"What's the matter, Miss Turtle?"
He sounds far away. I don't answer. Instead I'm hiding. I'm hiding my own anger and despair from everybody by posting this here instead of on my other blog.
"Miss Turtle?"
I ignore my good friend. His presence pains me for he was initially based on the person I'm feeling such anger and despair over. Mr. Gryphon has grown into something else entirely, a completely different character of his own but that doesn't mean he still doesn't say things that remind me of that person every once in a while.
I initially created Mr. Gryphon as a way to keep that person around me for a little while longer when the real person was no longer in my life. I needed him to be around me while my heart was breaking.
"Miss Turtle." His voice is loud and clear and I look up into his great yellow eyes.
"It's so futile. You can't force someone to care about you," I say. The words come out in a near growl, strangled by my own grief.
Mr. Gryphon sits back on his heels. Looking at him I am reminded of bookstores and pale ladies. I don't know what happened there. It seemed so clear at the time what was happening, but now it's just a bad joke.
We are still in the darkened landscape. The lamp flickers about 10 feet away from us. I am sitting on the cold ground, leaning against a very old tattered couch. I am just outside the lamp's guiding light.
"What do you want, Miss Turtle?"
"Doesn't matter. Wanting something that's impossible, that the other person is incapable of giving is stupid. Not so smart, Mr. Gryphon."
Mr. Gryphon looks at me for a long time. He is searching for something in me, but I don't know what it is. I recall something about being the best at my kind of writing and how achieving that would make me better than half the people that crawl the planet. I recall being inspired and fascinated by this person. I recall wanting to be that person and that this person represented the very best of what I wanted to be. And I recall all of the adventures me and Mr. Gryphon have been on and these two blogs. I recall learning for the first time that my writing can delight and move people.
I recall writing The Coda, a 52 page story based on the demise of this relationship, and being delighted and amazed by it. I turn away from Mr. Gryphon and I reach out from the inside of myself, I feel the depths of my being pushing and stretching at the confines of my own skin barrier. I reach out far into the world, my heart straining from the effort. I reach and I reach. It's the only thing I can do because wishing and asking and praying won't work. I close my eyes and gradually come back to myself. I'm exhausted from the effort, but I turn towards Mr. Gryphon again.
"Do you want me to leave, Miss Turtle?" His voice is kind and gentle, he knows the pain I'm feeling from this latest disappointment.
"Mr. Gryphon, why is this love looked on with such contempt, or worse, with such indifference?" The tears from straining to reach and reach finally run down my cheeks.
"I don't have an answer to that question," he says. I wince, but I know it's best to leave things there. There are no answers and no responses no matter how much I wish for them.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Poll Voting Comments
If I haven't covered a subject listed in th poll, please feel free to leave a comment here. Thanks.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Role of Extreme Violence in Art
I've been wondering about the role of extreme violence in art lately. Clearly there's a place for it, but what use, purpose does it serve?
About Me
The first thing you need to know about me is that I'm definitely in touch with my shadow side and it doesn't scare me. When I was much younger I used to be distressed by my own thoughts and ideas until I started exploring my dark side, primarily with violent films. In fact, and I think I've said this before, if you knew what was going on inside my head, oh about 80% of the time, you would run far away. I'm a dark person even though I'm good at hiding it. People who love me and catch glimpses of it now and then sometimes have difficulty reconciling me as they know me and my shadow side.
After I moved here and was served with my divorce papers I wrote a revenge short story. I made the mistake of reading it to my writing group and I think they had some difficulty with it. We never met again. One woman said I needed therapy. This short story is set in the mid-1800s in Mexico in a town close to the border of Texas. It concerns a story of a good, hardworking man who comes home to the destruction of his family by a gang of thugs. His beautiful wife and four out of the five kids are all dead in the burning house. His oldest daughter, age 9, is missing. What happens next is this good man goes on a massive killing rampage to avenge his family's deaths. He not only kills the gang members one by one, but also their families even if the men have been disowned. His brother who initially helped the man ends up working with the authorities to put a stop to the carnage. The killer takes on a strange supernatural quality and there are plenty of religious references. This story is so gory, violent and graphic that I haven't told anybody of it's existence except the unfortunate members of my former writing group. The process of writing the story was fascinating to me because I really tried to push the boundaries of what I could come up with. I haven't looked at it in years, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately.
Don't worry I'm not posting it here.
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
I finished reading this book just a couple of weeks ago which brought up the question that forms the subject of this post. I can't say the book was recommended by one of my bosses, only that he mentioned it a couple of times in our conversations about Paradise Lost.
I would never recommend this book to anyone, and neither would he.
Widely lauded as one of the greatest novels of the 20th century it is a story of a trip through hell. The main character, The Kid, has a taste for violence. At age 15 he joins a band of scalpers in the mid-1800s near the border of Texas and into northern Mexico. The story is based on a real band of scalpers, the Glanton Gang. This is one of the most violent books I have ever read. It also beautifully written. The descriptions are amazing. The main antagonist, The Judge, is one of the most disturbing characters of all time. Whereas Glanton is a mere sullen sociopathic killer, the Judge goes beyond that and even beyond evil because evil implies morality as its opposition and morality is mere speck in comparison to the Judge. It exists, but only in context to the other characters.
This book is staggeringly violent and yet it is necessary to this story. Why is that so? Why have these extremely disturbing descriptions? Why have these character do these things? What is the point?
I once had a conversation with a friend of mine who couldn't understand why I went to see a play at Berkeley Rep call The People's Temple. It was about The People's Temple and the Jonestown massacre that took place in 1978. He asked me why I insisted upon filling my head with such a subject matter. At the time I explained to him it was about reconciling a event that terrified me when I was kid. I also told him it was a good learning experience for me in that it reminded me how easy it is to get caught up in a cult and perhaps in other group ideas.
I don't know what the role of Blood Meridian's violence is, at least not right now. I can't say I learned anything from reading it except to say that I saw myself becoming numb to it after a while, and more importantly, that this fact did not bother me at all.
They're going to make a movie out of this book. Ridley Scott is supposed to direct. How the hell they're going to avoid an NC-17 rating is beyond me. Even if you tone down the violence, many of the images are so awful and integral to the story that cutting them out will make for a different story altogether. And it will take nothing less than an Oscar caliber performance to bring the Judge to life.
Man Bites Dog (dirs. Belvaux et al.) 1992
I watched this Belgium film years ago because I was curious about a film that had a reputation for extreme violence and had been banned in four countries. It's about a camera crew that follows a serial killer around while he talks about and practices his "art." The main character, Ben, is charming and engaging. The movie, thankfully filmed in black and white, is an interesting commentary about reality TV and an exercise in blacker than black satirical comedy. Towards the end the camera crew gets caught up in Ben's activities and they go on a rampaging slaughter. Funny, gruesome and very disturbing. Ben's charm really pulls you in and you can't help but think that he's really not that bad until the the men's activities begin to escalate. Although this film has not made the 10 ten lists of the most disturbing films of all time, it is occasionally honorably mentioned.
Now what did I learn from watching that movie? Was there anything to learn? Did I even like it? I don't know. I did like it and I thought it was interesting and very well done but I have not seen it since viewing it that first time. In a way I don't have to because most of the film has managed to stay with me all these years since. Is that a good thing? It's certainly a positive commentary for the people who made the film.
I don't recommend it, by the way. I don't think it's necessary viewing for most people.
Bosch, Bruegel the Elder and the Isenheim Altarpiece
My favorite kind of art is the Northern Renaissance, and my favorite painter is Hieronymus Bosch. I find his visions of Paradise and Hell and his grotesque creatures to be endlessly fascinating. As my art teacher used to say "everything is going to Hell according to Bosch." His visions of Hell depict people being tortured and tormented. Along those same lines is Bruegel's astounding painting The Triumph of Death. Bruegel was inspired by Bosch and this painting shows people being killed by an endless army of skeletons. All social classes are represented here and it even shows a common form of execution at the time being broken on the wheel. Grim, awful and relentlessly fair, this is a fantastic painting.
I learned about the Isenheim Altarpiece by Matthias Grünewald not too long ago. It is a huge piece (approx. 105 x 120 inches) in several panels painted between 1512-1515. When the main panels are closed it shows a disturbing crucifixion scene, probably the most disturbing I've ever seen. Mary Magdalene and Christ's mother Mary are in their usual postures of grief and agony (the Madonna is supported by John the Apostle). John the Baptist is there with a bleeding lamb. The crucified Christ is much larger than the other figures in the painting. His body is covered with sores and his face, hands and feet are tortured and twisted. His arms look like they should have broken a long time ago. Having looked at plenty of crucifixion scenes over the years because of the kind of art I love, I can say that seeing this painting up close (on a learning DVD) for the first time made me have to look away for a moment. The teacher described it as "shocking." And it is.
