Request for Advice (or How to be Crafty)

Oh great blogsphere - please help me to craftily send my email address in a profile so that I do not have to have a paid account with a weirdo website, yet can still communicate with someone neat.

Make sense? I am soliciting any advice on how to send a message to someone, cryptically, which communicates my email address unbeknownst to the website people, who are trying to charge me $30 for some sort of membership to utter craziness. The best idea I can come up with is, well, I got nothing.

Any advice would be greatly appreciated. (Stew - I'm trying to tap into some stew-y goodness here - )

Best wishes to all!
S

Post Scriptum to Teachingirl -

I am NOT crazy. Well, maybe a little crazy, but a good kind of crazy. SO AYUDAME, por favor!

Been putting this off, but this is as profound as its gonna get

I don’t know why I’ve been putting off writing about what I’ve been through the past couple of months, and how much I’ve grown. I’ve alluded to it, but really it has yet to be spoken of (and of course by “spoken” of I mean “posted” of). This blog deal was mostly used as a place for me to write about how bad everything was, oh woe is me, and how much I was hurting and boo hoo please tell me you love me because maybe if I keep taking and taking somehow this hole will magically be filled, and if nothing is offered for me to take, see, isn’t my life just awful – see, I don’t deserve anything. Sad. I just could not see that, like Dorothy, I had everything I needed the whole time.

I promise to not go all treatment on your ass.

But clearly – or not – I was gone on the 28 day vacay to the most wonderful place in the world. I loved – LOVED – every minute of rehab. It was the best thing I have ever done in my life. It truly opened my eyes, gay and cheesy though it may sound. I’m a totally new person – a bit more fragile, perhaps, than in my former days - but now airborne! I can’t cure myself of this disease, but I can manage it. And it is my responsibility to manage it. I’m completely okay, just as I am. I know that sounds silly, but I never ever believed that. This is a primary, progressive, chronic and fatal disease. My brain is just different. It is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. And I don’t have to live like that anymore.

Waking up in the morning remembering the night before sure beats the hell out of wondering what sort of a mess I was going to have to clean up, both literally and figuratively. Constantly telling myself what a loser I was, and what jerks the rest of the world was for not giving me what I wanted when I wanted it. God, to think about how much I just wanted to die – I don’t want to die. I just couldn’t live like that any longer, and to be completely honest I was killing myself, slowly. Now I know I am not alone, and there is tremendous strength to be found in numbers.

I used to not get this whole “strong” thing. I have figured out that being “strong” is not about being tough or bullet proof. Quite the opposite. Being “tough” is nothing more than weakness in disguise. Some things you can’t do without help, some things you can’t do alone, and somewhere in there, borne of the acceptance of your powerlessness, you realize that you are too strong (tearing up here – wow)… There is absolute strength in risking everything by reaching out and allowing yourself to be held up by people who are willing to jump into the hole with you, because they know the way out. By letting people take care of you and love you until you are ready to take care of and love yourself, embracing your imagined “weakness”, that is what strength is all about. It is a we program, not an I program. There is no reason to doubt – and every reason in the world to have faith – that people who have been there and know more than me can and will help.

There is no way someone who hasn’t gone through what I’ve gone through could ever understand how that feels. Thank god I was able to go to the “place” I was able to go to… Thank god for all the wonderful women I got to live with, who – somehow – finally were able to get through my thick mellon that I am loveable, and awesome, and strong. Please don’t read this and think I believe myself to be special - because I have learned that there was nothing special about my alcoholism and addictions – I simply mean the fellowship of recovery has to be experienced, it cannot be explained.

Goddamn - I am strong. I don’t have to live like that anymore. I’m a wonderful person, and my life will only get better. I have complete faith that it will, because I already see it changing. I don’t have to be cavalier anymore, or sarcastic - defending myself against imagined foes, or “tough” (or “cool”). I am happy now, and before I didn’t know what “happy” was (or fun, or serenity, the list goes on and on). I knew what I needed to do, and somehow through the grace of god found the courage to get it done. I completely surrendered. I asked for help. That is the strong thing to do. That is the brave thing to do, and most definitely that is the intelligent thing to do. To fight against something alone, never gaining any ground, is ridiculous. In fact, its more than ridiculous - its pathetic and pointless. So is blaming people or situations. So is allowing you to destroy yourself.

I have not been sober consecutively for 48 days since I was 14 and began using. 14. Emotionally I have a long way to go, I’m 14 in the body of a 31 year old. Progress, not perfection. I am starting to feel things, and its strange and not always pleasant, but its normal. Oh my god, I’m normal. What a freaking relief!!!

And here’s my favorite part:

THE A.A. PROMISES
If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and selfpity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.
______________________________________________________________________________


Yeah, I know. I used to think this shit was cheesy and stupid, that it was cultish and not for me. But you know what? I don’t even have to believe these promises are true, because I KNOW they are. I already recognize them coming true for me. Thank god.

Seebo rocks!

Happy second to last Thursday of November!

Man am I sleepy. I am sleeee-peeee. Boy, sleepy.

And I have been clean for 48 days. That is a fuckin long time. I feel great. Sleepy, but great. And you know what else? Everyone around me seems to see a marked change in me. I love that. I know I like myself finally, so it makes sense that I act more comfortable in my skin. Gone are the days of the depressing post, the psych ward detoxes and waking up wondering who I called, what I posted or where the checkbook is.

Today I can say I am truly grateful.

Yes, the old Seebo is gone, and the new Seebo might sound a little cheesy, but I'm okay with that. Yep, quite okay indeed.

Some things never change

Thank god I do.

Anyhoo - have I ever told you the one about how George W. is a shape shifting reptillian and has to eat babies (YES - you read that right - THE MAN EATS BABIES!) to maintain his human form. I have the links to prove it. For reals. I do.

Its really sad, but as crazy as it sounds, I can't prove that its not true.

Seebo (protected by Smith and Wilson)

Post to the Scriptum:
If you haven't already, check out Donnie Darko. Thanksgiving time always reminds me of Donnie Darko. I love Donnie Darko.

Still here

And still suffering from PAWS. That being said -

Hooray!!!

And welcome home Seebo! I am feeling absofuckinglutely fanfuckingtastic!!!! Here's a little something I picked up on my "vacay" - cheesy, perhaps, but still... Missing my Dia Linn ladies...

If you always think what you always thought
Then you will feel what you've always felt.
If you always feel what you always felt
Then you will do what you always did.
If you always do what you always did
Then you'll always get what you always got...

If you always get what you always got
Then you'll always think what you always thought.

__________________________________________________________

Ah yes. Loverly.

So be it -
Seebo

You all don't even know...

Sigh.

I still don't know how to exactly explain how I feel. Crabby, irritated, just want to be left alone...

Its like the part of me that I've been wanting to kill is finally dying. Which should be a good thing, because whats left behind it the part of me that I want to flourish, but still I am going to miss that other part. And I don't know that I'm ready for it to go yet. But I'm too afraid to do anything about it.

Blah.

Oh, and something about how when we push ourselves to the point of annihilation we find the part of us that is truly indestructable... Sounds good. Guess I'm sort of on my way to some great dharma-zen spot. At least I hope so.

Can it be?

Is Seebo actually posting something? Why, yes, yes she is -

So. Yeah. Going to be going away here for about a month. Not entirely sure when, hopefully I'll know Friday. I have a lot that's been on my mind, and needless to say on my mind is kind of where I'd like all that to stay for the moment. Sometime soon, before I go, I really want to put some of it down here.

I don't know. Everything just seems so hard right now. I don't know what to do except not do anything, if that makes sense. It does to me. As long as I keep doing nothing, then I can't screw up.

Sigh. Day eight. I wonder if I can actually do this. I wonder if I will actually do this. I want to, but I also just want to screw up now and get the screwing up part out of the way.

Whatever. Those of you - if any - who read this might not have any idea what I'm talking about, but then again some do.

All I know is I just want to get going, so I can get on with this already. I have to remind myself not to think, and to lean into the pain as to maximize the growth potential. See? Just too much right now for me to put it all down.

S.

I feel like a jerk, that everyone hates, and rightly so -

But please hear this, from a friend, writing as if she were me - it made ma cry...

And I never meant to hurt anybody.


When you get to the point like a dog, when you have been beatin down so many times by a hand you love so much, one tends to snap at little children and innocents that only want to be your friend or in your company.
I am not not ready to be euthanized just yet, I can be taught and your patience is appreciated.
I am a loyal, trustworthy soul excuse me for peeing on the rug of friendship. Just so you know my tail is between my legs for the comments I have made. If I could I would lick your face in truce. (metaphorically speaking)

Here's the lamest thing I've ever heard

And, keep in mind, I've heard it more than once (oh, "poor Seebo"...)

