I'm running on about an hour's worth of sleep, so I don't really remember what I had wanted to write about today. Why am I so hungry, though? I had Denny's at....three in the morning, that should have held me other I'd think. Hm. Also, that old cliche about 'Think about baseball' in awkward situations? It actually worked in the clinch of the moment. Somehow it seems funny to consider that folk wisdom of a sort, but hey.

Anyway, I did remember one thing; on a random show about body modification (split tongues, tats, hanging from hooks, etc) I was listening to while working out (I just realized a slight irony there), there was an interesting contrast made. That is, that plastic surgery is often much more invasive or extensive than what people would usually consider 'extreme' body modification, and yet it is almost entirely directed towards being invisible. The best plastic surgery (barring ginormous stripper boobs) should theoretically be nigh impossible to even tell it was done; and in the same token, it's for blending in, usually, not standing out.

Obliquely, yesterday I met a woman who had the web between her upper lip and her gums pierced. Hm. Not much to say about that, except that it actually wasn't that bad looking. Oh: other random trivia - smoking a pipe is a lot easier to conceal from night vision than a cigarette. There was more random trivia from the soldiers just back from Korea, but honestly I got kind of lost in the deluge of acronyms as early in the morning as I heard it, so don't recall much unfortunately.

Random thoughts, haven’t done that in a while. One, I’d kind of noted this before, but not so consistently as lately – I had listened to a Buddhist meditation cd I’d gotten as a Christmas gift, and one little line in it said something about relaxing muscles you didn’t even realize were tense. So that got me thinking. And over a couple days, I realized my tongue is often tensed up against my palate, my lower abdominals pull my torso downwards, and even as I’m walking or driving, my toes and feet tend to curl and tense a little.

It’s a funny kind of tenseness that has obviously become unconscious habit, for each time I relax my belly and stand up straighter or relax my feet and feel my ankles loosen, I’m guessing about two seconds later they’re tense again. So, I suppose this is going to take a good amount more conscious effort on my part, especially in consistency, and all the same makes me wonder what the hell else I’m tensing without realizing it.

The other thing that clicked for me recently was a possible similarity between aikido and yoga. In each, an ideal aspect is looking for that physical-mental space where no effort is being expended to complete the task at hand. For aikido, in purely ideal sense that would make it the ultimate martial art, in terms of Bruce Lee’s respected adage that maximum efficiency is one of the highest goals in fighting. But for both, the trick is that (at least to learn the skill) it takes effort in a sense to put your body-mind in a position where it doesn’t need to expend effort, and then once that’s accomplished to keep from trying to expend energy anyway out of habit.

So I could perhaps see aikido as a way of learning to interact with other people on a subtle level, just as in yoga you learn to interact with yourself in a similar way, like when you hold onto negative emotions in the same way you’d hold a negative pose – learning to be relaxed and open even with pain (and, to loop around, perhaps being the uke in aikido acts in a similar role, in learning to take pain dispensed by another).

Kôhî jikô (Café Lumière), with Yo Hitoto and Tadanobu Asano. I randomly picked this up because I liked the title, and was pleasantly surprised. I should note, however, that this probably isn't a film that should be watched if you're tired (I was exhausted at the time). It's...well, super-relaxing,, like a lullaby, or maybe meditative would be a better word. The movie as a whole is almost silent, and very still in terms of motion - the camera barely moves for each scene, giving you ample time to practically study what's in the frame, and sometimes you have to, as the main character might just be another face in the background crowd. The dialogue is very spare, and very every-day in nature; I think where I'm going with all this is that I'd like to find articles or something about this movie, as I feel like I caught everything that was said and not said, and yet at the same time wouldn't be surprised if I'd missed out on a huge amount of content.

Underworld: Evolution, with Kate Beckinsale and Scott Speedman. And Beckinsale's butt. Mmmhmm. Anyhoo, I thought this was quite an improvement over the original, which had disappointed me (on account of having little action for a vampire-vs-werewolf story, ripping off White Wolf's World of Darkness, and not going far past the shallow). This sequel, in contrast, hugely upgraded the action and amount of it, and took the backstory in a direction that was no longer so ripped off (if kind of unexplained). I suppose I'd say the improvements in story and character are dependent upon having the introduction that the first movie was...come to think of it, I suppose that's how I'd think of the original, as an introduction. Evolution doesn't exactly conclude a lot, but it did at least expand the setting and story further, which was fun; I suppose I've been spoiled by preferring the expansiveness of the World of Darkness shared setting, so in remembering that, I thought Evolution performed nicely in what it did.

Random Quote of the Day - kind of a generalization, but I think it kind of captures the spirit of the thing:
"The medieval university looked backwards; it professed to be a storehouse of old knowledge. The modern university looks forward, and is a factory of new knowledge."

The Transporter 2, with Jason Statham. I expect I'll go see any movie with Statham in a fighting role, if for no other reason than since the first Transporter I was so completely surprised to find out he is such a skilled martial artist. That said, I think this was a fun movie; it seemed to me that they took every scene and said, "How can we make this so completely over the top it becomes hilarious?" And damn it, they pulled it off - I could not stop laughing. I think it's good that they definitely were not taking themselves seriously in making this film, as it really isn't anything more than Statham playing up the eponymous character and some relatively original choreography, and they didn't stumble in trying to overreach that like martial arts films often do. Oh, and they poke at the French, in not too mean of a way, that was kind of fun.