My second reaction after looking at it closely and pausing my DVD was the thought "that is so incredible." The rest of the altarpiece has some strange elements to it such as the angels playing in an orchestra for the Virgin and Child on the inside of the panel (one of which features an oddly feathered Lucifer looking ruefully up at God the Father) and other things. Clearly the purpose of showing such a shocking crucifixion scene was to bring home Christ's agony as he died for our sins. It's very effective for that. It made even me, who doesn't really believe in organized religion, think twice it.
My gushing about these art works aside, and descriptions, I do wonder about the role of violence in these artworks. In Bosch's paintings the role of violence shows people being tormented in Hell for their sins and perhaps work as a deterrent. Bruegel's painting, in contrast, shows that while Death is inevitable, it is also indiscriminate and oddly fair. Grünewald's extraordinary altarpiece reminds people of Christ's sacrifice in a terrible way.
Clearly the people who commissioned these painting as well as the artists felt it was necessary to depict violence of this type. I suppose some could argue that those times were more violent than our modern times, but I wonder if that is true.
Conclusion
I have none. Many people I know, particularly people I really care about, say such violence is over the top and unnecessary. It is not necessary to fill our minds with such images. To bring these things to the forefront of our consciousness does not add anything. And yet such violent depictions persist. It's easy to say that violent depictions in art during the Renaissance was a necessary way to educate people and to help them focus on being devote and righteous, but what about today? I wonder sometimes if such extreme violence is not so much a mirror of our society, but merely an expression of our individual shadow sides. We all have a dark side and some are more in touch with them than others. Or rather some, like me, find it necessary to be in touch with our dark sides.
I welcome your comments. This is a really interesting subject for me and would love to hear what other people think.
About Me
The first thing you need to know about me is that I'm definitely in touch with my shadow side and it doesn't scare me. When I was much younger I used to be distressed by my own thoughts and ideas until I started exploring my dark side, primarily with violent films. In fact, and I think I've said this before, if you knew what was going on inside my head, oh about 80% of the time, you would run far away. I'm a dark person even though I'm good at hiding it. People who love me and catch glimpses of it now and then sometimes have difficulty reconciling me as they know me and my shadow side.
After I moved here and was served with my divorce papers I wrote a revenge short story. I made the mistake of reading it to my writing group and I think they had some difficulty with it. We never met again. One woman said I needed therapy. This short story is set in the mid-1800s in Mexico in a town close to the border of Texas. It concerns a story of a good, hardworking man who comes home to the destruction of his family by a gang of thugs. His beautiful wife and four out of the five kids are all dead in the burning house. His oldest daughter, age 9, is missing. What happens next is this good man goes on a massive killing rampage to avenge his family's deaths. He not only kills the gang members one by one, but also their families even if the men have been disowned. His brother who initially helped the man ends up working with the authorities to put a stop to the carnage. The killer takes on a strange supernatural quality and there are plenty of religious references. This story is so gory, violent and graphic that I haven't told anybody of it's existence except the unfortunate members of my former writing group. The process of writing the story was fascinating to me because I really tried to push the boundaries of what I could come up with. I haven't looked at it in years, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately.
Don't worry I'm not posting it here.
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
I finished reading this book just a couple of weeks ago which brought up the question that forms the subject of this post. I can't say the book was recommended by one of my bosses, only that he mentioned it a couple of times in our conversations about Paradise Lost.
I would never recommend this book to anyone, and neither would he.
Widely lauded as one of the greatest novels of the 20th century it is a story of a trip through hell. The main character, The Kid, has a taste for violence. At age 15 he joins a band of scalpers in the mid-1800s near the border of Texas and into northern Mexico. The story is based on a real band of scalpers, the Glanton Gang. This is one of the most violent books I have ever read. It also beautifully written. The descriptions are amazing. The main antagonist, The Judge, is one of the most disturbing characters of all time. Whereas Glanton is a mere sullen sociopathic killer, the Judge goes beyond that and even beyond evil because evil implies morality as its opposition and morality is mere speck in comparison to the Judge. It exists, but only in context to the other characters.
This book is staggeringly violent and yet it is necessary to this story. Why is that so? Why have these extremely disturbing descriptions? Why have these character do these things? What is the point?
I once had a conversation with a friend of mine who couldn't understand why I went to see a play at Berkeley Rep call The People's Temple. It was about The People's Temple and the Jonestown massacre that took place in 1978. He asked me why I insisted upon filling my head with such a subject matter. At the time I explained to him it was about reconciling a event that terrified me when I was kid. I also told him it was a good learning experience for me in that it reminded me how easy it is to get caught up in a cult and perhaps in other group ideas.
I don't know what the role of Blood Meridian's violence is, at least not right now. I can't say I learned anything from reading it except to say that I saw myself becoming numb to it after a while, and more importantly, that this fact did not bother me at all.
They're going to make a movie out of this book. Ridley Scott is supposed to direct. How the hell they're going to avoid an NC-17 rating is beyond me. Even if you tone down the violence, many of the images are so awful and integral to the story that cutting them out will make for a different story altogether. And it will take nothing less than an Oscar caliber performance to bring the Judge to life.
Man Bites Dog (dirs. Belvaux et al.) 1992
I watched this Belgium film years ago because I was curious about a film that had a reputation for extreme violence and had been banned in four countries. It's about a camera crew that follows a serial killer around while he talks about and practices his "art." The main character, Ben, is charming and engaging. The movie, thankfully filmed in black and white, is an interesting commentary about reality TV and an exercise in blacker than black satirical comedy. Towards the end the camera crew gets caught up in Ben's activities and they go on a rampaging slaughter. Funny, gruesome and very disturbing. Ben's charm really pulls you in and you can't help but think that he's really not that bad until the the men's activities begin to escalate. Although this film has not made the 10 ten lists of the most disturbing films of all time, it is occasionally honorably mentioned.
Now what did I learn from watching that movie? Was there anything to learn? Did I even like it? I don't know. I did like it and I thought it was interesting and very well done but I have not seen it since viewing it that first time. In a way I don't have to because most of the film has managed to stay with me all these years since. Is that a good thing? It's certainly a positive commentary for the people who made the film.
I don't recommend it, by the way. I don't think it's necessary viewing for most people.
Bosch, Bruegel the Elder and the Isenheim Altarpiece
My favorite kind of art is the Northern Renaissance, and my favorite painter is Hieronymus Bosch. I find his visions of Paradise and Hell and his grotesque creatures to be endlessly fascinating. As my art teacher used to say "everything is going to Hell according to Bosch." His visions of Hell depict people being tortured and tormented. Along those same lines is Bruegel's astounding painting The Triumph of Death. Bruegel was inspired by Bosch and this painting shows people being killed by an endless army of skeletons. All social classes are represented here and it even shows a common form of execution at the time being broken on the wheel. Grim, awful and relentlessly fair, this is a fantastic painting.
I learned about the Isenheim Altarpiece by Matthias Grünewald not too long ago. It is a huge piece (approx. 105 x 120 inches) in several panels painted between 1512-1515. When the main panels are closed it shows a disturbing crucifixion scene, probably the most disturbing I've ever seen. Mary Magdalene and Christ's mother Mary are in their usual postures of grief and agony (the Madonna is supported by John the Apostle). John the Baptist is there with a bleeding lamb. The crucified Christ is much larger than the other figures in the painting. His body is covered with sores and his face, hands and feet are tortured and twisted. His arms look like they should have broken a long time ago. Having looked at plenty of crucifixion scenes over the years because of the kind of art I love, I can say that seeing this painting up close (on a learning DVD) for the first time made me have to look away for a moment. The teacher described it as "shocking." And it is.
My second reaction after looking at it closely and pausing my DVD was the thought "that is so incredible." The rest of the altarpiece has some strange elements to it such as the angels playing in an orchestra for the Virgin and Child on the inside of the panel (one of which features an oddly feathered Lucifer looking ruefully up at God the Father) and other things. Clearly the purpose of showing such a shocking crucifixion scene was to bring home Christ's agony as he died for our sins. It's very effective for that. It made even me, who doesn't really believe in organized religion, think twice it.
My gushing about these art works aside, and descriptions, I do wonder about the role of violence in these artworks. In Bosch's paintings the role of violence shows people being tormented in Hell for their sins and perhaps work as a deterrent. Bruegel's painting, in contrast, shows that while Death is inevitable, it is also indiscriminate and oddly fair. Grünewald's extraordinary altarpiece reminds people of Christ's sacrifice in a terrible way.
Clearly the people who commissioned these painting as well as the artists felt it was necessary to depict violence of this type. I suppose some could argue that those times were more violent than our modern times, but I wonder if that is true.