Are you ready?

Here it is:

I've already got too many friends...

Well, alrighty then, Captain F*ck You. And, by the way, Cap'n, here's how that sounds to us (and by us I mean the too little too late freaktards to be your friends): Yeah, well, I know your neat and cool, I just don't have time to appreciate that right now. Yeah, got a lot of stuff going on. Sure I bitch about my life and how I'm miserable and lonley and misunderstood I am (but, clearly, got that covcred), and maybe introducing new people in to that might help, but no... Sorry - you in particular just don't make the cut. Sit you fat ass down on the "non-pickable" line for gym and wallow in your misery. But hey - keep that chin up!

Remind me all to tell you how I woke up in the hospital the other day.

God I suck.

And he better not even get mad at me, that's just how it feels. Too many freinds, my big fat ass.

PS
Hospital food sucks

The worst really was the best...

I have a crush, and my crush shot me down. And it was probably the single most greatest thing that has happened to me in a while.

Why?

Because he was honest. And respectful. Gave me props, and stoped me from further making an ass of myself. Now I have faith in men again. Its hard to explain, but he was HONEST. I didn't know men could do that. And he made me feel truly aiight. Granted, I'll still resort to hating myself, but he has proven that good men do exist, and I am worthy.

Thank you, anon, for that. I knew you were an on purpose for a reason.

Weird, being "shot down" and thanking the guy. But it's true. Not all men are asses after all.

Though, there is this to depress me (and I will never admit to what I have done)


Sometimes/always

When you’ve sank as low as you can go,
When – even in your most self deprecating moments,
It's pure;
Even when you weep for your mother –
Who would weep if she knew what you had done –

(Thank god she doesn’t. Honestly.)

It’s at that moment
For a split second,
You own yourself
And it’s not as bad as you thought.

But moments end,
And once again
You find
The missing –

Not the missing piece –

Good lord, no –

Just the missing,
And you have to start
All
Over
Again.

Yeah...

Very, very, very - ahem - comfortable... The words "nice" and "awesome" cp,e tp mind. Then again, so does The Blue Oyster Cult...

Yeah.

Don't... Just don't...

Please, someone, lay it out for me. How I'm just unloveable, and gross, and a wank, etc. You don't have to be mean, just be honest. Because in the end I'm a really good person, whom everyone loves, and, well, whatever... Does it even matter any more?

I will not play the politk game, and I’m sure as hell not gonna play the “who is suffering more" game – cause its moo. Like a cow’s opinion: it doesn’t matter.

Finally do the rough winds that shake the darling buds of May (Shakespeare) abate, and for a change I feel cool. And by cool I mean cold. Because I have this disjointed, pervasive voice in my head that feeds me a constant stream of such hits as (and this is verbatim the voice in my melon):

You suck
I wish I were dead
I could just hang…
I’m gross
I wanna go home [where that is – I dunno]
Fuck everything
I’m such a loser

I think you get the idea.

And I’m sure I haven’t even held the attention of that one person whose attention I want to hold. For yous out there who have a daughter – you are fucked. Accept that. Please don’t create in her the inner dialogue that was created in me. Daughters are great – we love unconditionally because you’re this man called “Dad” – and that is magical to us. Don’t take that away from a little girl. Assuming we’re all adults, I know what ruined my life effectively: My Dad, telling me I was a nuisance, a burden, let alone removing himself (proactively) from life. Don’t sign the death warrant for your daughters. What difference does it make if you live another hour or 50 more years? Infinity is a long, long time…

And, as an aside: making love without emotion? It’s easy. Not as good, but works in a pinch. And what's there to be afriad of - directed versus misdirected hurt? Whatever -

I’m crazy. I hate my life. But I’m also a daughter of a starving artist who decided that I was just one more stressor (and therefore an inconvience) that ruined his life. And that has effectively ruined mine.

Anon person, I am so fascinated by you; yet scared at the same time. I don’t do “accidents” in my life, only on purposes… Why won't you let me in. I know why, its because I'm just gross and so not worthy of anything... God, did I mention that I hate my life?

And I really hope my piece is being biked over, with regards to delivery purposes. Maybe because I'm lonely. Maybe because I don't want to be thought of poorly, maybe because I want to see the artists face again (and not just the eyes - I'd recognize the eyes... Whatever Seebo, fuckin' loser). I promise, I will redeem myself as the Seebo everyone knows and raves about…

Now I’m going to go beat myself up about this post until tomorrow when I have to delete it cause I’m too much of a loser for him to even want to be my friend, and go to this stooped wedding… Alone.

Whatever.

Morrissey (and - ergo - The Smiths... for lack of a better)

An unspeakable friend
Gets the message
On an ill wind -
All your friends and your foes
Would rather die
Than have to touch you

Drank to much
And I said too much
and there’s nowhere to go but down…

…Truly disappointed
Truly,
Truly,
Truly…

Don’t talk to me now
About people who are nice
Cause I have spent my whole life
In ruins
Because of people who are nice

Oh, this world may lack style you know –
Each bud must blossom and grow…

This is the last song I will ever sing –
Oh I’ve changed my mind again –
Hoodnight and thank you.

Disappointed, Morrissey “Bona Drag”

Sorry - got a little deep there (whoops!)

Please note at the end of this message a disclaimer:

So. The catepillar has emerged from it's cocoon. As a shark. With a gun for it's mouth...
- C. Montegomery Burns

If you are ever going through hell
Keep going

AND

There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man
-Winston Churchill

So, how's the revolution coming?
Its comin' along...
-Cap'n and Seebo




Disclaimer: those who look upon this do not judge, for the last of what we think we'll be - for surely is that of which we are (and that's all Seebo!)

And moreso:

"All great things bring about their own distruction through an act of self overcoming: thus the law of life will have it, the law of the necessity of "self-overcoming" in the nature of life - the law-giver himself eventually receives the call: "patere legem, quam ipse tulisti." In this way Christianity as a dogma was destroyed by its own morality; in the same way Christianity as morality must now perish, too: we stand on the threshold of this event. After Christian truthfullness has drawn one inference after another, it must end by drawing its most striking inference, its inference against itself; this will happen, however, when it poses the question "what is the meaning of all will to truth?"

On the Genealogy of Morals, F. Nietzsche

Even in the garden...

ABRAXAS
BRAXAS
RAXAS
AXAS
XAS
AS
S
[Oh god - your xian eyes!!!!]


And why? Heretofore why:

Carl Jung (The Seven Sermons to the Dead)
"Abraxas speaketh that hallowed and accursed word which is life and death at the same time. Abraxas begetteth truth and lying, good and evil, light and darkness in the same word and in the same act. Wherefore is Abraxas terrible."

“Der Vogel kämpft sich aus dem Ei. Das Ei ist die Welt. Wer geboren werden will, muss eine Welt zerstören. Der Vogel fliegt zu Gott. Der Gott heisst Abraxas.” (The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born first must destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas) - Hermann Hesse, Demian


Even in the garden, I exsist -



(And - as an aside - I will remember...)

And not me only

For the record, Help is the best movie, of all time, ever [I can say no more...}

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeV5CaUfX6A

And now for something completely different

In the midst of all the politik, crap, and boring pointless never-ending banter/pseudo-debates going on between the holier than thou right and the victim saint martyr left, this is a fundamental arguement that is not, indeed, being addressed - and, ironically is the heart of the matter as I see it. I've been meaning to post something on the teleolical suspension of the ethical for a long while (mind teaming with thoughts), and what exactly that means. Read on, and please comment if you wish...


"This is what is terrible. Anyone who doesn't see this can always be quite certain he is no knight of faith; but anyone who does see it will not deny that the step of even the most tried tragic hero goes like a dance compared with the slow and creeping progress of the knight of faith. And having seen it and realized he does not have the courage to understand it., he must at least have some ideaof the wonderful glory achieved by that knight in becoming God's confidant, the Lord's friend, and - to speak really humanly - in adressing God in heaven as 'Thou', while even the tragic hero only adresses him in the third person." (Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkegaard)



Kierkegaard: Problema I – Is there a teleological suspension of the ethical?