Also, two random things I've heard about Tucson and the Southwest lately - one, apparently prickly pear pads and...pears, hm, that was bad syntax. Anyway, that cactus and its fruit are great for helping with diabetes and high cholesterol; they're not really sure why, yet, but think it has something to do with the gums or fibers in cactus that aren't normally found in other plants.

The other thing is just that I heard Tucson compared to Alaskan cities, which seemed odd at first to me, but as the woman with the luscious voice being interviewed on the radio described, Tucson is technically a big city, but it has an inescapably small-town feel, which I think is quite true. Especially when you delve into the more community-aspects of it (bars/coffee shops/local music scene, hell, even dojos, etc), rather than, say, just staying within a university or single-area bubble (like just staying in the more relatively posh Foothills). Though...I suppose even the university turns out kind of like a college-town feel in that area of town, in the end.

Must Love Dogs, with John Cusack and Diane Lane. I think this movie didn't do amazingly well in the theatres for a few reasons - it's centered on relatively older people than the norm for romantic comedies, with correspondingly different priorities and a different kind of romance, it's a little slow and meandering, and it's for the most part down to earth. As such, however, I really enjoyed it. As per the usual for a movie with Cusack in it, I thought the dialogue was witty and the humor quirky, and all with a general understated class.

On a personal level, the story was quite cathartic for me, as I identified with three of the main characters in a way that felt uncanny - like, I wouldn't have been surprised if the credits had ended with, "Frank, this is your life." In the same token, I'm sure most people coming off heartbreak after a long relationship would feel the same, but I think that speaks to the relevance and quality of the characterization and story than anything else. On a more facetious personal level, that so much of the movie had to do with rowing felt horribly, darkly ironic, but I suppose that's funny in a way.

Addendum to that previous post on depression (or, a realization I had later on). I think up till this most recent bout, one of my main issues with approaching my depression was trying to address it alone. Now, what I mean by that I think takes a bit of explanation. Every previous time I'd been depressed, and well into the recent bout, I'd denied it - whether by denying the fact that I was, or realizing I was depressed but railing against it and wishing I wasn't, for any number of reasons, but perhaps most of all because I felt it made me less of a person. But no, it doesn't - I'm me, and anyone who runs into that trouble is just who they are; we're aren't 'depressed,' we are who we are, and we happen to have to deal with that condition on our selves sometimes. Who knows, maybe we're the better for it in the end, or maybe we can choose to be.

To make a shallow loop, in realizing I was depressed I'd finally reached out for...well, rescue would I think be the best word. And completely faceplanted, hard, when it turned out I had been complacent in having faith in that supposed salvation, and the hand I thought was pulling me up just...let go, all of a sudden. In that, I'm not sure whether I'll trust like that again, and leave myself so vulnerable, but truth be told I shouldn't have been relying on another so much anyway; so in that sense, it seems better to address my depression alone.

But - not alone. I had been alone in addressing it before in denying it - once I stopped denying it and started to try to accept and even embrace it like I did with my headaches, then I wasn't alone anymore - finally, after all that conscious and unconscious struggling with it, all that turning my back on myself, I was helping myself. So...not so alone.

Time of the Twins, by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. First, thanks to Bryce in receiving for randomly giving me this out of nowhere - can't beat a random well-intentioned gift. Unfortunately, the novel didn't turn out so well. The first in a trilogy following the original Dragonlance epic, I think I'd call this Dragonlance-lite. There are less characters, less complexity of plot, even just less happening at all. I almost felt like I wanted the whole thing to be a novella instead of the length it was, especially for the way the potential of plumbing the depths of the relationship between the twins in question was shied away from.

And, they kept the damn kender in there; I remember in the original trilogy he was mildly annoying, but served his purpose and even developed a solid amount of depth near the end. And I suppose the concept of the kender in their fearlessness and other odd qualities was interesting way back when, when I was so absorbed in that original story. But this time around, with so much of the novel from his point of view and reliant upon him...oh, I could barely stand it. On this reason: one of the qualities previously referred to is that these little buggers have no concept of personal property, which is fine, makes for amusing situations and innocent looks ha ha and all that.

But, in that they also have no concept of the word consequence, and no idea that their actions might affect or hurt other people, and on top of all that can rationalize like motherfuckers. And half the novel was from this thing's point of view...yeah, I suppose me having trouble with what should, I suppose, otherwise be amusing might seem odd to most people, but I think others will understand.

If you know me, you know I get headaches. Or, at least, I used to anyway. Now they are uncommon enough that I've begun to wonder whether they're just a slightly amped version of the kind of headaches that people normally get. I used to hate my head. The constant and random aches were oppressive, like those experiments where the dog just gives in to despair because it is randomly electrocuted and has no way of predicting when it will happen. I completely adored those who could relieve it, whether by a cool hand on the cheek or otherwise.

