Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Quisit 9


BREAKING RULE #37


Very nearly slipped this mortal coil, I did, I did. Recently. Pushed it to the very edge and stood there teetering, at the brink, arms wildly windmilling as I looked down...gazing into the abyss...trying to decide. What a view!

Truth is, my decisionmaking had very little influence on eventualities, and, in fact, had already been proven sorely lacking. The experience fooled me completely, ushering me onto center stage where I felt forced to cope like a ringmaster. I prefer the shadow's edge, but I stepped up and dealt with my dilemma in no uncertain terms, psychologically wrestling my nurses to the ground at every opportunity. Leaving them giddy whenever I could. Bollocks the grimness. It was a riot, but I'm exhausted...exhausted and financially drained. Insurance? Bah!

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Thursday, March 5, 2009

Quisit 8

Reunion


If I had gone to my high school reunion, and why I didn't:

"We considered marriage until it dawned on us both how much we despise each other, so we decided to maintain our relationship as desperate lovers."


It was a good decision.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Quisit 7

More and more of us, every day...perched precariously atop our artificial pinnacle, false security marking its underpinnings of dependency on systems and technologies surely bound to falter or fail...with all skills and memory of how to cope otherwise slowly bleeding away. Our concern is only to shore up the weaknesses, not a thought to inevitability, or primrose paths.


Modern man tends to enjoy his sense of superiority over primitives. No qualms in the burgeoning attitude of entitlement. Just a certain amount of lip-service regarding the heretical threat to his cushy world, thin concern for the devastating cost in resources and planetary health.

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War and sports

It's true I've been transformed.
Disfigured. Transmogrified by a terrible accident. Life. The horribly scarring carnage. In figurative ways mostly, though. Left otherwise untouched.

Writing rule #37: Never write about yourself. It's creepily self-indulgent, unctuous and universally boring. Far better to write about war. War or sports. Sport, with its flashing instants of quicksilver brilliance. Depending on the view. Losers suffer the same moments with different eyes, crushed in defeat. Sport/War.

Sport is war...tidied up...with altered politics.

Like a proud sagittal crest held high above the soft underbelly of aching failure ...doomed to the fate of any singular beast.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Quisit 6


When I use one of those words that aren't really words but oughta be, I leave 'em. They oughta be.

Nonwords, I'll call them.

Nonwords are like nonpersons. Sad...sad and a little sexy.

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mea culpa
It's clear I've evolved from evaluator to enabler. Where I used to see situations as puzzles to solve in the hopeful result of banging the femme fatale, I now view as a drama to fuel the most beneficial____outcome. I've interpreted the quantum declaration that all possibilities ultimately exist, that every choice is a fork in the road.... so, every action hosts an ethical duty to try to contribute to the best eventuality - a value judgment, to be sure, yet anything else would be selfish. Selfish, and ultimately...sick.


Quisit 5

I sympathize with gamblers. Even degenerate gamblers, though I pity them...er...us. But this is no examination of self pity, this an opinion of the gambler's dilemma.

Which way do you fall when the beauty of the game conflicts with the health of your wager? Are you the reptilian brain at work? Does your desire for a payoff steal the magic? If it does, you...we...are degenerate gamblers. As much as it pains me to admit it, it's true...I let my allegiance to the parlay steal thunder from the game. It was a beautiful play...what a throw...from deep center...OUT at the plate. Beautiful.

And the irony is IT WAS BAD CALL...and still it was beautful. He was safe. But it was an unfortgettable throw, a great slide, and very close. He was safe, it was a bad call...HE WAS SAFE. Tainted beautiful play. The compound irony of feeling guilty about not recognizing the beauty of a tainted play, which sabotaged any gambling interest, has left me on the other side of truth.

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===Life successfully shut me out. I take pride in my participation in that success. Still, I'm here, somewhere on the outskirts of everything else.

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Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Quisit 4

The point got lost in my gibbering rhetoric. My point was about actual healing, rather than maintenance.

Perhaps it gets down to the ability to truly distinguishing the best of times from the worst.

We've become so concerned with the individual that we've lost sight of the overarching nature and importance of the vitality of the whole. It's better that some spend more time contemplating suicide than ruling the world.

Examples abound.

Somewhere deep within the recesses of the reptilian remnant in the human brain rests the foundation for which all selfish, controlling, warlike impulses arise. Some sense this instinctually, some arrive at it through diligent effort, others by way of some sort of sudden epiphany. Some are stoked and just run with it, hellbent for leather...therein's the rub which leaves us all raw.

Gandhi was onto something when he said:
"I object to violence because
when it appears to do good,
the good is only temporary;
the evil it does is permanent."
The violence anyone does to another scars us all. The fastest gun is only fastest until a faster one comes along...and there's always one faster.

Dylan was onto something when he lifted this line from the Bible:
"The first one now will later be last..."
There's truth in that. Balance. Not much to add, except to point out the times they ain't achangin'.

The only change is style, not substance. The facades, they are achangin'.

Meaning doesn't change, only the quality of comprehension.

Hopefully.

Our dream has been usurped by managers and administrators and beancounters. Their dream made manifest in our collective nightmare, writ large in our headlines, in the grim faces of the victims of war and poverty and disease, in the vacant landscape of our lost way.

The egregious waste of resources and the consequential defiling of our planet are lynchpins in the fulcrum of our own undoing. Nothing to argue. Open your eyes, bury your head...your choice. There is no room for debate.

The Promised Land, once within reach, has been sacrificed for the bunker mentality of a select few demented fearmongers, flush with money and shackled by their lack of trust.
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Quisit 3

They showed the girl with striped hair on the news again, the one who disappeared.

At first, thoughts ran along the dynamic of what caused her to vanish.

In time, pictures of her family and their ordeal shifts the focus.

Then, the voices of her family shifts it again. Oddly. Makes it tolerable somehow.

This sort of thing takes its toll on the sensibility of the culture at large. It must. How could it not?

...

Today was the 2nd day of news about the guy in Tyler who killed his girlfriend, and consumed bits of her. They said, when the cops arrived, there was an ear bobbing in the pot.

My God...

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Monday, March 10, 2008

Quisit 2

Our social paradigms seem built around convenient notions, defiant or simply ignorant of the wisdom handed down through the ages. We just won't be bothered by ideas filtered through millennia when we can be so easily entertained and coddled by the comfort and ease of our time, sheltered and jacketed by our faux prosaic scientific misaprehensions.

Lots to learn, yet.
___________________________

My lesser angels are guiding my style.

I'm drinking my Christmas absinthe. American made. About time. What a cruel joke, the American prohibition of absinthe...and Cuban cigars...wtf is that? ...

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I look up from the computer to find the tv is somehow on the Mexican channel. Weathergirl in front of a forecast map. It couldn't be more different. American weathergirls flaunt their stylist's best advice. Every tone, crease and fabric thought out. Flawless...or at least trying to be.

Mexican weathergirls are different. From overdone to slightly rumpled, they move so easily, sporting honkin' cameltoes...and nipples out to here.

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Sunday, March 9, 2008

Quisit 1


Q What do you believe in?
A I am better able to say what I don't believe in.
Q What don't you believe in?
A I don't believe in Atheists.
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A society steeped in pop culture, ligatured by peer pressure strictures choking off naturally independent direction. Don't stray too far from the herd, else be branded a maverick.
We move like flocks of flying birds.

Danger in numbers________.



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sleep the sleep of the just
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