Soren Kierkegaard, in Fear and Trembling, uses the biblical story of Abraham and Issac to challenge common 19th century positivist notions of science and progress with regards to faith and religion. Kierkegaard believed that Christianity was more complex then 19th century thinkers such as Ibsen and Mill perceived. People are justified through faith, not acts, and therefore to put the “ethical” forward as the driving moral force behind society one forgets the importance of the individual over the universal. Much like Mill as far as placing emphasis on the individual over society, Kierkegaard explores the concepts of faith and telos through 3 problemas, mirroring the 3 postulates of Hegelian ethical thought to illustrate inconsistencies using the acts of pure faith put forward by Abraham – acts of faith which require him to turn his back on the “ethical” in order to respond to the absolute (God). Kierkegaard took issue with the Hegelian notion of transcending faith by systemic philosophy and attempts to define what Christianity is and is not. Problema one focuses on the teleological suspension of the ethical, placing the focus on the individual, not the universal, and challenging the concept of an unbending, universal “ethical” moral standard.


Asked by God to sacrifice his only son Issac, Abraham - by complying with this request - through his faith (based in the absurd), “overstepped the ethical altogether, and had a higher telos outside it, in relation to which he suspended it” (pg 88). Abraham had faith. Faith as seen by Kierkegaard requires belief in all things absurd, for all human calculation has long since been suspended (pg 65). When God asked Abraham to sacrifice his only son, it is with quiet resignation that Abraham immediately moves forward to perform the task which is required of him. If he had faltered, one could not say he truly had faith. For 19th century thinkers to put the ethical over the individual, and in the place of the absolute, maintain that to act outside this “unfaltering set of moral law” is to sin, thereby missing the point in this biblical tale where the temptation to sin (the temptation of Abraham to maintain the ethical by following the course of it being a father’s duty to love his son) comes from the ethical itself. The ethical has a place, but that place is inferior to that of the individual. The ethical is not the absolute. God is the absolute, and therefore the ethical should reflect “precisely the expression of God’s will” (pg 88). Man cannot merely obey the universal when the absolute supercedes it.


Kierkegaard in this problema compares the tragic hero, Agamemnon, with Abraham. The difference is the tragic hero is operating within the ethical – he bases his decision not only on his personal duties, but upon his duties to the whole. Agamemnon’s duty is first to his country, then to his daughter. The ethical in this case is the telos, therefore there can be no teleological suspension of the ethical. Abraham, on the other hand, is asked privately to sacrifice his son, and with no greater social outcome or benefit to the whole. God simply has asked him to commit a seemingly unethical act. For Abraham, the law comes from the absolute, and the ethical should be a perfect reflection of God’s will, enabling the giver of the law (the absolute, God) to suspend the same. Abraham has moved outside of the ethical, unlike the tragic hero Agamemnon, through his faith.


It is Kierkegaard’s concept of faith which allows for the teleological suspension of the ethical, otherwise Abraham would be no more than a murderer: “When a person sets out on the tragic hero’s admittedly hard path there are many who could lend him advice; but he who walks the narrow path of faith no one can advise, no one understand. Faith is a marvel…” (pg 95). Individuals can’t be forced into a rigid standard of conventional morality, imposing abstract rules on a concrete individual. The ethical speaks to the totality; the absolute speaks to the individual.

Document9 – Microsoft Word (Posting from work, again, clearly I am some sort of badass)

Oh thank you Microsoft Word, for being my way around abominable spelling…

Please note that the following post is laced with profanity and bitterness. And if that offends you, then, clearly, you are a wank who is reading the wrong blog.



Fuck you paying bills. Honestly. It’s my money, I earned it, and whist I do appreciate the good and or service I have been provided, I have much more entertaining things to do with said capital. And none of them involve sending it away to some nameless good and or service provider.

Fuck you dishes. I hate dishes. No, that’s not quite accurate. I hate washing large amassed stacks of dishes (dishes themselves are quite lovely, a very appropriate place to set food upon for consumption). I swear to god, if and when I get around to doing you I am only using one plate, one fork, one knife and one spoon for the rest of my life. I still need to use three glasses, as I have varied and many beverage needs, but at least its not using every fucking glass I have and stacking them up along side the sink until none are left (and I have a lot, I can’t stress this enough, of glasses). I’ve been drinking ice water out of fucking brandy snifters for the last week, for the love…

Fuck you vacuuming. I love my creatures, and their respective soft coats of petable fur, but I do not like vacuuming up these damnable tumbleweeds of dander-ridden hair that seem to be everywhere, including being spotted most recently in my bed. THAT’s nice to wake up to. Seriously.

Fuck you getting out of bed, for that matter. Unless it’s to get rid of the aforementioned hair-friends. I love bed. It’s quite a comfortable place to recline, I find. And here in my box I am missing it quite desperately.

Fuck you Neutrogena conditioner, which I am forced to use as I am out of regular conditioner. Thank god I take toiletries from hotels, but come on. Neutrogena is crap, and it makes me smell like an old lady I know. And did I mention that it is crap.

Fuck you the only plans I have for tonight - a pay Friday, and a pay Friday of a long weekend no less – being to meet my parents and grandmother (heretofore further known as “Nanny”) at Perkins for dinner. Fucking Perkins. Sigh, I guess it beats Schwann’s pizza.

Come to mention it, fuck you Schwann’s pizza. It is not good, and is taking up valuable freezer space which could be utilized to store, oh, I don’t know, bodies or ice sculptures, or dishes… Anything would be better.

And finally, fuck you laundry. For you truly are the bane of my existence. It never ends with this laundry business. Unless you do it naked and stay that way, it’s in a perpetual state of accumulation. If only they could harness that energy and transform it into some sort of fuel source…

You’d think I was in a bad mood. Not so much. Just bored, and tired, and waiting to get my terribly exciting weekend on…
S

Whatever.

I will die alone. That is all. I actually had written something, but I can't find what I wanted to say.

Sigh.

There's just no way. NO way. And honestly, ask anyone, I'm not crazy-stalker-lady. And, if indeed I was, why would you only answer when I call from a phone that shows my caller id info?

Whatever. The sooner we all get used to being alone, the better.

I will say, however, that I do miss ******* on a ***** that belongs to a warm and caring ***.

Whatever.

What I wear to bed -

Wowza. Honestly. Wowza.http://www.armorofgodpjs.com/

Fearless leader -

"The cat's bloody choked on lupins!!!"

Why does no one get this Monty Pyton reference? I don't know...

I'm so tired, TIRED of being misunderstood. And no, dug, if you are reading this, not you. Just people in general. My friends love me dearly and fiercly, but apparently I can be very off-putting...

And, FYI, I am the queen of the "...",,,

Sigh, Why would a man do what he did, in response to my doing what I did, and then do what he did again, and leave me a what he said he'd never do in my bathroom...

Purple monkey dishwasher.

I had acupunture tonight. With Dr. Fantasmo. She said when she put a needle between my eyes, my "face completely relaxed, turned alomst angelic." It was weird, because she's never put a needle there (and believe me, there were more needles elsewhere) - but, nevermind. I don't know how to explain it. If anyone wants me to then comment, but I'm 31 now, and am trying to distance myself from making an ass of myself publically if I can help it.

Oh, nameless person who will remain nameless and is working on something that is also nameless... Is it me? Am I really that off-putting? Whatever. Whatever's clever. But I think you're great, yet nameless and I understand whatever and whatever and whatever...

Regardless, I love my Seebo tag. LOVE it. If I never talk to nameless again, I am going to frame it. And maybe it was nameless's ghost, cause I didn't see it untul yesterday...

Oh nameless, people do pine over you. Not fer nuthin'

Pending review...

The Smiley Face for [pilbox] is back on.

In a tentative sort of way. Investigation pending.

Stay tuned for our next episode entitled:

A Way with Words, or The Way We Were...

(Is not moose, is flying squirrel!!)

Bring it Noodles, if you dare...

Man, this is not the revolution. Where's the theater, where's the humor...

I was getting sucked in to the "defend your friends" mode - and that's not it man. Not at all. Some people can't be saved - and you know who I'm talking about. No - yeah - yeah you! We're never gonna "find" Jesus... And we know, we know we've already found him, yadda yadda yadda...

I can't do this right now. How bout a list?

1) The god[s] I believe in are more dynamic than this earth's parameters allow fer...

2) What happened to the beauty I had inside of me

3) You can't change the world, so don't alienate them... Pick ONE thing [maybe the One.org campaign?] and just lay off...

4) Time won't leave us as we are...

I had so much more to say. But I'm so done posting on others blogs just to point-counter-point... Does it matter? j c gave me a GREAT link, and you can't convert those who don't want to hear. Including us...

Says the drunken Seebo-san. If you want to know, I'm truly a conservative - like Stew - in a libertarian sense. That doesn't hold water anymore, so I call myself a Socialist, and if you really piss me off - then, yah, sure - you betcha - I'm a Communist.

I had so much more to say, and more eloquently - but I have to get up early - new shipment of lions coming in...