But then, there was a certain point where I think I just began to consciously accept the aches. I knew that sometime every morning I'd get slammed and have to rage against myself to keep my eyes open against the painful light of even a darkened room, otherwise I'd get in trouble for 'falling asleep' at work. I knew as I wrote papers late into the night that the leaden weight that my skull had become wasn't going to get any lighter...and I actually started smiling at it at some point. When it felt like a spike had been driven into my temple out of nowhere and made me toss my head, I'd let it have its moment, and when it passed I'd laugh it off. Just another ache. Somehow, some way I had come around to appreciating them, in a twisted way. They'd taught me how to deal with pain, with unwillingly shifted emotion, to work under pressure (literally, in a sense).

But, something I've never admitted till recently, because, frankly, I was ashamed, was how closely bouts of depression were tied into those aches. For the longest time I held an intense scorn for myself - where do I come off claiming 'depression' after what I'd seen at the hospital? I told myself to stop being an idiot and not to bitch about moping around. But, with clearer 'vision' lately, I can see how my aches combined with that dark water inside me, that murk that would well up in my consciousness and leave me lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for hours, or clutching myself in the middle of a crowd with tears in my eyes. Though my mentions of this thought have been almost universally rebuffed - I'm an upstanding young man with nothing to complain about, after all, how could I possibly be depressed, and if I am, get over it, it can't be that bad, and all that jazz - I'm past the point of caring.

I've finally come to start accepting it, just as I came to accept my aches; hell, the depression is a lot like the aches - sometimes with stimulus readily apparent, sometimes not, arriving against my will, and not leaving despite my will. An interesting aspect of it that I had not realized is that depression isn't an emotion - rather, it is something that affects emotion, and that seems a somewhat profound thing. Anyway, part of my accepting is just huge changes in personality, not in an overt way, but more subtle - a veil over my eyes falling away, it feels like. Part of it is meditative practice - at my first depression when I was younger, I'd sit and stare at the city lights for long periods of time, and just try to stop thinking. A later time, I began to slow my breathing to as close to stillness as possible as the rain fell on my skin, and began to find relief...but then lost the practice when things 'got better again.'

This time, however, I've begun to research, to learn, to train...I'm trying to take those old unconscious impulses towards meditation, where I had no idea why I was doing it, little say what I was doing, and direct them with purpose and help this time, and I'm finally coming close to smiling at 'my old friend' depression, the same way I did at the headaches. As much as I feel some impulse to regret what brought on the depression or my old reactions to it, I don't, at heart; lessons learned, I suppose. So here's to the people in my life from now on - some part of me will always be in minor key, I feel, but I'll be all the brighter for you from now on, nonetheless.

I'm not sure it's the best, but it's a kind of clever blonde joke

Aaand some more random quotes:
"Beauty is composed of an eternal, invariable element whose quantity is extremely difficult to determine, and a relative element which might be, either by turns or all at once, period, fashion, moral, passion."

-now, this one I don't mesh with entirely, but it's interesting:
"The cinema is not an art which films life: the cinema is something between art and life. Unlike painting and literature, the cinema both gives to life and takes from it, and I try to render this concept in my films. Literature and painting both exist as art from the very start; the cinema doesn't."

Random Quote of the Day (found out of context, not sure why it's so snipey towards Homer):
"Tu Fu comes from a saner, older, more secular culture than Homer, and it is not a new discovery with thim that the gods, the abstractions, the forces of nature, are frivolous, lewd, vicious, quarrelsome, and cruel, and only men's steadfastness, love, magnanimity, calmness, and compassion redeem the night-bound world."

Another bit from 'Threnody's Song.' I suppose I should explain a tiny bit, I think I've got a few different kinds of...sections that have developed in the course of daily writing; there are the 'scenes' I've already posted; notes on meditation texts I'm working through or advice given to me set in lyrical form; sections where I try to work out mental/emotional problems, in the same lyrical form; and then this kind, which I put in every couple of days or so. I hesitate to explain the goddess/Threnody/Karuna thing here, half because I suspect 9 out of 10 people would dismiss the thought as 'weird' before my first sentence was finished, and half because it's too personal, but if you're curious feel free to ask, I'll write or call you.

My goddess is dual on this bitter winter morn.
Threnody, striding forward in boots and leathers of jet,
her wings of smoke and ember'ed ash rippling behind,
and yet with a heart that is burning bright and light.
Karuna, graceful and softer in pale terra cotta and white,
warm and cool and calm, lost in her thoughts,
but with resolve apparent - a sword of heart's blood
and compassion's resonant song on her lips.

As Threnody stands watch, Karuna helps me up from where I kneel,
recovering from the blow to my heart's throat, delivered by the taker's dream.

We stand, back to back to back, in a Sardaukar's triangle.
We stand at the edge of an abyss, my maya.
I know I am afraid of what lurks in that darkness of imagination and denied reality.
I acknowledge that.
I stand on the edge, armed only with poem and will.
Karuna's chin resting over my shoulder, Threnody's hand in mine.
We are afraid. But fear and sadness have their time, and pass.
And we stand. Together.

