tide through that, because it would skin you alive if you succumbed to it. Tickets to the Bowl were never more than 20 or 25 bucks and I guess that's maybe due to the hike in cost for tickets or something like that. Toward the end, when I saw Koko Taylor in what must have been 2001, they set up tables on the floor and put drapes over them, lit candles. That particular show was probably one of my first blues shows (not many since actually) where it was all class and the rest was blues. Totally different atmosphere than anything I could have hoped for. The back story of how I got in there, involving me picking up the guitarist and drummer from the airport, still kind of blows my mind.
I suppose a major reason why I can't remember a lot of shows was because the ones I mentioned already were the big ones. The Bowl was legendary for their local shows and I couldn't count how many bands I saw there. Crappy, thrashy, junky bands. Bands that so far as anyone knows went nowhere. But that was the beauty of the place... I know my friend Garrity said he saw Widespread Panic there a while back in its history and the show got called because neighbors had filed a complaint for the noise. Something like that was said to have happened for Bob Weir's Ratdog. I thought that was the point of having music in bars and not outside. Even so, the place would get packed so tight that it was like a sweat lodge in there. During the winter, the windows would fog up on the outside, and then people would be ducking outside real quick to have a smoke, freeze near death, then come back in and pick it up again.
The thing you could never truly forget was that there WAS in fact a bowling alley. My sister and her friends used to play there on weekends, for lack of anything better to do. It was a real deal bowling alley and rock joint. You could play volleyball on a team during the summer if that was your thing. Now it's a f*&%in Wal-Mart for all that's worth. In its last days, the place looked delapidated, its spirit crushed.
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