Conclusion
I have none. Many people I know, particularly people I really care about, say such violence is over the top and unnecessary. It is not necessary to fill our minds with such images. To bring these things to the forefront of our consciousness does not add anything. And yet such violent depictions persist. It's easy to say that violent depictions in art during the Renaissance was a necessary way to educate people and to help them focus on being devote and righteous, but what about today? I wonder sometimes if such extreme violence is not so much a mirror of our society, but merely an expression of our individual shadow sides. We all have a dark side and some are more in touch with them than others. Or rather some, like me, find it necessary to be in touch with our dark sides.
I welcome your comments. This is a really interesting subject for me and would love to hear what other people think.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Flamingo Managment
"The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo."
"Why are you quoting from my favorite book, Mr. Gryphon?" I stop what I am doing and look up at him.
"Because it seems to me this is part of the problem. Flamingo management," he says. Mr. Gryphon is leaning up against a large monolith. We are in a dark place with a bunch of large stones surrounding us. They are rather like the stones at Stonehenge in scale and placement. The sky looks dark, but not from the night nor from storms or clouds. It's just dark.
I am leaning down over a large stone slab attempting to strike a match. The wind howls around us in a vortex. I can even see the savage trails of wind blowing around us. The invisible made seen. In this place the wind doesn't effect us all that much with the exception of a few icy gusts here and there. I have three matches and I'm attempting to light the first.
The passage Mr. Gryphon refers to is in Chapter VIII entitled "The Queen's Croquet-Ground." In it Alice is attempting to play croquet where the flamingos are the mallets and hedgehogs are the balls. Each time she tries to strike the hedgehog, though, the flamingo just turns and looks at her.
"Miss Turtle, why are we here?" A dark shadow appears on the horizon in the distance. Mr. Gryphon is looking at it and he has asked me this question with a distracted air.
"You're supposed to read my mind, Sir. Why do you always ask that question?" I ask. I've managed to get match lit, but it blows out again. I put the spent match down and pick up the second one.
"I only ask for the benefit of our audience, Miss Turtle." I can tell by his voice that he is still looking at the shadow. I look at the second match carefully to be sure of its wholeness.
"Am I Alice now?" I've been wondering this question for a while considering the mass confusion I've been feeling about my life and what I'm supposed to be doing with it. For example today I was wondering if my life will be the same as it is now. I mean, in five years will I still be sitting here at my computer writing these odd stories? I suppose that wouldn't be a bad thing, but I worry that I will still be confused and made helpless by the ever growing feeling of indecision I feel on a daily basis. Alice was lost in Wonderland, BUT and this is a big one, she kept moving and exploring even with her confusion and even among some threatening situations. I have not, I suppose.
"I thought everything in those blasted books are you and more." I do not look at my seven foot tall half-lion, half-eagle friend. This truth makes me uncomfortable as I don't want to think about my being suffused with such madness, but...it is true. They are all me and more.
"Strange how we identify with certain things. I suppose I could identify with less interesting things such as the lives of Paris Hilton or Brittany Spears. God, help me if I saw myself in those train wrecked lives."
"It's only a different train wreck, Miss Turtle, even with all its critical acclaim and 'for the ages' status amongst world literature."
I've managed to get the second match lit and smile. The dark shadow is coming and I can see Mr. Gryphon is concerned, but I am not. I am not worried for a change even though I don't know what is going on right now. Darkness, icy wind and that old ominous feeling permeates me but to no effect. My match has been lit and there is no blast of wind. I reach down to the ground next to the stone and pick up an old lamp and light it. I get the cover on before the light can go out. I put the last match in my apron pocket and hold the lamp up for Mr. Gryphon to see. I am still smiling.
"The man's lamp, is it? The lamp the demon gave him that would never go out?"
"The very one, Sir. Since the light is out and the man is no longer here we must assume he found his way out of that dark purgatory."
"That is encouraging because we're going to need it," he says as he looks towards the shadow coming closer with alarming speed. What little light is left is going out as the shadow approaches. The only thing visible is the pitch black beyond. Mr. Gryphon steps closer to me and reaches out his hand. I take it as the darkness blots out around us like an invasion from the vacuum of space. I take a deep breath and look back. The stones are still there. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"No, we aren't in purgatory, then," I say, "Instead, we or rather I am lost. The features of the landscape are the same, but the light has gone out." I sit on the stone that I'd found the matches on.
"What now, Miss Turtle?" He has sat down next to me. The wind is dying down a little and I can hear the beyond, murmuring and whispering to us.
"You mentioned something about flamingos earlier, Mr. Gryphon, and you are quite right in your observation. The task now is to find the flamingo and the croquet ground. That shouldn't take long. It's around here somewhere."
"Can't manage that bird until we have it in hand," he says. I hand him the lamp, get up and smooth out my skirts. I double check to make sure the match is still in my pocket. It's amazing how you find you don't need certain things, how lightly you can travel when it's all said and done.
I lead the way walking away from the stones. Mr. Gryphon follows silently. After all, he knows this is my crisis, my confusion.
"Why are you quoting from my favorite book, Mr. Gryphon?" I stop what I am doing and look up at him.
"Because it seems to me this is part of the problem. Flamingo management," he says. Mr. Gryphon is leaning up against a large monolith. We are in a dark place with a bunch of large stones surrounding us. They are rather like the stones at Stonehenge in scale and placement. The sky looks dark, but not from the night nor from storms or clouds. It's just dark.
I am leaning down over a large stone slab attempting to strike a match. The wind howls around us in a vortex. I can even see the savage trails of wind blowing around us. The invisible made seen. In this place the wind doesn't effect us all that much with the exception of a few icy gusts here and there. I have three matches and I'm attempting to light the first.
The passage Mr. Gryphon refers to is in Chapter VIII entitled "The Queen's Croquet-Ground." In it Alice is attempting to play croquet where the flamingos are the mallets and hedgehogs are the balls. Each time she tries to strike the hedgehog, though, the flamingo just turns and looks at her.
"Miss Turtle, why are we here?" A dark shadow appears on the horizon in the distance. Mr. Gryphon is looking at it and he has asked me this question with a distracted air.
"You're supposed to read my mind, Sir. Why do you always ask that question?" I ask. I've managed to get match lit, but it blows out again. I put the spent match down and pick up the second one.
"I only ask for the benefit of our audience, Miss Turtle." I can tell by his voice that he is still looking at the shadow. I look at the second match carefully to be sure of its wholeness.
"Am I Alice now?" I've been wondering this question for a while considering the mass confusion I've been feeling about my life and what I'm supposed to be doing with it. For example today I was wondering if my life will be the same as it is now. I mean, in five years will I still be sitting here at my computer writing these odd stories? I suppose that wouldn't be a bad thing, but I worry that I will still be confused and made helpless by the ever growing feeling of indecision I feel on a daily basis. Alice was lost in Wonderland, BUT and this is a big one, she kept moving and exploring even with her confusion and even among some threatening situations. I have not, I suppose.
"I thought everything in those blasted books are you and more." I do not look at my seven foot tall half-lion, half-eagle friend. This truth makes me uncomfortable as I don't want to think about my being suffused with such madness, but...it is true. They are all me and more.
"Strange how we identify with certain things. I suppose I could identify with less interesting things such as the lives of Paris Hilton or Brittany Spears. God, help me if I saw myself in those train wrecked lives."
"It's only a different train wreck, Miss Turtle, even with all its critical acclaim and 'for the ages' status amongst world literature."
I've managed to get the second match lit and smile. The dark shadow is coming and I can see Mr. Gryphon is concerned, but I am not. I am not worried for a change even though I don't know what is going on right now. Darkness, icy wind and that old ominous feeling permeates me but to no effect. My match has been lit and there is no blast of wind. I reach down to the ground next to the stone and pick up an old lamp and light it. I get the cover on before the light can go out. I put the last match in my apron pocket and hold the lamp up for Mr. Gryphon to see. I am still smiling.
"The man's lamp, is it? The lamp the demon gave him that would never go out?"
"The very one, Sir. Since the light is out and the man is no longer here we must assume he found his way out of that dark purgatory."
"That is encouraging because we're going to need it," he says as he looks towards the shadow coming closer with alarming speed. What little light is left is going out as the shadow approaches. The only thing visible is the pitch black beyond. Mr. Gryphon steps closer to me and reaches out his hand. I take it as the darkness blots out around us like an invasion from the vacuum of space. I take a deep breath and look back. The stones are still there. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"No, we aren't in purgatory, then," I say, "Instead, we or rather I am lost. The features of the landscape are the same, but the light has gone out." I sit on the stone that I'd found the matches on.
"What now, Miss Turtle?" He has sat down next to me. The wind is dying down a little and I can hear the beyond, murmuring and whispering to us.
"You mentioned something about flamingos earlier, Mr. Gryphon, and you are quite right in your observation. The task now is to find the flamingo and the croquet ground. That shouldn't take long. It's around here somewhere."