*'Sardaukar's triangle' is a reference to a really specific scene in a novel, and has a whole wealth of connotations stemming from that phrase, which I probably shouldn't bore people with, and maya is...Sanskrit, I think, a concept kind of like the subconscious, but also quite distinct from that.

Casanova, with Heath Ledger and Sienna Miller. Firstly, as my date for the evening repeatedly gushed, "Heath Ledger is hot." I thought Miller was quite nice, as well, though I wonder whether that was mostly in redheaded-ness for this movie making her resemble Margeurite Moreau. I think it's mostly agreed about this movie that it's not exactly great, but it's....cute. It's definitely cute. It has a spot or two of swashbuckling (I'll note the clever/accurate choreography when Casanova wields a cane purely vertically near the end), a decent romance, and something of a twisty plot. There's humor throughout, generally of the kind where in laughing you almost want to put a hand to your mouth modestly, so that was fun. Having been an English major in a past life, though, I have to wonder whether it was intentional that Casanova should carry around a large, thick, penis. I mean cane. Carry around a thick cane with a metal bulge on one end.

Conflict: Desert Storm 2 - Back to Baghdad. I'd had a hankering since a long time ago to play one of these modern-set wargames, but as I rarely if I ever get to play videogames lately, this was a pleasant chance to try one out. And I deem it rocking. Not because of the action, ironically, which is kind of okay, I suppose...ish. But because of the teamwork; there is no playing against your buddy - there is only co-op. And if you know me and video games, you know I've always been a big proponent of co-op. Unfortunately, most games that do have that option have it as kind of an oddly crowded variant of just playing by yourself; this game, however, seemed designed for it. And though it's a very scripted game, in that it really did make us work together, and then even further work together in controlling multiple characters simultaneously within the game. There was teamwork everywhere, it was crazy. And having worked together to complete pleasantly stress-inducing goals, high-fives abound.

Another rambling upon how choosing one's words can be important, by me. Tadaa!

So, in a way I'll not and probably couldn't explain effectively, something was done last week that left me feeling quite angry, a little confused, and basically, very violated if nothing else. Tangentially, the funny part about it is that the person who did it not only probably didn't even realize the choice being made might do that (not that there was any expectation at all of caring), and even if they did in some way, I'm going to guess that it would be completely incomprehensible to them as to why. But, nothing to be done, there's no reason for me to call 'grievance!' and I'm really just trying to let it go, barring my initial reaction. Anyway, so I initially found out about the thing in question...I guess a couple days after the fact.

The person (Person A) that told me about it was a little apologetic...but only in that she had 'bad news' to tell me, as it were. I do appreciate her honesty in that regard, because...well, I very much appreciate frank honesty (had to get a pun in). But it was the way she went about telling me about it - it's hard to describe without details, but basically, praise was sung, rationalizations and explanations were made, and a general air of 'perfectly-normal-event' was described. And ironically, though the way those things were said was pretty much completely positive, those positive statements were describing an act of violation - and left me feeling like complete shit...very perplexed, complete shit, because I was torn between me being hurt/stabbed in the back, and hearing it described as a nice, pleasant thing. I've really no idea, but I'm going to guess that was out of obliviousness for how her words might affect me more than any conscious intent on her part, in that she really was just giving her honest thoughts about the situation.

Person B, a couple days later, responded to my evasive, one sentence description of the thing in question in a completely different way. She also gave me her honest opinion of it, but finally nailed the lid on the coffin of my second-guessing of myself by her evaluation of it being what it was (a very wrong thing to do) with a spot of logic to dispel my dubious look. Even better, though, and more importantly than anything else she said, she shifted my perspective back 'out' from the situation enough that it didn't matter that she was also angered and went on to point out the presence of the several friends of ours nearby who would agree with her - with her first sentence she made me think something like, 'wait - step back from it a little,' and that was a sweet relief from the weight of that abuse upon my shoulders. Her insightfulness in her choice of words was infinitely more pleasant to hear than the Person A's honesty, because while both were completely honest remarks upon the same thing, Person B's remarks were said with care for me/my feelings in mind.

The end.

I'm not sure I've ever gotten so 'SAD' as to count as having a disorder, but I just wanted to throw another random, possibly helpful to that one random person in Antarctica or something, article out there. Yay.


I think something similar happened with me, the dog, and a coyote once; there was much more apparent spilled trash, however, and less conversating and more staring down.

"Care is a state in which something does matter; it is the source of human tenderness." - Rollo May

I read this and it struck a particularly painful chord in me, because of the way the first phrase is worded. So I wanted to note how a simple choice in wording something can affect a phrase so much (if it was, 'something is very important,' I wouldn't have hardly looked at it). And secondly I wanted to note that I thought that it seems a profound and yet easy thing to heal, to me, in that one can make the choice for something to matter to them or not, and generate compassion and have the benefits that that garners. I can watch a kid struggle to read a book, watching his face contort and his lips move as he tries to sound out each word, and choose for it not to matter to me - it doesn't matter to me, he ain't my kid - or I can choose to say, it does matter, and sit down and read with him, and encourage him, and choose that side of humanity to define myself.