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit
As it was in the beginning
Is now
And ever shall be
World without end, Amen...

I love my birthday

It was great. Nuff said. I'm going to go have another piece of cake...

And what did I learn from the evil age of 30?

Fuck artists, and "nice" people, they are only passive agressive monsters who will make you cry in the end.

That, and I'm really not a bad person. The people that love me seem to really love me, so whatever.

Off to my piece of cake I go - love everyone who sent well wishes, that was huge.

S

YAY for Seebo!!!! Happy Birthday to Me!!!!!!!!

I thank you all, for your kind wishes... [kiss kiss, wave, wave]...

Please let the boy I like understand, so I have someone to canoodle with; please let my horse-babies (and one in particular) continue to be my angels.

What are the chances that someone like me, would meet an ARCHangel...

Gabe... I haven't got words enough for how good and cool and great you are. And you deserve it, accept it - for crazy Seebo's b-day present.

That is all. I'm 31. And that's aiight.

Pilbox, that is all, just Pilbox... (smiley face for you!!!)

Oh, oh yeah… HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEEBO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There is this one man. This one man with whom I didn’t make the best of first impressions… But he’s still nice enough to talk to me, and nothing happens ‘by accident’

[As you breathe, as you breathe - into life - you believe…}
[I will believe… cause you are here today, and gone forever… troubled on the way we came together… as you believe into live, as you stray far from home I will believe –

Because your were here today…]

Please let the man I direct that to get it. I’ll make it really fun… I promise

And he is the choirs of angels we both never knew we always wanted… And I make good hors de ovres…

Mr. Anon – it’s my birthday – you cannot hate a girl on her birthday, I read that somewhere… And you did hold my hand, not for nothing, KBO [and just this once, will I allude or define the’KBO’ – Roosevelt and Churchill’s end of transmission – meaning “keep buggering on” –

It’s my birthday. Yay!!!!!!!

Sometimes I really am a bit of alright

So that went well. Really well. I had them laughing and several of them told me (several, because it was a 6 person panel – little stressful) when I was leaving that I came across really well and it was a great interview. Hooray for Seebo! See, Seebo, you are capable of making a good impression. Even at 9 AM.

And then, AND THEN… Wait for it…

I met Al Franken. I was getting into an elevator and I saw someone coming, and being the ever-most gracious person I held the door. In walks Al Franken. He is short(er than me) and has a big head. He shook my hand, and I said “Have a good one” – there’s my brush with greatness for the day.

KBO -
S

Friday - waa-zoo!

I have an interview in 30 minutes. I am not in the mood for this.

That is all.
S

GET OFF THAT DAMN SHED!!!

I’m – you know what, I’m not even going to finish that sentence…

I had a revelation tonight, watching the TV, seeing someone’s dad saying how happy they were to welcome their daughter to the fam when she was born… And it hit me. Not that a lot of things haven’t “hit me” since entering into Jungian psychoanalysis… But my dad (ergo = men, or even more so, ergo = my self worth) completely abandoned my mom and me. We joined him in Dublin, and he was still a wank (and, by the way, still is).

My whole life I’ve rebelled against the trite psychology that is “because your dad left, you feel responsible.” Oh god, the shift is so SO subtle, can I even explain it?

Seeing this dad talk about the gift his daughter was to his family, I realized: it’s not so literal “I did something wrong” so much as it is that “there is something inherently wrong with me that makes me less than desirable…”

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Doesn’t matter is Seebo is there or not, no big deal. Emotions are just a show or weakness, right? Ironic, in the saddest sense, in that I am the most sentimental (not in a cheesy way – don’t get me wrong) and sensitive of anyone of all time ever. Getting Hong Fu’ed – took me the better part of the morning not to question myself. And in that, accepting myself in some sort of way – its all humor. And – gasp – I just might be a cool and interesting person.

Regardless, in summation:

 I think of myself as a not-worthy commodity (wrongly, I recognize that, not looking for compliments, but it was a realization. Perhaps it’s my dad [sperm donor] that’s the wank, and not me after all…)
 Think I’m too talk-y, and might have lost a friend last night
 Need to dye my hair. Its been a minute, and its not red (that’s fer sure) but it’s not blonde again
 Stew Magoo might possibly be the hardest working man in show-business

S

I’m so GrrrrAaaagh!!! I could explode…

I hate everything and everyone. No one cares, no one is really your friend. Whatever. Get over it.

My birthday is next Sunday. And I’m going to be 31. And I “should just get over” the whole birthday thing. But there are some people, like me, who really care about our birthdays. They are ours. I’ve never had that great birthday – surprise – or not – with all those ones you love and whom love you celebrating you. Granted, it’s just a great party, and everyone is reveling in the greatness of the party, and not really you at all – Regardless, that’s what I’ve always wanted. And this year, not even getting wrapped presents at some obligatory dinner by my parents.

And I’m not ungrateful. Not at all. The only thing I’m missing are friends. Friends who would decorate. Friends who would fill up a room.

Whatever. 31 – You’re supposed to not care anymore, right? Whatever.

Here are some things you may not know about me:

•I’m an Irish citizen. My dad is an Irish surrealist painter of great acclaim
•I dropped out of college to pursue horse training
•I went to an all girls Catholic prep school
•My grandfather, a Colonel (because he denied an appointment to general) was the only dad I knew for the first years of my life
•I went from my ex to his friend, whom I thought was my friend, but now I guess I’m worth nothing more than what one would ascribe a warm hole
•“Where you live should not decide whether you live or whether you die”
•I have dined with rock stars and prime ministers, and a fat lot of good that did me
•I’m lonely, and that sucks.

Thank god for email notification

Okay, so this probably [self depreciation - YAY!] wasn't so great a post, but losing it trying to provide the reader with a picture? Sucks. And, by the way, the picture was only of stoopid Mickey and Mallory Knox... How lame am I.

Regardless - said missing post. Back to the martini I go:

So what do I want for my birthday? A horse. I won't get one, and more pointedly my mother proposed this: a year long membership at a gym (cause, I suppose I do have access to horses and lessons...) or mani's and pedi's... I told her I wanted krav maga lessons from this place on Lyndale. Drove by there, and they no longer have krav maga listed as one of thier specialities. I want to be able to punch boys! I love movies and such where the woman has the power. Blame that on my wank of a surrealist Irish dad, I do, but I want to know how to defend myself. Lion taming has taught me a lot - don't get me wrong - but my ex-ghetto-trash-junkie boyfriend taught me how to throw a punch. So that I'd know, but not know how to punch him.

Hard to believe I'm a pacifist, huh?

But I am. I'm just about being empowered. And no one - ever - is going to take that away from me.


Thank you, Saint Augustine, and your confessions. Good read.

S

Damn it all to hell

Lost a good post, going to have another cocktail.

Clearly, god hates me. Something about my birthday and krav maga and mani's and pedi's and ghosts...

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Post Scriptum -

I still want a man partner, one who can handle me, and whom I can handle... That does not transfer power in any way. shape or form... Unless that power is to me.

Then its all good.

Thousands wouldn't...

http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f102/suziecidal/th_839a478a.jpg

Okay, so yeah, depression

Yay! Tomorrow is Friday! Wah-hoo...

I realize you have to be "in it to win it" - and I never buy any kind of lotto tix - no scratch off's, no powerballs, no nuthin' - cause that's one third of a pack of smokes baby, and I like my money - [and smoking, clearly]

I'm so bleeding heart liberal that I don't even think I can bleed anymore. Everyone wants my sympathy - and I just can't cater to everyone now can I? Israel, Lebanon, fuckstick arab no. #1...

I have a scanner, I just haven't hooked it up. That does matter. And Sister Machinegun matters, and Ride matters, and Jono matters, and S. Magoo matters, and pilbox - PILBOX matters - and no one but the friends of the seebo will understand... But at least I could post my visual interpretations for everyone to tear down...

FYI - don't drink and blog, and if you haven't already, call your mom...

In our next episode - Seebo tries to branch out from lion taming into everything gross and mean taming... Stay tuned...

I WILL LIGHT YOU ON FIRE

"Like that monk in Viet Nam - NOW GET OFF THE SHED"

As bad as things get, Will Ferrell ranks right up there with Graham Chapman, John Cleese and Sacha Cohen...

And, just in defense of myself, my spelling lacks a certain... correctness.

Okay, point well taken. I am more blog-worthy then just how horribly I feel about myself.

All things in perspective [Ann is the devil]. I'm done with this world. Not in a crazy vampire depressed way, more so in a prison way. In a Kafka way - in a Thoreau way... I love my house, and my cats, and my dog (who, lovey though he may be, will eat your dog) and my rat babies. I love The Daily Show, I love Monty Python, I love people who are into just about anything as long as they're into something.