"Can't manage that bird until we have it in hand," he says. I hand him the lamp, get up and smooth out my skirts. I double check to make sure the match is still in my pocket. It's amazing how you find you don't need certain things, how lightly you can travel when it's all said and done.
I lead the way walking away from the stones. Mr. Gryphon follows silently. After all, he knows this is my crisis, my confusion.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Abelardo Morell
Years ago I accompanied my ex to a conference in San Diego. He would have to spend two days in a hotel conference room while I knocked around San Diego by myself. The first day I went to the zoo, of course, and although the weather was cool, I had a lovely time photographing and sketching the animals.
The second day I wandered around Balboa Park going from one museum to another. One of the museums I went to was the Museum of Photographic Arts and they were featuring the work of Abelardo Morell, a photographer born in Cuba. If I recall this was at least ten years ago and Morell had a lovely Alice in Wonderland exhibit going on. The photographs were charming. Here's one near and dear to my heart:
The Mock Turtle's Story, 1998, by Abelardo Morell
The second day I wandered around Balboa Park going from one museum to another. One of the museums I went to was the Museum of Photographic Arts and they were featuring the work of Abelardo Morell, a photographer born in Cuba. If I recall this was at least ten years ago and Morell had a lovely Alice in Wonderland exhibit going on. The photographs were charming. Here's one near and dear to my heart:
The Mock Turtle's Story, 1998, by Abelardo MorellAs charming as these Alice pictures were my real attention was caught by his camera obscura photographs. He turns an entire room into a camera by selecting one with a view he's interested in, places black tape over the windows leaving one 3/8 inch hole which provides light for the picture, focuses the lens outside the window, stops down the maximum depth of field, opens the shutter and leaves for about eight hours. The result is the view is shown projected onto the wall, but upside down in true camera obscura style. The same principles are used to make pinhole cameras. When I took my photographer class in high school we learned to make and use a pinhole camera and I took several interesting pictures with it.
I was fortunate enough to purchase the print below at the museum in San Diego, now bent and yellow around the edges. It's still in good shape, and I'm finally going to have it framed. I say I'm fortunate because I haven't been able to locate another one anywhere.
Manhattan View Looking South in Large Room, 1996, by Abelardo Morell
I was fortunate enough to purchase the print below at the museum in San Diego, now bent and yellow around the edges. It's still in good shape, and I'm finally going to have it framed. I say I'm fortunate because I haven't been able to locate another one anywhere.
Manhattan View Looking South in Large Room, 1996, by Abelardo MorellI used to have this picture in my office and it was always a pleasure to see people's reactions to it. Inevitably, most people would blow right past it, but if they were repeat visitors eventually they would be arrested by this image. No one had any problems recognizing the New York city skyline, but they couldn't figure it out and would stand there staring at it. One of the eeriest things about this image is you are looking at Manhattan during the day, but there's no traffic on the streets. This is because the exposure time is about eight hours and anything moving in the picture will not show up.
If you want to see more of Mr. Morell here's a website. His photographs of ordinary household objects are also wonderful such as falling coins, spoons and pictures in his house.
http://www.abelardomorell.net/
If you want to see more of Mr. Morell here's a website. His photographs of ordinary household objects are also wonderful such as falling coins, spoons and pictures in his house.
http://www.abelardomorell.net/
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Head Case
So I'm in my usual state of confusion only this time it seems worse. I've been feeling so empty lately. I look at my life. I see it for what it really is. I get depressed, but don't know how to change it, or even if I want to or need to.
What my life really is an extraordinarily stripped down situation. Somewhere in the back of my mind years ago I decided what I really wanted was to live and work here in SF and set my life up so I can write all the time. This goal has been and continues to be accomplished.
I set everything up the way I wanted to and I'm not embracing this grand gift I have of a good steady income, a lovely City and time. Sweet, precious time. I have a ton in my life and I'm squandering it.
I get scared. So scared that something will happen (such as a catastrophic injury, Armageddon, breast cancer, a bad morning commute) and I will look back on these five years as a period of time that I squandered. Such a sin! Such an affront! No one is allowed to set up their lives like this and not follow through. I should be drawn and quartered.
Sigh. This evening I wondered what my life would be like if I gave up on writing altogether. Sure, I'd still keep this blog since it's the most productive aspect of my writing life, but other than that why not give up on my stories?
There are a million reasons and none have to do with making the bestseller list or even getting published. Hell, none of them have to do with anybody reading my stories and novels. It's all about me. The biggest reason is the thought of giving up the stories inside me, rolling around like so many silver balls waiting to be juggled, is that I need to know how those stories turn out. I need to know not only what happens to the character, but who the characters are. I can't let the stories just shrivel up and die inside me without seeing the light of day. It seems like the gravest sin of all. It seems like a direct affront to whoever is in charge around here. It seems like doing something like that would cause a giant fire bolt to nuke out of the sky and leave nothing but some singed clothes and my sneakers behind. Creation is the ultimate blessing.
I am tired and I don't know what to do. I'm burned out, but I don't know from what. I need a lot of things. I need to go eat and go to sleep. I wish I knew what to do after that. When I think of giving up writing I can't even imagine what I would do to fill in the time. I feel so damn uncomfortable right now. What do I do? What do I do?
What my life really is an extraordinarily stripped down situation. Somewhere in the back of my mind years ago I decided what I really wanted was to live and work here in SF and set my life up so I can write all the time. This goal has been and continues to be accomplished.
- I don't have a significant other to worry about so I can spend hours writing.
- I don't have kids (similar reason).
- I live alone.
- I don't watch TV.
- I have a giant 32" computer screen so my Word documents are HUGE.
- I have a good job that pays well, and this is really important, and I don't have to work a lot of overtime. I get to go home at 5:30 pm on most days and have yet to work the weekend. Unbelievable.
- I have this blog which has given me the courage and excitement of realizing the pleasure of having an audience and it has taught me that my writing moves people.
- I don't have a lot of hobbies although I can find some just around the corner there.
- SF is supposed be a good "writing" city.
I set everything up the way I wanted to and I'm not embracing this grand gift I have of a good steady income, a lovely City and time. Sweet, precious time. I have a ton in my life and I'm squandering it.
I get scared. So scared that something will happen (such as a catastrophic injury, Armageddon, breast cancer, a bad morning commute) and I will look back on these five years as a period of time that I squandered. Such a sin! Such an affront! No one is allowed to set up their lives like this and not follow through. I should be drawn and quartered.
Sigh. This evening I wondered what my life would be like if I gave up on writing altogether. Sure, I'd still keep this blog since it's the most productive aspect of my writing life, but other than that why not give up on my stories?
There are a million reasons and none have to do with making the bestseller list or even getting published. Hell, none of them have to do with anybody reading my stories and novels. It's all about me. The biggest reason is the thought of giving up the stories inside me, rolling around like so many silver balls waiting to be juggled, is that I need to know how those stories turn out. I need to know not only what happens to the character, but who the characters are. I can't let the stories just shrivel up and die inside me without seeing the light of day. It seems like the gravest sin of all. It seems like a direct affront to whoever is in charge around here. It seems like doing something like that would cause a giant fire bolt to nuke out of the sky and leave nothing but some singed clothes and my sneakers behind. Creation is the ultimate blessing.
I am tired and I don't know what to do. I'm burned out, but I don't know from what. I need a lot of things. I need to go eat and go to sleep. I wish I knew what to do after that. When I think of giving up writing I can't even imagine what I would do to fill in the time. I feel so damn uncomfortable right now. What do I do? What do I do?
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Today's Swim Lesson
I sprained my ankle a couple of weeks ago and haven't been swimming so I was a little worried about today's swim lesson. There were a number of factors to overcome, the most prominent in my mind was my fear of walking down the concrete stairs from the roof of Mission Bay where the pool is to the women's locker room.
Today's swim lesson was great. I'm learning to do alternate breathing; right now I'm in the habit of turning my head to the right side to breath. Getting into the habit of turning to the left side has been difficult especially without the enough practice. While it still felt "weird" it felt much better than it had been and for the first time my neck doesn't feel stiff after swimming.
Even better was the progress I made in my underwater swimming. I have to swim underwater from one end of the pool to the other on one breath and learning to do this has been very difficult. I'm learning in a 25 yard pool during my lessons and the pool I practice in is 20 yards. Today I made three quarters of the way across the 25 yard pool on one breath. That's the most I've ever done and I'm so happy about it. I never thought I'd be able to master this skill, but here I am almost there!
It was a great swimming day. Oh, and I made down the long flight of concrete stairs on my sprained ankle with no problem. I just took it slowly, one step at a time. No hurry and no worries.
Today's swim lesson was great. I'm learning to do alternate breathing; right now I'm in the habit of turning my head to the right side to breath. Getting into the habit of turning to the left side has been difficult especially without the enough practice. While it still felt "weird" it felt much better than it had been and for the first time my neck doesn't feel stiff after swimming.