A couple odes, in prose. Prodes, if you will. First, to Sensei Tony. Though I trudged my way to class, not looking forward to spending an hour and a half with eleven year olds, somehow he completely made it all ok by giving me a little confidence/emotion boost at the end of the night - not anything to do with martial arts at all, but just in general. Now that's a rocking teacher. I think regardless of what happens in the future and despite all the recent changes in this regard, I'd still like him to be the...uh, priest-figure I guess, I'm not sure of the term, for me and whomever I marry.

And for a completely different 'prode,' to Shane on The L Word. Yes, there are much 'prettier' actresses on the show, and perhaps more 'feminine,' but I think bar none the woman who plays Shane is the most attractive. She's a hundred times skinnier than I'm usually attracted to, though she does have a lovely low voice, and...well, she's practically androgynous in appearance. I don't know what it is, I think it might be her assuredness of personality and psyche - amongst all the other characters with their issues of identity and not being able to make up their minds or taking issue with other characters, Shane is like a rock in terms of those things, and the actress does a great job of extending that into her demeanor. And for whatever reason, that seems totally hawt, to trip and fall into a valley girl vernacular.

I can't really tell whether it applies to me, but maybe this Ayurvedic approach to headaches might work for someone else. Though I lean towards the cluster side of things, or, to borrow a term from sailing, being cluster-fucked, I've not quite been able to fit myself into a really pitta type.

Another bit from 'Threnody's Song'; it seems the parts that are easiest to take out are these descriptions of scenes, written mostly in my head as they occurred, I think because they are more directed outward than the inward rest.

"It was to be a sedate night; find a chanteuse, and coffee, ink and paper in hand.
Ghosts from the past were tempting, however, though I hardly seem to know them, now.
The painted guide was soon slumbering, in the middle of a crowd.
A false priestess and tall harlot held court, gesturing honey
and demanding tales of the past.
The host and dusky northerner held their silence close, however,
even as the once-angel in his wreathe of smoke and the jigsaw savant poured forth.
I fear I have become misaligned; though I knelt at the foot of a throne,
I was no courtier – only errant in a homeland become foreign,
all oaths I’d made broken ‘gainst my will. No fealty, no loyalty;
I feel one step out of phase.
I wondered, as we played at sticks in the lopsided court,
if I could find others, misaligned, what would we then be, together?"

I remembered something, reading "Tallulah" by Charles de Lint, which is kind of a commentary on the same; not some thing, really, but a state I was in for a very long while, where I was actually so happy as to have difficulty thinking of anything to write. Not so much that I couldn't think of anything, but it was just a different state of thinking, so I did write some things, if less frequently, but they were either love poetry, or of a more transcendental bent than what I've done lately. I'm not exactly sure where I was going with this, except maybe to reflect on my life in general being reflected my creative impulse, I suppose.

The Girl Next Door, with Elisha Cuthbert and Emile Hirsch. The DVD was pressed into my hands with the promise of eye-candy galore, so in my expectation to see another mindless comedy with random flashes of skin I was disappointed. I was, on the other hand, quite pleasantly surprised by what depth the story did have, and in its sweetness. To swing right back the other way, however, I couldn’t help but feel quite embittered by the story’s ‘if you give everything you can for your true love, it’ll all turn out ok’ message, though I suppose that’s just my perception-of-the-moment and is no mark on the movie; same goes for the uncannily-the-same-as personal sweet little romantic moments, though I suppose that’s a sign I should just stay away from romantic comedies for a while. As a completely obscure reference that ironically ties back into that last sentence a bit, this is the second movie I’ve seen that had used the Sneakerpimps on its soundtrack – 10 points.

Random quote of the day: “No one in this world views it the same...I believe that is what amazes me the most about it. Each person has his or her own vision of the world, and whatever lies outside that worldview becomes invisible. The rich ignore the poor. The happy can’t see those who are hurting.”

Secretary, with Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader. First of all, I'd like to note that the tagline for this movie is fun: "Assume the position." At the same time I'd like to note, however, that while that inobstrusively clever line might make the film sound a bit like a comedy, it's really more a straight-up romance. A...kind of strange, ever so vaguely American Beauty kind of romance, anyway. I feel kind of hobbled in discussing it like I'd like to; in any case, I'm going to guess that most people would probably be too disturbed by the idea of bondage to get past being uncomfortable, but if you don't have an issue or can get past it, this is an oddly warming and quietly understated romance with great cinematography.

Later addendum: I thought it interesting that there was a posit in the story that basically defined the one character's submission to the other that basically paraphrased, if not quoted something out of a meditation book I was reading, just with a difference in who the sentence was referring to as subject. If anyone happens to see that movie, I'd like to talk about the part where she walks home alone for the first time, in that regard.