This is NOT turning out to be the great post I thought it was going to be... But I can't help but thinking about the bath I'm about to run, complete with grapefruit salts (ironically for their "awakening" properties...) and The Confessions of Saint Augustine...

"We gladly take a little longer in bed..."

[That's what she said]

What good is being loved if you aren’t loved?

I’m so tired (see also: Seebo in general) of people saying that I’m smart and great and funny and wonderful. Sounds like I’m boasting? Well, honestly, I’m not. Because I just don’t see it. I don’t see it at all. And my current diversion at work? Sanatoriums and psychiatry… I’ve diagnosed myself plenty of times. Read a news article today about Special K (the only drug I haven’t done, aside from PCP) curing depression, People allowed in the study had to score at least 18 on the DHDS… I win. I got a 40.

And then one of my great dear dear friends tried to give me a pep talk, bless her. The diatribe about meds and analysis will hold for another time…

I hate my life. Everyone else seems to think I’m so great – the fact that I don’t – self diagnoses and not denied by my [great] analyst – delusions. Oh, but that’s not all – not just “delusions” – they’re “psychotic delusions”. No, I don’t hear voices, it’s a mood disorder, but I have this overwhelming, constant sense of guilt and worthlessness that is not based in actual reality. Actual reality being people responding to me in a positive way. Note to humanity: Google-ing medical problems = not a good idea.

Oh yeah, and I’m drunk, Wishing I had dope, not even dope. Heroin or oxys – so I could [throw up repeatedly] just enjoy smoking and having my eyelids at half mast.

And therefore, there but for the grace of god go I.

Et in arcadia ego.

Sigh

I don't know if my head hurts or just my eyes... Stupid analysis and even more stupid painful moments of realization.

To anyone out there - if you're in the market for an Irish artist's surrealist paintings, I can recommend someone NOT to throw your money at.

Too tired for this. Just way too tired.

Ah yes, my usual depressed self, now that's more like it.

S

Its a record - three posts in one night!

Ka-loo-kah-lay!

Ahem,

I am, I am Superman, and I know what's happening
I am - I am Superman, and I can do anything - [REM]

You don't really love that guy you make it with now do you?
I know you don't love that guy cause I can see right through you...


Okay, then, smart guy - where are you? And what are you doing? And are you really going to be worth it, or am I just wasting my time? Goddamn me and my stoopid chicken sandwich. Fuck fuck FUCK everything...

I'm destined to be the crazy lady on the block with a thousand cats...

But I know what's happening...

S.

Post Scriptum to the pics of horses

Gypsy Hollow or Vintage Vanners - they're not my horses, I'm just luck enough to work with them.

And so she goes on...

And on. And on.

Phones suck. Or, rather, lack of service sucks. Regardless...

My birthday is coming up. I'm going to be, sigh, 31. My mom offeredm e a year long membership to a gym, or mani's and pedi's... I opted - initially - for the gym, but tonight I told her that I wanted lessons.

Lessons, for those who don't know me, which is just about everyone, are hunt seat equitation or dressage lessons. It's been about five years since I had a formal trainer, and that is what I want. Yes, I still work with horses, and have since forever (which is no small feat for a city girl) - but since my accident I've somewhat relegated myself to ground work (and grooming, and lovins and scritches). I tried to post a picture of Petal, but it didn't come out..............................

Who cares. This is life. As a grown up. The party is over, and believe me I've partied hard. I actually got took for $30 this weekend, hittin' the street for dope. I'm an idiot. And now I'm going to go youtube some Will Ferrell, because he makes me laugh.

Hopefully this picture of my baby doll (not including my cats, or rats, or dog - but she is just my big baby doll) Triana will work.

Whatever.

10 things I did today (and 5 things I didn't)

1) Not only had clean underpants to wear, but actually wore them

2) Woke up screaming to some scary nightmare that I don't quite recall - but it was one of those screams where you don't make a sound - just the expulsion of air. And for a minute I couldn't see the light I left on in the hall - for a second I though someone had flipped a switch and turned a light on, then I figured it was just my eyes un-paralysing themselves from the dream...

3) Ran into my ex-boyfriend's mom at the Federal Courthouse getting lunch from their awesome deli (note to self: not so awesome a deli if you run into exes parents)

4) Ran into someone I used to, ahem, "see" I guess is the political way to put it - pulling into the alley spot to the rental duplex across (DIRECTLY across, and I cannot stress that enough) the alley from my house as I was pulling in with cat and dog food

5) Reconsidered posting #1, because I'm not a nasty internet person, does that make me sound shady? Or midly intriguing? = Basically, lets just call number 5 "Questioned myself" - that should cover it

6) Posted on my bloggy-blog, versus drawing or making lists that probably won't come to fruition - not in a dspressing way - just in a different sort of thing I did today sort of way

7) Played with the dog, the cats, and the rat babies

8) called my mom

9) Smoked cigarettes like they were going out of style

10) Well, I'm not sure what "10" is, but I'll bet its gonna be good, or not. Whatever's clever...

And the five things I didn't do

1) Finish the world's most compelling piece of literary greatness of all time, ever

2) Send Comrade Fidel that get well soon card

3) Have breakfast: not only the most important meal of the day, but my personal favorite (see also: egg-y goodness, cheese and potato-y wonderment)

4) Wash the bathroom floor

5) Cease being neurotic


And that is all. For now. Maybe more later, but....

I'M GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE, NOW GET OFF THAT SHED


- just a little something for those people out there who will know what I'm talkin'

S

Post scriptum:
To hell with spell check (that was for my benefit, so that when I read this later I'm not all, god - how'd I misspell that...)

All I have to say is: More Cowbell!

Petal

This world disgusts me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGYUcJ2g8WQ&search=hezbollah%20israel

At this point, humanity disgusts me. What are we doing? Its only a matter of time until we're carrying "our" babies through the streets, torn up, burned and bleeding.

What the fuck is wrong with all of us, that we're letting this happen?

WHAT THE FUCK?

May god have mercy on your soul - do you even deserve it? What have you done for the world today?

I should so be in bed (not that its late or anything...)

Yeah, I should. Craving some sleep...

I've discovered the wrath of the anon poster. So now spam is even targeting (victemizing, might be more appropriate) sad souls who blog their little hearts out for all to see. Note to self, find a way to block that. Because I don't need insurance, don't eat at The Olive Garden, or Red Lobster for that matter...

As Seebo always says, they can suck it. There's also a gesture that goes alogn with that, and probably not the one you're thinking of, dirty bugger.

I'm so going to the stable tomorrow. Its finally cool enough so I won't die, the horses won't be miserable, and I need to see my babies.

In summation: chocolate revolver for the president (note the lower case "p" - not sayin', just saying...), going to see my horse babies, fuck pretend people who pretend to post comments.

KBO

Hey ya (I AM your neighbour - lend me some sugar!)

Sorry - its been a while, she said to no one who doesn't care anyway. But as pathetic as I want to sound, it's better that way. Then I can just be myself...

I'm always trying to write a book in my head - and while passages go relatively well, no book. I think I do it just to torture myself, to prove that I just can't do anything anyway.

Ergo - had to run this by teachingirl before I posted it - need the constant reassurance ya know. And she's a great literary artiste - and English teacher extraordinare... Clearly though people still love me, so anyone else out there can just suck it, lest I unleash my unholy army upon them [scowl]...


Presently:

For in it
around it
Over
and to -

Never, not
One Moment
EVER
Came through

(it might be sad
Alas -
it's true


Heart,
Mise

Mean red

I am so menstrual that I go between wanting to poke everyone's eye (just one, cause by nature I'm a merciful person) out and crying hysterically.

I hate this. All I have to look forward to is next weekend. I seem to ovulate (though I'll put a fin on no booty for Seebo) the week after my period and it's pride. I'm not gay, but my fabulous brother is, and there are parties to attend.

Okay, that wasn't fair...

She must be lovely if Fono loves her. But it should have been me. It still could be me. Divorice happens, right? I'm going to hell...

But I'm going to hell knowing that if just one time I didn't fuck up his kissing me we would have been incredible...

Time for some Nancy B. Watson. That is all, carry on.

Oh no I dedent

Oh yes I did. I called the lovely love of all my life. And left him a message on his answer phone - the outgoing message left by his wife (who is fatter and not as pretty)...

That's not cool. That's not right. She's a woman, and therefore deserving of respect. Even though I wish he was mine. I dream of him being mine.

Whatever.

Bubonic plague and other trivial maladies; see also: How to handle bubonic plague...