Even better was the progress I made in my underwater swimming. I have to swim underwater from one end of the pool to the other on one breath and learning to do this has been very difficult. I'm learning in a 25 yard pool during my lessons and the pool I practice in is 20 yards. Today I made three quarters of the way across the 25 yard pool on one breath. That's the most I've ever done and I'm so happy about it. I never thought I'd be able to master this skill, but here I am almost there!
It was a great swimming day. Oh, and I made down the long flight of concrete stairs on my sprained ankle with no problem. I just took it slowly, one step at a time. No hurry and no worries.
"Why So Serious?"
Back on December 27, 2007 I did a post entitled YouTube Fun and part of that post included the first "Dark Knight" trailer. I was intrigued by Heath Ledger's Joker and was really looking forward to seeing it.
Not too long afterwards Heath was found dead as we all know.
Having sat through my second viewing of "Dark Knight" this evening I remain as I was the first time I saw this movie the weekend before last: sad. For here wrapped up in a 27 year old package was the very epitome of promise. I was so looking forward to what this wonderful actor would become after seeing him come so far in just a few years. I liked Heath very much in his earlier roles, particularly in "Knight's Tale", even though it had an odd soundtrack and was fluffy. In fact, I've owned "Knight's Tale" since it first came out on DVD. I also liked him in "10 Things I Hate About You" though I don't own that one. This movie surpassed "Knight's Tale" in its fluffiness but, dammit, there's a place in this world for fun and whimsy and Heath was doing his part to bring it to us.
When I saw "Monster's Ball" I must admit that I really enjoyed the movie until Heath's character killed himself. Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton turned in great performances, but I stopped liking the movie so much after that. I thought Heath did a great job in that performance and still think of his character's last line to his father sometimes:
Heath's character Sonny: "You hate me. Answer me. You hate me, don't you?"
Billy Bob's character Hank: "Yeah, I hate you. Always did."
Heath's character Sonny: "Well, I've always loved you."
The fact that I still think of that line after all this time on occasion is a testament to Heath's performance.
Then I had the enormous pleasure of "Brokeback Mountain" for both Heath and Jake stunned the hell out of me with their performances. Heath was phenomenal, but as I told a couple of people, we believed in that love story and without Jake we would not have have been so moved by the way these two characters loved each other.
I was so excited about the Joker. Heath's Joker looked like a completely different character altogether. He didn't disappointment at all. In fact, I can't take my eyes off him. Sure, I just spent two plus hours watching the movie again, but I came home and started watching the trailer again. I just want to see more Heath!!!
It's so sad. And wonderful. We are all very lucky to have this performance.
Next up, I go see "Dark Knight" on the IMAX screen. I know I'll really enjoy that too.
Not too long afterwards Heath was found dead as we all know.
Having sat through my second viewing of "Dark Knight" this evening I remain as I was the first time I saw this movie the weekend before last: sad. For here wrapped up in a 27 year old package was the very epitome of promise. I was so looking forward to what this wonderful actor would become after seeing him come so far in just a few years. I liked Heath very much in his earlier roles, particularly in "Knight's Tale", even though it had an odd soundtrack and was fluffy. In fact, I've owned "Knight's Tale" since it first came out on DVD. I also liked him in "10 Things I Hate About You" though I don't own that one. This movie surpassed "Knight's Tale" in its fluffiness but, dammit, there's a place in this world for fun and whimsy and Heath was doing his part to bring it to us.
When I saw "Monster's Ball" I must admit that I really enjoyed the movie until Heath's character killed himself. Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton turned in great performances, but I stopped liking the movie so much after that. I thought Heath did a great job in that performance and still think of his character's last line to his father sometimes:
Heath's character Sonny: "You hate me. Answer me. You hate me, don't you?"
Billy Bob's character Hank: "Yeah, I hate you. Always did."
Heath's character Sonny: "Well, I've always loved you."
The fact that I still think of that line after all this time on occasion is a testament to Heath's performance.
Then I had the enormous pleasure of "Brokeback Mountain" for both Heath and Jake stunned the hell out of me with their performances. Heath was phenomenal, but as I told a couple of people, we believed in that love story and without Jake we would not have have been so moved by the way these two characters loved each other.
I was so excited about the Joker. Heath's Joker looked like a completely different character altogether. He didn't disappointment at all. In fact, I can't take my eyes off him. Sure, I just spent two plus hours watching the movie again, but I came home and started watching the trailer again. I just want to see more Heath!!!
It's so sad. And wonderful. We are all very lucky to have this performance.
Next up, I go see "Dark Knight" on the IMAX screen. I know I'll really enjoy that too.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
New Blog Header
I have to say I'm just tickled pink about my new blog header picture. Sure it's a little large, but I don't see the point in cropping it. I encourage everyone who hasn't done it already to run to your "Layout" section of your blog and start putting up header pictures.
Hooray for blogger.com!
Hooray for blogger.com!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Rant: No Dating Life for Me
I haven't been dating at all. It's been a long time. Lately, I've been wondering why I've been treated like crap or why the guy is all excited about me during the first date, but loses interest in me after that.
I'm beginning to think there are several things going on:
1) There are a lot of jerks around and they're all available. Folks have said this has something to do with living in SF/Bay Area, but I'm not sure if that's true. Folks have also said it's because I'm too old, not "hot" enough, too fat. A couple of years ago I would have said that was true, but no more because it seems even young beautiful women are also being treated like crap. And they are also having a difficult time finding someone even if they are dating more than me. I had a conversation with a beautiful young woman who used to work in my office who is actively dating. She is sweet, smart and on track for a great career and yet she explained to me that guys take her out once and then dump her (and no, she's not having sex with them). One even explained that she just wasn't "hot" enough. And I'll spell this next part out instead of resorting to the usual acronym which I think is lame anyway: WHAT THE FUCK is up with that???!! I was flabbergasted when she told me that story.
2) All the good men are taken particularly the ones in my age bracket. I think this is mostly true now. I used to think that was just a cliche, but it's not, people. All good guys around my age are already in long term relationships. The ones left over are either commitment phobes and/or have baggage worthy of bringing a plane down.
3) Many men around my age group have absolutely no interest in forming a serious relationship. They date sometimes but mostly so they can have sex, or less often for companionship. They don't completely rule out a relationship but they're not going to consider it unless the "girl" is spectacular. She really has to be "The One" for these men to put forth any kind of effort. Anything less is just there to warm the pillow. What does this mean for me? It means the guy is looking for that elusive quality of genius supermodel with seven figure earning salary. I have none of those qualities.
4) Somewhat related to number three is the idea that my therapist suggested and that is that when a guy decides he likes me he realizes that I'm not just there for fun, but for a serious relationship and this can be intimidating. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but it can't hurt to include it on this list anyway.
5) The odds are lousy. As I tell my good friends, who are also having the same problems with dating, you only need one good man. I still believe that's true, but I don't see the point in looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. The odds are that I will be very disappointed if I try to meet another guy. And, if the recent past is any indication, the odds are pretty high that he will turn out to be mean, inconsiderate asshole which seems to be happening more and more.
6) Being kind and loving are code words for "fuck me over!!" I'm a good person, I'm a nice person and I enjoy treating men well, but if you are kind and generous they see you as nothing more than a chump, someone to take advantage of. Oh and God forbid if you fall in love and tell them that. As soon as that happens you're off to the Gulag Archipelago of love, baby. Love is supposed to be the strongest force in the Universe, but the fact that I might love a man only means that I am weak and stupid in his eyes.
I'm never going to find someone who will love me, be excited to be with me, who will want to talk to me and see me, who I can explore the world and life with. I don't even remember what it's like to have a man love me like that. It's just as well.
What does this all mean? No dating life for me. I know I sound bitter, but it's the way things are. This is what happens when you spend over five years looking for a relationship and keep striking out over and over. I didn't start out this bitter, but feeling this way is inevitable when no one wants you unless they can get a nut off or when they tell you they want to focus on pursuing a serious relationship with someone else. Do I sound angry? You bet I do. I'm post nuclear pissed off in an apocalyptic dating world.
p.s. for all of you who might be concerned about this post, i'll just say this is my blog and i'll damn well rant on it if i want to.
I'm beginning to think there are several things going on:
1) There are a lot of jerks around and they're all available. Folks have said this has something to do with living in SF/Bay Area, but I'm not sure if that's true. Folks have also said it's because I'm too old, not "hot" enough, too fat. A couple of years ago I would have said that was true, but no more because it seems even young beautiful women are also being treated like crap. And they are also having a difficult time finding someone even if they are dating more than me. I had a conversation with a beautiful young woman who used to work in my office who is actively dating. She is sweet, smart and on track for a great career and yet she explained to me that guys take her out once and then dump her (and no, she's not having sex with them). One even explained that she just wasn't "hot" enough. And I'll spell this next part out instead of resorting to the usual acronym which I think is lame anyway: WHAT THE FUCK is up with that???!! I was flabbergasted when she told me that story.