Random Quote of the Day: "Adults are always asking kids what they want to be when they grow up because they are looking for ideas."

also, new photomagraphy

Since I've gotten some odd looks in regards to it before, random explanation time! In my family, when talking about our extended family, we often append names that describe what their general relationship is - 'Aunt Nuha,' for example, which I'm sure is pretty regular, but then also 'cousin Christina.' In some cases it's kind of logical, with an Aunt Abi and a cousin Abby, so I think that's where part of it stems from, but I think also is the crossing of generation-lines in our abundance of relatives. For example, Uncle Freddie's son is cousin Freddie, but cousin Freddie's daughter is cousin Tia - but at the same time, my mom talks about cousin Joann in Texas, who is her cousin, but not a cousin in the sense we call the other cousins cousin, but my granddad's brother is Uncle Nelson....hm. Now that I actually think about it, there really isn't any steady logic to it. So for some odd reason we add an extra sort of prefix to our relatives' names beyond what I've usually heard when people talk about their family. Yay! Probably mostly useless post!

Other random family observation, to no real purpose: I heard some statistics being bandied around the other day of how many people in the U.S. supposedly believe in some sort of god, how many attend church, and other related things. But, fifty percent of statistics are made up on the spot and all that. Anyway. It just made me reflect a little how my family, whom I do know better than statistics and feel I can make a somewhat more proper obvservation of, is generally 'spiritual,' I think, but in a quietly individualistic way. Not like, the entirely family attends church at once, per se, but there is various common experience with meditation or exploration into that kind of yoga or zen-ish spirituality and at the same time a common base of more mainstream-ish moralistic spirituality among us, even as we're all perhaps a bit more outwardly different from each other in whatever beliefs we have. Not that me making that observation really means anything in particular or is something to be analyzed in any way at all, but there it is.

The L Word has sparked my interest lately. Luckily, as about the only time I've really watched television recently has been super late at night after plopping on the couch, that's exactly when multiple episodes of it at a time are on. I'll freely admit that a large part of the reason for me not flipping the channel at first was quite base and probably ironically testosterone fueled. But, the show does have high production values and quality acting, and though it is basically a soap opera for all intents and purposes, but the nature of its setting which is populated almost exclusively by lesbians it approaches gender and feminism issues with some relish; I've not quite been able to divine enough about those issues as of yet to dive into actual animated discussion of them, but I find (and have found) observing the discussion and playing out thereof in this show (and some particularly odd experiences working at a hospital) to be quite interesting.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, with some limey kids. And Jesus, playing the lion. And Battle Santa! As was aptly described to me before I saw it, moments of awesome separated by interminable...not boredom, per se, but very extended slowness. The animation was wonderful, especially in the battle scenes, but the allegory was pretty hardcore heavy-handed, though (Wyatt said it isn't so much in the novel). I suppose in a sense some of it was a bit too directly for a kiddie audience, for my taste, or maybe rather too much so to hold my attention. Tangentially, however, I did find myself identifying with the oldest brother to a degree I haven’t in a long with any character in a long while, not so much in any particular detail as his general attitude in various situations, for whatever that was worth.

Ok, first little excerpt out of "Threnody's Song," for better or worse:

A night of singing and clarinets, and incense of ashes and cloves.
A girl pretending to be a woman, a broken girl, crying softly over a list of conquests:
a sideways reflection of broken me.
An apprentice healer, aloof, lilting her eyes laconically, quietly,
with a past like a shadow from moonlight, shy and hidden and dark.
The dancing guide, aching at memories that should not be her own,
at the wild inside her, so at odds with her melancholy longing.
The light of the sapphire ember’ed braziers was muted
in the black glass and dark mahogany.
We were all a little broken, in the midnight’s shadowed firelight;
but we smiled, nonetheless.

Quote of the Day: "Didn't neon and streetlights yearn to be starlight?"

When I first read Dune, I thought the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear was kind of a catchy way of helping the reader to feel inspired by the main characters' struggles, as they recited it therein. Much later on, I think around when I was doing my thesis on the novel, I realized there was kind of a zen thing going on in it - that is, at the end of it, when there is that duality between there being nothing, and yet there being the self at the same time (zen in it being a paradox, perhaps pointing to something beyond it...). Even more recently, after all the research and practice I've been doing in terms of meditation, the Litany suddenly blossoms with a bit more meaning. I'm not sure how sensically I can summarize the thought, but here goes.

I'm still not sure about the first part as anything but characteristic of its source within the story, and maybe obliquely aesthetic in purpose. But facing the emotion, and accepting it (whether by acknowledging its reality, letting it pass, surrendering to it or whatever) is a common meditative practice, which doesn't seem like anything at face value within the Litany, but takes on a whole new semantic value with practical experience with that exercise. The next and last part of the Litany is doubly interesting in that regard, that is when viewed through the lense of the idea of there being an ego-self and a Self that is beyond that - with that last "I" taking on a whole new kind of emphasis when the ego-associated emotion has been nixed. And if that didn't make any sense at all, well, email me or something.

A tangential thought to all that is that after such big changes in my life and psyche, and all the effort I've put into those so far, I feel like I've come to one of those points where I want to go back through all my old favorite novels and movies and read and watch them over again - like, I feel like I got new glasses, that make things clearer, and remove the glare created by my old preconceptions to probably extend that analogy too far. So, further thoughts are probably to come, in other words.