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Ah yes. Wednesday. Quite possibly the lamest of all days - you just almost, but - not quite - just a little more to the left... AAaahh - and, no. You're nothing special.

Ooooh - great segway (YAY phonetics!) to a "Seebo(regardlessofherzen) is just not worth anything"! Very circa 2005; very "I [heart] Huckabees" -
(BTW - isn't that the newest new for, “and then some – bring it?”)


There was a point. Let's see - what has influenced all kinds of (one might even say "loads" of - honestly) thought tonight:

1) got off work, went to rents to get $$$ for parking at the doctor tomorra, cause I'm a big girl now - I drive up to the hand out...

1a) Broke my rule, not going to self depreciate...

2) watched BEP's "My Humps" on YouTube for about 20 minutes. Oh, and also listened to some of The Smiths, but mostly "My Humps", waiting for my hand-out

3) came home, fed the menage, had a cocktail and a blood orange (the only orange worth its orange-ness in orange this time of year, and so PRETTY!), watched Ghost Hunters

3a) Love ghosts
3b) LOVE GHOSTS
3c) Um, lost my train of thought... hate bush?
3d) Et Cetera

And other stuff. Teachingirl will understand. And what?

What a change - a post just for fun. I did have great insights into the Black Plague and its relationship to genetic [evolution] mutations which parallel AIDS in some ways, but in the opposite geographic locations; and also Techtonic Strain Theory with regards to the "paranormal" and how does One such as myself make a reservation in room **** of The *******, **?

Aaaaaahhoooooooggggaahhhhhhhh

Oh yeah -

And one more thing:

It sucks to think you are lucky cause someone slept with you.

Honestly!? How fucked up is that?

Pretty.

And, ladies and gentleman, if you haven't already - call your moms.


Sincerly, and with warnest regards -
The-heart-shaped-letter-"V"

Gaaahhhd I hate poetry.

Its just so trite. "Pardon me while I go play the graaan piano - I'll just read some of my lastest musings taken under the larch in Sussex..." Okay, well, maybe I took that a little far, but you can't tell me you don't understand. That everyone has their picture of what someone's saying. And it doesn't matter if its different cause its all equal like. Dig? "Dig" just seemed appropriate; yes, in a gay way.

But poetry has to be stupid, cause everyone that has ever shown me a POEEEMMMM of their's - in that moment - there existists a "gayness" of all things Gay that just makes you lame.

So - here you are. Brought to you py Lamo (Trademarr R), produced by Seebo...

Dragging heavy out of bed,
how is it so bright?
How can it be so light?
Afeard I am not armed for this fight.

Taken from the beautiful chaos(chorus)
of the sleep-time, dreaming;
Obscenely schemening and decieving -
Or revealing -
Or consealing with thoughts beaming and

Teeming,
Reeming...

But, sadly, sometimes
You won't
Cause you can't, or maybe
Just cause you don't.

And your only solace -
In the magical web of unbelieveable lying time -
(sometimes a poem can rhyme)

Unto the stumble the devine? Note: not Kevin Federline...

Perfectly, quietly and disgruntled lest
Know You Are Not That Important -
And there is the truth that you need
To Be
O
k

Seebo is people too -

Need to tell ya,
Gotta tell ya -

I'm sorry but I'm just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be;
But if you wait around a while
I'll make you fall for me -
I promise you
I promise you I will...

But if I had to walk the world I'd make you fall for me
I promise you
I promise you I will

- Sung by When in Rome

And doesn't it speak softly and carry a big [love] stick? - Teddy R. with a little Seebo thrown in for good measure.

S

Rainbows on kittens and mittens on noses...

These are a few of my favorite things?

I had tons, literally TONNES to say until I started this blog, and then recognized that other people (people whom I don't know - but still love and appreciate for finding something worth reading here - bang up job ole chaps) will read this. Now, again, as I apparently have been most of my life, find myself indulging in selfishness. And I'm also a chronic bad speller, but that's neither here nor there...

I wanna speak. I wanna scream. I want mad, mad passionate sex, I want to get higher than high.

And the thing is, I can't. The person who introduced me to all that is gone. Hates me. Well, at least his disgusting crusty old lady does. Bleach. Wouldn't touch her with a fifty foot pole, even if someone else was holding it...

Yet somehow in his eyes she's a better catch than me.

Is she? Really?

I want a man. A man's man, who will get the spider out of the bathtub and have a nice chest for me to sleep on. Someone who wants to protect me. Someone who's body fits into mine like we were made for each other...

A man that I can take care of. Make great meals for, have his head in my lap watching TV and just petting him. Someone who will go out with me to see the horses and see what I do that makes me powerful. Someone who kisses just for the sake of kissing.

Apparently this is all too much to ask. I know don't have a bad attitude. But that's what makes it the hardest; Pilbox - I was borne eternally hopeful and light of spirit. I learned this heaviness. And I'm just afraid that if I don't put out the pessimistic that I'll look like a fool.

Does that make sense?

I do hope, but I'm embarrassed for hoping, because maybe I'm not lovable, a desirable woman (THAT CACNNOT BE TRUE) - I'm so at a loss, and so lonely...

S

Love is short, forgetting so long

Not that the thermos song isn't terribly touching...


Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
XX

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her

Pablo Neruda

Five on one hand, half of ten on the other...

On one hand -


Edge

The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little
Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded
Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden
Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

Slyvia Plath, 1963




But on the other hand -


Oh I'm picking out a thermos for you
not an ordinary thermos for you
but the extra best thermos you can buy
with vinyl and stripes and a cup built right in
I'm picking out a thermos for you
and maybe a barometer too
and what else can I buy
so on me you'll rely
a rear end thermometer too

Steve Martin, The Jerk (quite possibly the funniest movie ever, of all time)


Is it just me or is ot odd to have these two polar opposites playing themselves out in my mind?

All I know is I don't need you, I don't need anyone. Except this ashtray, and that's it. This ashtry and these matches, and thats ALL I need. And this lamp. This lamp, the ashtray, the matches and this paddle board game. And that's all I need...

Sir Winston Churchill

Drank a lot of whiskey, and is due his place amongst men who are due to be called "men" -

"If you are going through hell, keep going."

"There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man."

Well said, old man. Well said.

And I don't wanna hear how he was a this or that. I'm Irish. Nuff said. Its drilled into our very souls. Alls I know is this: the man went to fight in Africa, with a crate of whiskey, and a crate of scotch, and some wine, and maybe a change of britches. But with those few (but powerful) provisions, escaped across a desert without a horse (let alone one with no name) to come back and lead a defeated empire to stasis. God willing America can find her dashing hero to do the same.

I'm tired - its Friday, right? Nil me go maith...

Part the second: What hangeth?

Also known as "Something wicked this way hangeth" -

Alright. Per the last post. Yes, it is true, I also do have a beany baby. But its on my tower, well out of the way. And its a baby rottie. That my grandmother gave me. And what?

Don't we all have a beany baby somewhere that is all gay and shit and you don't want anyone to know about? And not in a homosexual way - moreso in a prison way.

Judge me if you must, and you will, cause isn't that why we're all here? Sure feels like it sometimes.

S.

What Hangeth?

One wouldn’t think a Lion Tamer cum Cultural Revolutionary would have a cubicle, but there is a surprising amount of paperwork that goes along with lion taming: tracking the lions, recording their stamps (We stamp them when they're small!), orders for frozen gazelles and lion taming hats - you get the drift. Here is a list of things that I have in or on my cubicle to help me forget that sometimes even the best of us are occasionally trapped in a box.

Pictures of various horses I know

Picture of Bono

Pictures of Andalucia from my trip last year

Two pictures of favorite places in Ireland

Picture of Buster Keaton

Picture of Winston Churchill

Picture of Abbie Hoffman

Picture of Mickey Mantle

Picture of the Beastie Boys

Picture of Cole Porter

Picture of Che Guevara

Picture of Gary Oldman

Picture of The Young Ones

Picture of John Cleese

Smiley face some cute boy drew me one Friday afternoon

Jim Henson postage stamp

Theodor Seuss Geisel stamp

Pictures of my cats and Darby-dog

Newspaper Op/Ed clipping, “Why profs vote for Dems”

An assortment of amusing quotes from Jung, Churchill, C. Montgomery Burns, and the like

A Cookie Monster figurine thingie

A Captain Kirk figurine thingie (and please note here that by “figurine thingie” I mean “small plastic toy” – I just don’t get to use the word “thingie” as often as I’d like) in the arms of an alien figurine thingie

One big-ass purple Lego

A Mystery Machine Van

Don’t ask me why or how all these things got here. Probably I should be embarrassed when co-Lion Tamers come by to pick up forms or schedules of the weeks lion taming details, but hell. Its my box, I can be a wank if I want to.