2) All the good men are taken particularly the ones in my age bracket. I think this is mostly true now. I used to think that was just a cliche, but it's not, people. All good guys around my age are already in long term relationships. The ones left over are either commitment phobes and/or have baggage worthy of bringing a plane down.
3) Many men around my age group have absolutely no interest in forming a serious relationship. They date sometimes but mostly so they can have sex, or less often for companionship. They don't completely rule out a relationship but they're not going to consider it unless the "girl" is spectacular. She really has to be "The One" for these men to put forth any kind of effort. Anything less is just there to warm the pillow. What does this mean for me? It means the guy is looking for that elusive quality of genius supermodel with seven figure earning salary. I have none of those qualities.
4) Somewhat related to number three is the idea that my therapist suggested and that is that when a guy decides he likes me he realizes that I'm not just there for fun, but for a serious relationship and this can be intimidating. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but it can't hurt to include it on this list anyway.
5) The odds are lousy. As I tell my good friends, who are also having the same problems with dating, you only need one good man. I still believe that's true, but I don't see the point in looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. The odds are that I will be very disappointed if I try to meet another guy. And, if the recent past is any indication, the odds are pretty high that he will turn out to be mean, inconsiderate asshole which seems to be happening more and more.
6) Being kind and loving are code words for "fuck me over!!" I'm a good person, I'm a nice person and I enjoy treating men well, but if you are kind and generous they see you as nothing more than a chump, someone to take advantage of. Oh and God forbid if you fall in love and tell them that. As soon as that happens you're off to the Gulag Archipelago of love, baby. Love is supposed to be the strongest force in the Universe, but the fact that I might love a man only means that I am weak and stupid in his eyes.
I'm never going to find someone who will love me, be excited to be with me, who will want to talk to me and see me, who I can explore the world and life with. I don't even remember what it's like to have a man love me like that. It's just as well.
What does this all mean? No dating life for me. I know I sound bitter, but it's the way things are. This is what happens when you spend over five years looking for a relationship and keep striking out over and over. I didn't start out this bitter, but feeling this way is inevitable when no one wants you unless they can get a nut off or when they tell you they want to focus on pursuing a serious relationship with someone else. Do I sound angry? You bet I do. I'm post nuclear pissed off in an apocalyptic dating world.
p.s. for all of you who might be concerned about this post, i'll just say this is my blog and i'll damn well rant on it if i want to.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
San Francisco Summer
My lovely City is known for its cold summers. For example, today is July 27, 2008 and it is now 61 degrees. There's a little wind rattling the inferior windows of my apartment and when I look out my little window towards the Pacific Ocean there's nothing but fog and the vague outline of houses and the pink church a few blocks down.
Yesterday I was in San Jose, my hometown about 50 miles south of here, and it was about 88 degrees there. I grew up in that town and was used to the warm to hot summers there. I've been here in San Francisco now for over five years and have become very acclimated to our cooler, foggy temperatures. When the temperature climbs to over the mid-80s I find myself longing for our infamous fog.
Tourists are often shocked when they come here in the summer. Even when cautioned about our weather they still can't bring themselves to believe it really is that cold here. Tourists are easy to spot with their shorts and hastily bought sweatshirts that say "San Francisco" on them or "Alcatraz."
It's true that some days in the summer can be warm and beautiful here, even hot, but let's be clear that it's only a few days where that happens. Our "summer" which we call "indian summer" comes in the fall. During that time the weather is usually spectacular: warm, but not too warm and oh so mild.
We who live here waste no time getting out of doors when the weather is nice. You can find us in Golden Gate Park, out and about in neighborhoods, and on the beach wandering around in sun dresses and flip flops. As the song goes, there's nothing like a warm San Francisco night. The City takes on a magical quality enhanced by the billions of people out on the street.
Although weather enhancement does well for encouraging the entrancing qualities of the City to come out, I find it beautiful no matter what the weather. And no matter how people moan about how cold it is here.
Yesterday I was in San Jose, my hometown about 50 miles south of here, and it was about 88 degrees there. I grew up in that town and was used to the warm to hot summers there. I've been here in San Francisco now for over five years and have become very acclimated to our cooler, foggy temperatures. When the temperature climbs to over the mid-80s I find myself longing for our infamous fog.
Tourists are often shocked when they come here in the summer. Even when cautioned about our weather they still can't bring themselves to believe it really is that cold here. Tourists are easy to spot with their shorts and hastily bought sweatshirts that say "San Francisco" on them or "Alcatraz."
It's true that some days in the summer can be warm and beautiful here, even hot, but let's be clear that it's only a few days where that happens. Our "summer" which we call "indian summer" comes in the fall. During that time the weather is usually spectacular: warm, but not too warm and oh so mild.
We who live here waste no time getting out of doors when the weather is nice. You can find us in Golden Gate Park, out and about in neighborhoods, and on the beach wandering around in sun dresses and flip flops. As the song goes, there's nothing like a warm San Francisco night. The City takes on a magical quality enhanced by the billions of people out on the street.
Although weather enhancement does well for encouraging the entrancing qualities of the City to come out, I find it beautiful no matter what the weather. And no matter how people moan about how cold it is here.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Change and Habit
My swimming instructor is teaching me to breath on the left side. My current habit now is to turn my head to the right with each stroke of my right arm. This is causing my neck to stiffen and isn't efficient in the water.
So now I'm learning to swim three strokes (one, two, three, turn head to the right to breath-then one, two, three, turn head to the left). As I struggle with this new habit I'm sucking down water, I'm sinking and gasping for breath, my neck is bothering me and I can barely swim 200 yards as I flail around in the water trying to get my body in alignment.
I feel like a baby. And yet my turning my head to the right with every right arm stroke is just a habit, something I learned to do. And that means that I can learn to do something else to replace that habit as long as I practice it.
My swimming instructor's philosophy: "If people are willing to change and to practice that change, then people are capable of anything." I realized the simple, awesome truth of this statement. Annoying habits are just that, habits. This means they can be changed with practice. I couldn't swim at all as of last November, but now I can swim 400 yards without stopping. This is not a miracle. This did not happen overnight. It was hard work and training, but mostly it was all about breaking everything down into manageable pieces, learning them and practice, practice, practice.
It's not easy, but it's very doable.
If I can swim, I can do damn near anything including learning to breath on the left side. I'm wondering what other "good" and "fun" habits I can cultivate now.
So now I'm learning to swim three strokes (one, two, three, turn head to the right to breath-then one, two, three, turn head to the left). As I struggle with this new habit I'm sucking down water, I'm sinking and gasping for breath, my neck is bothering me and I can barely swim 200 yards as I flail around in the water trying to get my body in alignment.
I feel like a baby. And yet my turning my head to the right with every right arm stroke is just a habit, something I learned to do. And that means that I can learn to do something else to replace that habit as long as I practice it.
My swimming instructor's philosophy: "If people are willing to change and to practice that change, then people are capable of anything." I realized the simple, awesome truth of this statement. Annoying habits are just that, habits. This means they can be changed with practice. I couldn't swim at all as of last November, but now I can swim 400 yards without stopping. This is not a miracle. This did not happen overnight. It was hard work and training, but mostly it was all about breaking everything down into manageable pieces, learning them and practice, practice, practice.
It's not easy, but it's very doable.
If I can swim, I can do damn near anything including learning to breath on the left side. I'm wondering what other "good" and "fun" habits I can cultivate now.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Don't Eat the Apples
"This is a nice place, Miss Turtle."
I mumble something. Mr. Gryphon is right, of course, but I am looking around the impossibly lush garden we have the good fortune to be in. I look to and fro. The warm breeze and sparkling air are so perfect that I pause from my searching and take a deep breath.
"Is this your new garden?" I cannot ignore him any longer.
"No, sir. This is Paradise, a walled garden located in Eden. Judging by the good weather the Fall of Man has not yet occurred." Our attention is caught by a lion leisurely walking by. Mr. Gryphon's claws start to extend, but I stop him by putting my hand on his arm. "He won't hurt us. He can't. Everything is in harmony here."
Sure enough a small rabbit crosses his path. The two beautiful animals greet each other by touching noses before moving on. I decide to follow the lion a little ways behind. He pays no mind. The garden opens up before us. I feel it in my bones. A longing and an aching in my heart. Tears come to my eyes, but don't spill.
"Feel that, Mr. Gryphon?" My voice sounds a little watery.
"No, but I see you are affected," he says. He is watching me closely as we walk along the thick carpet of grass.