Shall We Dance?, with Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez. Well...my mom enjoyed watching Gere. And I enjoyed watching Lopez. Susan Sarandon was also in it, but didn't really move out of a secondary role at all. I suppose this was an okay remake of the Japanese original, which I still think is a wonderful movie; they're identical in terms of most of the plot and characters, but I'll maintain that the Japanese version was much more understated and classy, while the American version stated outright everything in voiceovers and dialogue what was accomplished by gesture and body language, or simply not saying it, in the original.

Traitor General and His Last Command, by Dan Abnett. First of all, I think that Abnett is bar none one of the best authors in terms of writing in a cinematic style; each of his novels is like a literary version of Saving Private Ryan in an IMAX theatre. These most recent of his novels in a series following the exploits of Gaunt’s Ghosts, a wonderful mishmash of characters that are worth following through several books, are somewhat different than earlier stories in that they have something of a tighter focus. Traitor General concentrates on a small group of the main characters through the course of a desperately quickly paced story that doesn’t exactly end, but pulls a Dune and leaves the plot just as it’s really beginning, in a sense (hopefully I'm not ruining anything by saying that, it should be fairly obvious by a certain point that there's no way the novel could reasonably end within its size).

Interestingly, His Last Command doesn’t pick up at all where Traitor General leaves off, but rather sidesteps the actual telling of a good deal, and instead shows the results of that missing time in distinct changes in the characters involved, and follows their reintegration with the rest of the family/community of characters. Also, as usual, Abnett’s science fiction settings, while placed within the 40k shared setting, are crafted with care and originality, with that of Traitor General having special note because of it’s exploration of the evil side’s perspective, as it were.

Kicking and Screaming, with Will Ferrell and Kate Walsh. Also Robert Duvall and Mike Ditka randomly, but I don't really care about them so much. But anyway. What happened to the days when they used to make good kid-sports movies, like The Mighty Ducks, or The Sandlot? Those movies had at least the semblance of a plot, and sometimes even character development. This one, however, was disjointed, had a horribly skewed story arc, and there's some sort of anti-character development going on, that last bit which I suppose is kind of interesting in a roundabout way. Thank you Wyatt for taking credit for picking this one to rent; that was courageous of you.

King Kong, with Jack Black and Naomi Watts. Though a humongous amount of detail and action and amazing imagery was crammed into this film's three hours, and I'm sure much of it was cut to get that time, we actually found it kind of boring. The best explanation we've come up with is that any given scene just went on for too long; even the most interesting, epic creatures and movement can start to wear on one after a while, I suppose is what we felt. Perhaps, it was mostly a showcase for the awesome accomplishment of animating Kong; the characters and story, while true to and in some parts improvements on the original, didn't seem to develop or change in any noticeable way. I think if one went into the movie looking for theory kind of stuff, like aspects of Kong or the island being explored as representations of the unknown and monstrous within the psyche, there might be more to be gotten out of it. Or maybe this was all just the mood I was in, I don't know. I did like the fun references to Conrad's writing, that was nice, though I don't remember whether it was in the original?

Extinction, by Lisa Smedman. Yet another in the War of the Spider Queen shared setting, I enjoyed this one in a specific sense; it didn't have barely if any action or intrigue compared to the novels previous to it in the series, but it delved nicely into the awakening of some of the characters as they encounter a cultural clash that changes them utterly. Though very little actually happens in this novel, I think it was well worth it to devote that much attention to slowing down to appreciate what those characters go through internally. That said, if this novel is recognized as a kind of interlude amongst its busier neighbors in the series, that's a big help to enjoying it.

Lyrics of the Morning:
"Baby Jesus...you were born to rock."

"I was as helpless as a chess piece."

Word of the Day: nexterday - though I'm not really sure what it means

Finally started to get some things out of karate. Besides a knot right on the juncture of my elbow by the point of a stray elbow of another. Ironically, I think the most valuable things I’ve gotten so far seem to have little to do with pure karate at all. I suppose in that sense my ranged fighting has begun to change in some ways; I’m not sure whether to say ‘improve,’ as I still think kali tudo or muay thai are the way to go in that regard till years are spent with karate, but change. Rather, I think some of my disillusionment with martial arts has been dispelled, in my perspective on them changing in regards to myself. And maybe a bit of a renewal of confidence in my teaching skills, in getting a really whiny, probably fruity, and kind of apathetic youngling to do a technique flow strongly and with his own confidence.

So, gone the old aspirations to be simply as badass as possible. If I was training for that reason, I’d not be working and would be getting ready to go to Thailand with one of the other dojo students. “It’s okay to be exactly where you are,” right? I can more than hold my own, usually, and keep improving, and that’s once more enough for me. Back to hints of realizations that are coming to full, finally; what started this click was one phrase last night: “Your center of balance is always your center of balance.” Well, in truth, what opened me to that have been all my experiences lately, and the profound changes they have wrought in me, but that phrase was the catalyst for the martial arts realizations, as to why I’m continuing to practice them – maybe not back to the quantity I used to, well probably not at all, but I’ll keep in touch with them for sure. Just as the principle follows that the body and mind’s conditions reflect each other, I’m suddenly remembering that knowledge of the body and knowledge of the mind might reflect each other as well (that self-study in both regards being a primary principle of yoga and meditation, though I can’t remember the Sanskrit word for it even though I just read it).