Hmmm. I like lists. Much less melodramaculous then what tends to come out in the evenings… I've posted a few things which I've quickly unposted. I vow - here and now - to try, well, not "to try", but to TRY to try not to do that anymore. Seems self defeating. And even though now I see a few people do read this, I doubt they are part of the evil masses who's prying eyes I'd like to keep out.

S.

Not that this will ever happen...

But if I were to get married, the song we'd dance to is U2's rendition of Unchained Melody -

I'm crying right now, because for once I'm picturing someone singing it to me, and not the other way around...

If you haven't heard it, you must.
_____________________________________

Oh, oh my love, my darling
I've hungered for your touch
Alone, lonely time
And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine
I need your love
I need your love
God, speed your love to me
Lonely rivers flow to the sea to the sea
To the open arms of the sea
Lonely river sigh, wait for me, wait for me
I'll be coming home
Wait for me
Oh, oh my love, oh my darling
I've hungered, hungered for your touch
Oh, my, lonely time
And time goes by so slowly and time can do so much
Are you still mine, I need your love I need your
love, God speed your love to me.




Post Scriptum-
Where's teachingirl when I need her? I'm so angry and bitter and scared right now that even she falls under my wrath. Though I know I'll get over that - sorry teachingirl... But still. I need her love, god speed her love to me

Why? Why do I do this to myself?

“It’s not you, but its not me either…”

Why is it that no one is around now, when I feel like I need people the most?

I was popular in high school, and after. When the phone rang, it was for me. Now I have a house, and my [abusive] man left me, and the phone never rings. I call my mom at least 3 times (after getting home from work) a night, just to have someone to tell stuff to. I say “tell stuff to” because that’s what it is. Its not that I need to talk (though I do) – I need to express myself, out loud and for reals.

Credit that “for reals” to teachingirl.

But she’s not there anymore either. I wish I could throw myself into this blog. I wish I could present dialectic arguments about my political beliefs versus that of the Evil Empire. I wish I could just puke out all this crap. But something is holding me back.

I want my phone to ring. So I spent 5 plus years with The Loser. At least then I always had plans, always had friends, the phone was always ringing… Was that because of him, and now that he’s gone, no one wants to talk to me. Not exactly, but sort of…

How do I do this? I’m so lonely. Am I really that selfish? As selfish as The Loser told me I am? Is it all about me? I don’t think so, but at the same time I need someone now. Someone to appreciate me. Someone who WANTS to talk to ME. I need my phone to ring, and have it be someone other than my mom. And I need to not drunk dial people, cause I always feel guilty – if they wanted to talk to me, they would call…

In all fairness, Cap’n called last night. Just on the off hand chance someone is reading this that isn’t teachingirl – Cap’n is a former boss, or as I like to think of him, the big brother I never knew I always wanted. Anyhoo – he calls. He cares. He’s married and a long long ways away and doesn’t come to visit.

Curses and damnation to the telephone machine. It is because of you and your spite that I feel lonely. And unwanted.

PS –

Still haven’t been kissed. As melodramaculous as it may seem, who’s to say that I won’t ever be kissed again? Now that’s depressing!

Please help

If you haven't already, please go to One.org - see the link on the right hand side. If nothing more, please sign the delaration. As Bono says, "Where you live should not decide whether you live or whether you die..."

It only takes a second,

Thanks -

Seebo

Posting from work - I'm a badass!

I’ve been thinking a lot about an old roommate of mine lately. He sent me an email back in March just to see what’s up and give me access to his blog (shudder, god I hate that word.) I have yet to respond.

I don’t know why. I could share my (again, shudder) blog with him. Truth be told I don’t really know what to say to him. I don’t like the idea of people not liking me or understanding me. I’ve had a craptacular year, full of horrendous badness and stupid decisions, followed by a general malaise and quiet sense of worthlessness that I’m just now getting over… I don’t really want to get in to that with him. Am I still mad about the way things ended? I don’t think so. We’re all bad people, we’re all good people, it doesn’t matter who did what worse to whom… I really don’t care to re-visit that time. It was sad, as endings usually are. But I do care about this friend, actually found myself really missing him last weekend. Maybe I just miss feeling like I can or should reach back out. I don’t know. Maybe I do in fact “know”, and I just don’t want to.

Maybe I don’t want to be judged. Maybe I feel like he won’t be able to understand some of the things I’ve done or had to go through. I don’t know why it should matter, its not like my very existence hinges on his opinion of me. And just maybe he’s one of the ones who actually has a good opinion of me?

Its stupid, really. I should have just emailed him back instead of sitting on it for months on end. Clearly it’s a big deal to me, though I really don’t know why. Honestly. We’re still friends; I just don’t think he knows that. Then again, maybe I don’t want to tell him right now either. I hope he understands. I feel like I’m stepping out into the world again, a little more tarnished (but then again a little more worldly) and I don’t want anything to be more confusing than it already is. Not that our friendship was confusing. Well, I couldn’t relate to the Britney fascination, but that is of little consequence…

What to do? Send him this link? Why not.

Pneumonia sucks BIG FAT ASS

Yes, yes it does.

The fever of 103 a week ago would have been fun - I mean, free delirium, who's not up fer that? Except I was getting fluids, via IV (when, I don't know about you, I prefer to drink my fluids) - which means a needle in the arm. Forgive the punctuation - I'm still a little delirious...

I had sex with Gaylord last weekend. Read him what I wrote - he didn't get it. Well, to be fair, he got some of it, and I don't remember the rest, but it’s easier to think that he just didn't get it. Stupid sexy man. I think so, thousands don't - so he should be flattered...

This entry is not to take it out on poor Gaylord; he knows not what he does...

I just hope I didn't make him sick. I know I wasn't contagious at that point, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I can't even squeak today. I lay in bed this morning and my cats loved it - because the wheezing from my bronchiole sounded like purring.

Gaylord - you probably still are a heartless bastard who sucks, but I'm sorry if I was rough on ya. The fact is, I may just be out of your league, and not the other way around. Imagine that. Huh....

So sick. So tired of the cold sweats, so tired of the wheezing. I think I'm gonna go get me some Brokeback Mountain, that will make me feel better -

Oooooh - post scruptum,
In my sicky delirium I had a dream about Aidan (Sex in the City's Aidan) - he kept trying to ask me to marry him whilst carrying me on his shoulders, and, well, lets just keep that to myself for a moment... It was amazing. Women, you know what I'm taking about. Thank god for dreams when life lets you down!)

Love you lovelies for reading, though only one lovely currently does...

Seebo and her phlegm

Was I too hard on Gaylord?

Cause he fucked me all good (well, long story - and this is not meant to be a bad thing for Gaylord) - on Sunday...

He listenend to what I wrote... He sheilded my head from bumpin', if you will, maybe thats a nice guy thing,...

Hes not a bad guy, After reading him my post, he was all, you wanna be kissed...

Yes, YES, but not necessarily by you, Gaylord. By someone who wants to.

Gah, I don't know. What does he want from me? Not enough, I can offer a lot more. He'll never get it, and its his loss, and not mine, but

I'd love to love him. Only if he really wants me to. I'm not a total idiot.

Just another day

In Minneapolis. Spring has sprung, and therefore allergy season is upon us. I'm sicky, and I don't like it.

It was my surrogate brother's birthday - wait - is it the 25th? Not the 20th? Who knows... Regardless, I'm drawn to thinking about my friend and missing him being close - I think a breakfast meeting is called for here. Is Siobhan on track?

Last night at hypnosis, I had a revelation. And the most important part is that this "revelation" isn't that much of a revelation at all...

Horses. That's my bag, baby.

I'm lucky enough to have "one thing." Honestly, it always comes back to horses.

I'll make millions, or at least feel like millions. I will. And I won't forget the darling buds of May that got me there...

S.

H2O?

I know from my study of geology that the most predominant element in the known universe is carbon. That diamond engagement ring - carbon. In a tetra-hedron joining of electrons and neutrons, protons, and all the little bitty pieces I don't know about (except for their existence, I do know about that)...