"It is the eternal longing, Mr. Gryphon. All of mankind longs to return home regardless of your religious beliefs. That's what this place is home of the soul." I sniffle. He pats my hand and I give him a grateful hug. It's good to be with my trusty friend once more. We walk on.
The garden opens up into a little glen and I feel my breath catch for in front of us are two spectacular trees. One is huge and is laden with apples. They are brighter than jewels and so overwhelming I can't take my eyes off them. I just want to stare and stare. The tree next to it is also laden with fruit, but not as showy. It is handsome and it glows with a quiet majesty*. I know what trees they are and I long to eat, but I don't move. An apple, I think. I've already fallen, I tell myself. What would happen if I had one now?
Just as I'm considering finding out the answer to my question Mr. Gryphon gently draws me back into the bushes. "Someone is coming," he says close to my right ear. We both crouch down and watch.
An ornament-like snake rolling gracefully along enters the glen on the far left side. Its colors shift and shine. Behind him a stunning young blond woman follows.
"That's Eve," I whisper, "Looks like we're in Book IX of Milton's book." The snake slides gracefully up the tree and begins to talk to Eve. They are so far away that we can't hear them.
"Snake there, 'the subtlest beast in the field,' is possessed by Satan so he can tempt Eve into eating the apples."
"What's wrong with eating apples?" Mr. Gryphon has had to sit down so he won't be visible.
"They are from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. God has told them they can do what they like here except they can never eat from that tree or 'ye will surely die.' Eve eats the apple anyway and Man Falls and becomes mortal. It's a long, drawn out affair. I'd rather not watch it all, if you don't mind."
"We can do whatever you like, Miss Turtle."
"I am happy to see Snake, though. Surely Satan in this story is one of the greatest, most fascinating characters in literature. Milton was pretty far up there even if he wrote the whole thing in verse. I used to think it would be the greatest story I'll ever read, but I think it's number two*. We'll see."
We move slowly away from the glen leaving Eve and Snake to talk. "Better get our stroll in now before the weather changes. That should happen pretty quickly." We walk back the way we came. Birds are singing in the trees. "By tomorrow Paradise will be empty with nothing but the glorious plants, and the Cherubim who will be guarding it," I say.
"Did you know that gryphons were considered one of the origins for Cherubim?" he says.
"I had no idea!"
"This might hint at my former life, Miss Turtle, a subject you and I have never discussed."
"I'm intrigued. I didn't know you had a former life. I would not have guessed." The flowers are heavily fragrant, a rabble of butterflies float by on the sweet gentle breeze. The sun and the blue sky I glimpse as I look up look as though they were made for only Mr. Gryphon and me. I want to ask him more about his former life, but I decide to wait and enjoy this place for now. The garden and earth as it is now will change and Man will begin his real adventure once he leaves this perfect place.
"It's not a bad thing, Falling, no matter what they say. I'm sure of it," I look up at my good friend and we smile at each other. We continue through the garden slowly and easily. We walk under a cherry tree. The flowers are floating down on us like soft snow. Some are caught in my hair. Mr. Gryphon gently brushes them off. He hands me a small, perfect pink blossom.
"A souvenir for you, Miss Turtle."
"I don't think we can take that with us."
"It's all right. Trust me." I thank him and slip the flower into my pocket. "It will remain perfect forever," he says. I look at him more closely. The earth and grass smell green and warm. I wonder if he was an angel in his former life.
"That would make me a guardian, eh, Miss Turtle?" he says, reading my mind as he sometimes does.
"I suppose so. It makes sense. Odd how things are coming together like this."
"Odd indeed." We speak no more. The earth, sky and universe gives a great groan for the Fall has just happened." We will only have a little more time before the weather changes.
*the Tree of Life.
**my humble opinion is "The Epic of Gilgamesh" will take the top spot, but I still haven't read an actual translated version of it.
I mumble something. Mr. Gryphon is right, of course, but I am looking around the impossibly lush garden we have the good fortune to be in. I look to and fro. The warm breeze and sparkling air are so perfect that I pause from my searching and take a deep breath.
"Is this your new garden?" I cannot ignore him any longer.
"No, sir. This is Paradise, a walled garden located in Eden. Judging by the good weather the Fall of Man has not yet occurred." Our attention is caught by a lion leisurely walking by. Mr. Gryphon's claws start to extend, but I stop him by putting my hand on his arm. "He won't hurt us. He can't. Everything is in harmony here."
Sure enough a small rabbit crosses his path. The two beautiful animals greet each other by touching noses before moving on. I decide to follow the lion a little ways behind. He pays no mind. The garden opens up before us. I feel it in my bones. A longing and an aching in my heart. Tears come to my eyes, but don't spill.
"Feel that, Mr. Gryphon?" My voice sounds a little watery.
"No, but I see you are affected," he says. He is watching me closely as we walk along the thick carpet of grass.
"It is the eternal longing, Mr. Gryphon. All of mankind longs to return home regardless of your religious beliefs. That's what this place is home of the soul." I sniffle. He pats my hand and I give him a grateful hug. It's good to be with my trusty friend once more. We walk on.
The garden opens up into a little glen and I feel my breath catch for in front of us are two spectacular trees. One is huge and is laden with apples. They are brighter than jewels and so overwhelming I can't take my eyes off them. I just want to stare and stare. The tree next to it is also laden with fruit, but not as showy. It is handsome and it glows with a quiet majesty*. I know what trees they are and I long to eat, but I don't move. An apple, I think. I've already fallen, I tell myself. What would happen if I had one now?
Just as I'm considering finding out the answer to my question Mr. Gryphon gently draws me back into the bushes. "Someone is coming," he says close to my right ear. We both crouch down and watch.
An ornament-like snake rolling gracefully along enters the glen on the far left side. Its colors shift and shine. Behind him a stunning young blond woman follows.
"That's Eve," I whisper, "Looks like we're in Book IX of Milton's book." The snake slides gracefully up the tree and begins to talk to Eve. They are so far away that we can't hear them.
"Snake there, 'the subtlest beast in the field,' is possessed by Satan so he can tempt Eve into eating the apples."
"What's wrong with eating apples?" Mr. Gryphon has had to sit down so he won't be visible.
"They are from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. God has told them they can do what they like here except they can never eat from that tree or 'ye will surely die.' Eve eats the apple anyway and Man Falls and becomes mortal. It's a long, drawn out affair. I'd rather not watch it all, if you don't mind."
"We can do whatever you like, Miss Turtle."
"I am happy to see Snake, though. Surely Satan in this story is one of the greatest, most fascinating characters in literature. Milton was pretty far up there even if he wrote the whole thing in verse. I used to think it would be the greatest story I'll ever read, but I think it's number two*. We'll see."
We move slowly away from the glen leaving Eve and Snake to talk. "Better get our stroll in now before the weather changes. That should happen pretty quickly." We walk back the way we came. Birds are singing in the trees. "By tomorrow Paradise will be empty with nothing but the glorious plants, and the Cherubim who will be guarding it," I say.
"Did you know that gryphons were considered one of the origins for Cherubim?" he says.
"I had no idea!"
"This might hint at my former life, Miss Turtle, a subject you and I have never discussed."
"I'm intrigued. I didn't know you had a former life. I would not have guessed." The flowers are heavily fragrant, a rabble of butterflies float by on the sweet gentle breeze. The sun and the blue sky I glimpse as I look up look as though they were made for only Mr. Gryphon and me. I want to ask him more about his former life, but I decide to wait and enjoy this place for now. The garden and earth as it is now will change and Man will begin his real adventure once he leaves this perfect place.
"It's not a bad thing, Falling, no matter what they say. I'm sure of it," I look up at my good friend and we smile at each other. We continue through the garden slowly and easily. We walk under a cherry tree. The flowers are floating down on us like soft snow. Some are caught in my hair. Mr. Gryphon gently brushes them off. He hands me a small, perfect pink blossom.
"A souvenir for you, Miss Turtle."
"I don't think we can take that with us."
"It's all right. Trust me." I thank him and slip the flower into my pocket. "It will remain perfect forever," he says. I look at him more closely. The earth and grass smell green and warm. I wonder if he was an angel in his former life.
"That would make me a guardian, eh, Miss Turtle?" he says, reading my mind as he sometimes does.
"I suppose so. It makes sense. Odd how things are coming together like this."
"Odd indeed." We speak no more. The earth, sky and universe gives a great groan for the Fall has just happened." We will only have a little more time before the weather changes.
***
This past Saturday I finally finished reading "Paradise Lost" by John Milton. His tale of Man's Fall is wonderful, poignant and hopeful. A beautiful story. I highly recommend it even if isn't an easy read. It was published 1674 and language takes some getting used to as does reading in verse. At least you don't have to worry about translation.
*the Tree of Life.
**my humble opinion is "The Epic of Gilgamesh" will take the top spot, but I still haven't read an actual translated version of it.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Hidden Abalone Under My Feet
Daily, I wander down that old road. Its gold colored bricks and sideline orchids cast a heavenly glow, but heaven it is not. I move slowly hoping for a sign or for someone to come along, but it's just me as usual.
My solitude has become familiar to me much like a pair of well-worn jeans. I think about how my time has passed and wonder what's in store for me now. Am I past my prime? Will my solitude extend into forever? No one knows.
I dream of a man who's a low-key genius, who is kind and funny. Who sits in the dark. I keep hearing more reports about him. I keep hearing that he is more wonderful than I ever dreamed he'd be. I want to tell him how I feel about him. I want him to know I feel this longing but it is too much for us, both apart and together.
Today was a once in a lifetime. A few hours that will never be duplicated or planned for ever again. They told me they were glad I was there, that they knew I wouldn't have missed it for anything. They know me well. I sloshed around with the others. Salt water splashed on my face. I felt like I would burst with gratitude all day long.
I feel marvelously happy and achingly sad tonight.
It's been a good day to think about these things.
My solitude has become familiar to me much like a pair of well-worn jeans. I think about how my time has passed and wonder what's in store for me now. Am I past my prime? Will my solitude extend into forever? No one knows.
I dream of a man who's a low-key genius, who is kind and funny. Who sits in the dark. I keep hearing more reports about him. I keep hearing that he is more wonderful than I ever dreamed he'd be. I want to tell him how I feel about him. I want him to know I feel this longing but it is too much for us, both apart and together.
Today was a once in a lifetime. A few hours that will never be duplicated or planned for ever again. They told me they were glad I was there, that they knew I wouldn't have missed it for anything. They know me well. I sloshed around with the others. Salt water splashed on my face. I felt like I would burst with gratitude all day long.
I feel marvelously happy and achingly sad tonight.
It's been a good day to think about these things.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
They Say The Best Camera Is The One You Use All The Time
Since I got a monster tax return this year I decided to buy myself a new point-and-shoot camera. You can see the first pictures in the previous post. It's a Panasonic DMC-TZ4 with 10x zoom and it shoots 8 megapixal pictures. The zoom was a must have for me. I have my nice Canon Powershot, but it's a bit bulky to carry around every day and I've found that carrying a camera with me all the time encourages me to shoot more spontaneously and to think more about posting on this blog.
I'm embarrassed to say I now have two nice 35 mm cameras, the Canon Powershot and now this camera and I'm still not using any of them to their full potential. Part of this is because I just don't know what they're capable of. I need to take a few photography classes.
I'm embarrassed to say I now have two nice 35 mm cameras, the Canon Powershot and now this camera and I'm still not using any of them to their full potential. Part of this is because I just don't know what they're capable of. I need to take a few photography classes.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Pierre is Still the Alpha Male
I wrote about Pierre the Penguin quite a while ago, here's the link since he is one of the penguins I work with regularly. As you can see from a previous video I posted (see it here), Pierre is 25 years and had lost all his feathers. The biologists at the Aquarium where I volunteer decided to try something different to keep him warm and that was to make him his own neoprene wetsuit. Last Friday, Associated Press released an article about him and his wetsuit. I'm proud to share the article, videos and pictures here. Enjoy!
Click here for the link to article and pictures:
Here's the video, courtesy of YouTube:
Click here for the link to article and pictures:
Here's the video, courtesy of YouTube:
Monday, April 07, 2008
Some Current Favorite Quotes
"Can I have one of those Chesterfields now?" Dennis Hopper to Christopher Walkin in the infamous "Sicilian" scene in "True Romance."
"It's not true I had nothing on, the radio was on." Marilyn Monroe.
"I've already told you want I want and if you ask me again, I'm going to scream! You keep asking me over and over what I want and I keep telling you and I'm tired of telling you, and, no, you can't ever, ever touch me. Do you hear me? You can't touch me!" a friend relaying a "conversation" she had on a date with a very wealthy man whom she didn't find attractive. She had this "conversation" outside a lovely restaurant in North Beach (a wonderful neighborhood here in SF).
"Okay, well tell Superman to iron his cape and get his super fanny over here, pronto." A co-worker talking to a vendor on the phone who screwed up a job.
"The crime you see now it's hard to even take its measure. It's not that I'm afraid of it. I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job. But I don't want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don't understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He'd have to say, 'O.K., I'll be part of this world.'" Tommy Lee Jones' opening monologue in "No Country for Old Men."
And one from me:
Me: "What we need is a form on the system that everyone can fill out. An apology form. In Word format."
Nice Boss: "Oh, so you can just fill it out and email to someone here in this office? Fill in your name, date and what you're apologizing for?"
Me: "No, that's the beauty of it. You don't have to do anything. It's there for someone who feels they need an apology. They fill it out and email it to themselves."
Nice Boss: "Oh, I get it. Then they can send you a thank you email in response, right?"
"It's not true I had nothing on, the radio was on." Marilyn Monroe.
"I've already told you want I want and if you ask me again, I'm going to scream! You keep asking me over and over what I want and I keep telling you and I'm tired of telling you, and, no, you can't ever, ever touch me. Do you hear me? You can't touch me!" a friend relaying a "conversation" she had on a date with a very wealthy man whom she didn't find attractive. She had this "conversation" outside a lovely restaurant in North Beach (a wonderful neighborhood here in SF).
"Okay, well tell Superman to iron his cape and get his super fanny over here, pronto." A co-worker talking to a vendor on the phone who screwed up a job.
"The crime you see now it's hard to even take its measure. It's not that I'm afraid of it. I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job. But I don't want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don't understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He'd have to say, 'O.K., I'll be part of this world.'" Tommy Lee Jones' opening monologue in "No Country for Old Men."
And one from me:
Me: "What we need is a form on the system that everyone can fill out. An apology form. In Word format."
Nice Boss: "Oh, so you can just fill it out and email to someone here in this office? Fill in your name, date and what you're apologizing for?"
Me: "No, that's the beauty of it. You don't have to do anything. It's there for someone who feels they need an apology. They fill it out and email it to themselves."
Nice Boss: "Oh, I get it. Then they can send you a thank you email in response, right?"
Inner Life: All the Crap in Your Head that Weighs You Down
I'm suffering from a lack of confidence. Today I helped out on a project at work, jumped in at the last minute. It went down to the wire, but it got done. I did good work, caught a lot of errors and yet all I can think about tonight is how I screwed everything up because it took me a long time to complete the centerpiece of the project. Everyday at work I beat myself up because I take too long, I'm not learning fast enough. Sometimes I want to cry from the fear and frustration of it.
I read somewhere that you should think about whose voice you're hearing when you start verbally beating the crap out of yourself so tonight I asked myself who has been doing been doing all the trash talking in my head. The answer is a woman and a man from my old job who I believe were responsible for my being laid off. I can't say for sure, but I'm fairly certain their comments were a factor.
Now mind you no one has told me at work that they're having problems with my work, speed or otherwise. Folks who have been there a while assure me that if I'm truly screwing up they would tell me immediately. But then I think they're just being nice to me. I don't know.
Then I thought about what my true voice, my real self is saying to me right now while the other voices tell me what a piece of crap I am at my job. My real self is telling me it wants a cup of tea, and it wants a snack, oh and it wants to take the dog for a walk because it wants to go to bed soon. It also wants to stop listening to the others because it's gotten so tiring. As for the job thing, well, it's saying any cluster-fucks that happen can be corrected tomorrow, no problem.
It also wants to write (I haven't written hardly anything in over a month), it wants to get through my current Korean DVDs I have from Netflix, and it wants to go grocery shopping.
It wants to have fun and not be bogged down by all this shit. Maybe this is what they truly mean by having baggage.
Ugh.
I read somewhere that you should think about whose voice you're hearing when you start verbally beating the crap out of yourself so tonight I asked myself who has been doing been doing all the trash talking in my head. The answer is a woman and a man from my old job who I believe were responsible for my being laid off. I can't say for sure, but I'm fairly certain their comments were a factor.
Now mind you no one has told me at work that they're having problems with my work, speed or otherwise. Folks who have been there a while assure me that if I'm truly screwing up they would tell me immediately. But then I think they're just being nice to me. I don't know.
Then I thought about what my true voice, my real self is saying to me right now while the other voices tell me what a piece of crap I am at my job. My real self is telling me it wants a cup of tea, and it wants a snack, oh and it wants to take the dog for a walk because it wants to go to bed soon. It also wants to stop listening to the others because it's gotten so tiring. As for the job thing, well, it's saying any cluster-fucks that happen can be corrected tomorrow, no problem.
It also wants to write (I haven't written hardly anything in over a month), it wants to get through my current Korean DVDs I have from Netflix, and it wants to go grocery shopping.
It wants to have fun and not be bogged down by all this shit. Maybe this is what they truly mean by having baggage.
Ugh.
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