If energy cannot be created or destroyed, and if an event horizon can bend matter in ways unheard of - where does that leave us? Us, as humans; conscious matter? When a person dies, and their body is laid to rest - let’s say in a raw wooden coffin, with no preservatives applied, it rots in the ground. Yes, no? And eventually, like compost, will feed the dirt that grows the grass that gives off the oxygen. Right? But, considering we are carbon based life forms, made up - what is it, 80% water - is that what makes the grass grow. Grass still needs the seed, and the sun, and the rain (H20 in an ideal world, granted our rain might have a couple other compunds in it...) -

If energy cannot be created or destroyed... If we and every piece of "matter" are made up of atoms, which are made up of neutrons, electrons and protons- swirling around each other in an orbit not unlike that of our solar system, than doesn't matter therefore not exist? Gas, liquid, solid - all are composed of atoms, granted involved in their love trysts with other atoms, bonding (in 3 different motifs - each more powerful than the first) - so then what is yogurt? Liquid? Not so much. Solid? Nah-uh. Gas - well, I don't know what your problems are, but not for me...

The point is how many pennies can you fit in a container roughly the size of a grapefruit?

How many thoughts can you fit in a brain?

The brain works through chemical synapses... So therefore is a thought matter? Of course not. Is matter matter, for that matter? No, matter is densely structured energy. Electricity, the same thing that makes light bulbs light, the same thing that cannot be created or destroyed. The same thing that exists on the same plane as our so called "matter" - "matter" = solids (from our bodies, to this keyboard, to my dog and your car...)

So what's it all about then? The fact is - even in the garden of life, I [death] exist. Even in the garden of death, death isn't possible. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed. From this keyboard, to this thought - there is no difference. Everything is perfect as it is. Perfectly as it should be. To remove me - like so much a blip from blipland - would cause the collapse of everything.

We (table, zebra and Siobhan) are interdependent on each other to exist.

This is the infinite finite - enjoy. For in that fact alone you can do no wrong.

S.

Ah yeah -

I don't know what to say, and therefore probably shouldn't say anything.

Okay, against my better judgment, I'm going to post something personal. I don't know what I'm afraid of; no one reads this anyway...

I feel great. After months and months of psychological and emotional and physical turmoil, I feel fucking fantastic. Sure, modern medicine must have helped to an extent - all the SSRI's, the benzos, the beta blockers and several trips to the emergency psych ward... A stint doing heroin and drinking a liter of vodka a day... Missing work, laying in bed, unable to take care of myself, let alone the house I managed to purchase on my own... Feeling like a loser - even though that is not nearly a powerful enough word to express my utter contempt and disgust for myself. Every movement - be it thought or actually motility - was painful. The western medicine of "they make a pill for that" got me to the breakthrough point. I had an incident with a man I was with for too long, and slept for 36 hours straight. Slept so long my bed smelled like the greasy unpretty girl it held in its grip... Woke up, and had the energy to wash the stank off, go to work, and enjoy not wallowing in misery.

And then I found eastern medicine. Acupuncture. Cupping. Combined with massage and Chinese herbs. I went from somolecence to insomnia - and now my sleep is efficient and constant and refreshing. I feel FUCKING FANTASTIC. Ready to re-introduce Siobhan to the world. I'm still terrified, still scared that I'm not good enough, or pretty enough, or too fat (and I am) to be loved. But s somewhere I know, someday, someone has to love me again, because goddammit - I'm a great person. I think - even though I may not have the elusive "charisma" I have even something better:

I listen, and I respond, and truly, I am a beautiful captivating person to behold.

Even if I'm too fat to be desirable and never have sex again. Its been 7 weeks. Welcome to my neurosis.

Seebo, and her love for her mom

I love my mom. I love her, I love her, I love her...

I love my mom.

Love my mom.

S.

What to do in this moment?

My mind is so teeming with ideas right now... Initially I was gonna use this space to try out an autobiography, but now I don't know. I've come out of a spiritual (and mental, and emotional, and physical) winter, asitwere, and I don't know what to conquer first.

The Gospel of Judas? The Gospel of Thomas? False prophets, and a Jesus that I can love (and respect, and follow)? The re-introduction of mysticism to Christianity? Religion and "spirituality" should not be separated. Take the mystical out of religion, and you've got a circus with no big top. Or animals. Or clowns. Even cotten candy...

The false prophet in this case being the current propensity for endorsing the "Kill a queer for Christ" mentality that currently grips our country and its fundamental christianity (which, if I may, and I will - thank you very much - is more dangerous than Islamic extremists. Face it, this celebrity intoxicated society is the Babylon that all great nations from Greece and Rome to Great Britian will tell you is the begining of the great downfall.)

The idea that if you don't live your life, what you hold inside will eventually be your distruction.

In arcadia ego, in that, even in the garden of life, I [death] exist.

The fact that our president (well, not mine, but elections don't count, unless your Diebold counting profits) belives in "the end of days" and that no one seems to REALLY FUCKING BE ALL THAT CONCERNED...

Well, I don't know what to say about that.

Except that I don't know where to begin. I have all these ideas, from religion to spirtuality to politics - I don't know where to start; but start I must. For what I think is important. I am important, you are important. And apparently if we don't recognize this and act accordingly what is it that makes us important, and that we don't share, will distroy us. Its already begun for me. I vow - here and now - to retard it from growing to a point where I self destruct. I have to stop it now, in its infancy (I could say something here politically, but I will refrain, fer now.)

Everything is an illusion. At this time in my spiritual spring, again - asitwere - I need to create the illusion that is the truth that I have something to say, and perhaps - just maybe - s omeone will even be interested in hearing it.

Post scriptum -

Spelling was never one of my strong points, or passions for that matter.

Prologue - the one where she chooses life

Bah. Good first sentence for an autobiography – find me someone else who’s used it – I dare ya! Who doesn’t want to be a writer, of the people who like to write that is? The fact is I’m 30. I’m a woman. An “alone” woman in that I don’t have a man, Don’t get me wrong, I have a “man” – but as good as a fuck as he is, we don’t kiss. I miss kissing the most. Okay, so what’s the point, there is no point, except that I know I’m not the only one out there who feels like this, and I know I’d like to read a memoir such as this (cause it ain’t a book yet, baby, and probably won’t be – and to that end I blame the publishing companies who underestimate the drug users and whomever who would read this shit).

Clearly, on this journey we ride the stream of consciousness train – welcome aboard…

I had dinner tonight with a great friend (who just happens to be a cousin of another great friend, though this particular great friend introduced me to “sluggin’ from the jug” that is Cuervo - ), I’ll call her Dolly. After my grandmother, and because she’s as beautiful as a porcelain doll… Anyhoo – we went to a restaurant where my mother’s best friend's son is the head chef of (and, consequently, whom I grew up with - as babies). Tonight I found out that my darling Dolly is crazy too. YAY – someone who will understand me. And just to keep with the stream of consciousness – currently writing to Nothing’s Shocking by Jane’s Addiction –

Regardless, my darling friend Dolly is crazy too. What’s crazy? Well, it a devil induced cocktail of deep, dark depression with ever the most slighest twist of anxiety. So you wanna sleep all day and night and the next day, but once you’re forced to get up – you freak out in public. Not to worry, they make pills for that. As you can imagine, having an anxiety attack on public transport, and then pulling out a bottle of pills – which you dry mouth down – well, that’s a good time.

I don’t know what to make of the situation. I know god is dead. Christ isn’t coming back, and if he did, a pox on him. We’re good people, we’re just “crazy”, and we can’t help it.

But this memoir isn’t going to be all like this, there will be funny stories, mostly involving drugs, but there you go. So far, Siobhan has done a bang up job of living.

It hurts, feeling like a loser. I believe I mentioned my man or men earlier – I just miss being kissed. Kissed all good like. Now, if I’m lucky, a man I’ll call "Gaylord" fucks me all good. But we don’t kiss. As a woman, it’s hard not to judge you worth with regards to if you’re wanted. And as a fat girl (but we defend that with an “I’m curvy and proportionate” – but I really am) it’s even worse.

Love, being wanted, that’s what girls are trained, and yes, TRAINED, to be… And when you can’t fit the mold, or there is something you perceive wrong with you, you get depressed. And sure, it’s a brain chemistry thing; but what’s to say that if I take this high does of Zoloft (and Seraquel, and Inderol, and Propanolol, and Clonezapam…) for the three years they told me to that once the meds are gone, my serotonin will drop again. Drug companies don’t want you well, they want you consumers. And doctors don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

By the way – this book will be much more entertaining, the Prologue – who reads that anyway…

So, here’s the story of me. The very witty intelligent girl who could never find love or acceptance (even though she did) because she’s just too fat to be loveable (even though somewhere she knows she’s not).

Post Scriptum –

If I die, somehow, in this process – I want my tombstone to say “In Arcadia Ego” – which is a credit to the Priory of Sion, and means – Even in the garden of life; I (death) exist…

And if I go prematurely, I’m sorry; I can hardly take this world as it is.