In that phrase, for example, it seems interesting that your center of balance is always exactly that – your center of balance – and yet it is constantly changing, and is almost never still. And that seems a perfect metaphor for one’s Self as well, as with each minute, each new experience we change a little bit, and yet, we are always exactly who we are. And then perhaps circles back to a physical aspect of meditation being a way to get in touch with or know the unchanging aspect of that self, in that physically our center of balance is still for the moment (for sitting meditation, at any rate). To come back to martial arts or yoga (gross versus subtle movement?), if one’s knowledge of one’s physical center of balance improves, does their intimacy with their inner center/self improve as well?

And to circle back to martial arts from a different direction, not only is knowledge of one’s self gained – but also interaction with other’s center of balance, as well. And not just center of balance, but being able to read intentions and body language, being able to blend with another and match rhythms and find openings and interact and have sensitivity not just in physical contact (grappling and trapping) but in terms of location in space, as well (capoeira as prime example, there). The amazing thing to me is that all of those phrases can be applied to one’s Self interacting with another’s Self as well, if one’s knowledge of their physical self and physical principles can be applied internally, or if they reflect internally.

Of course, that’s not just martial arts, obviously. The other best example that almost jumps out at me is rowing. My knowledge of that is only second-hand, but I remember hearing about the aspiration towards unity in physical rhythm and intention among the rowers, and the thrill when they got closer and closer to it. And if that’s not an obvious connection back to yoga and meditation – but with that new aspect of connection with others– I don’t know what is.

Pride and Prejudice. As much as this story hit way too close to home in many ways, I enjoyed it a good deal. I dare say it made us want to talk with much more propriety in our daily lives, for one, and the music was quite pleasant throughout. I'm not sure why, but the cinematography made me feel that I was somehow actually reading a book even as I watched. Lastly, I practically wanted a Mr. Darcy by the end.

I thought this was clever

Random quote of the day: "Could you imagine how horrible things would be if we always told others how we felt? Life would be intolerably bearable."

Other random quote of the day: "The better an SF writer is, the more subtly and effectively he will play off against the experienced reader's analytical skills. At the highest levels, SFnal exposition takes on the nature of a delicate, powerful intellectual dance or game between writer and reader, requiring much from both and rewarding both very richly."

Worst dream in years. So, technically a nightmare, I guess. Maybe all the worse because it seems perfectly plausible as a premonition? I almost want to just go back home from work, except then I'd just be home alone all day.

The idea of any sort of gestalt kind of connection between different beings is something I've always wanted to believe in, but never really could make myself. I think that's why I like seeing flocks of birds, though, or schools of fish, I suppose. Something about the way they move in such perfect coordination reminds me that there might be some kind of telepathy thing that we're missing. I know, I know, there's some scientific explanation for how birds can keep from just outright colliding, but I haven't heard it yet, so I'll stick with my passing thought for the moment.

So Ms. Connie sent me this article; as I replied to her, having been an English major when I was in school I couldn't help but think of the tusk from that point on as a giant phallus. Then I thought of unicorns. Never will I think of a little girl's collection the same way. Of course, it was then pointed out to me by Connie that unicorns generally only like pure and virginal things. I have an urge to write a limerick involving the words 'dickhead' and 'unicorn,' but I'd be afraid of the fanciful horse's name being applied to pedophiles, considering one inevitable topic.

There was fog this morning, which is of especial note in Tucson for its sheer amount. But then I also drive by a driving range on my way to work, and as that's basically a depression filled with grass that's lower than the surrounding ground level, it was filled with solid fog as if it were a bowl, where the rest of the vapor that low in the city had burned off. Nothing much to that, just an interesting image.

      Random things night. So, one thing I've learned - the nine-to-five lifestyle makes for perception that there is very little time for anything. I could speculate as to why, argue against that perception, and remark upon my own evidence, but I'll just leave it as noting that I've heard it in the tone of the voices of several people who are also stuck in it for the moment, from the clone-girl (not really attack of the clones, but maybe slightly-weirded-out by the clone) at the street fair to high-paying jobs to cross-country. Maybe I'll return to those other three things at some point. If I have time. Ba-dum tshhh.
      In the karate forms we did tonight I noted two mudras (little hand position thingies to start the form) that I thought were interesting. My favorites are still the mudras that are actually practical, close range little nasties, but I liked these because one is basically described as 'opening a book,' and the other is 'holding a small ball.' The first because it's all symbolic (*nodding*), and the second because it's kind of cute.
      Xuemei had an interesting experience where she had to watch a video of herself interviewing a patient, who she thought was Australian but turned out to be from Boston. The trick was, the camera only caught her, so she's acting out a doctor's role, but interviewing a patient who's entirely out of the frame. I'm not sure if that could be avant-garde, or at least something that would make for a small essay in lit. or film theory if the interview had the right questions and answers.
      I just got the Yoga Journal calendar for the coming year. Quite pretty, great photography, pretty cheap.
      Tonight, I tried a Naked brand protein drink. It was quite tasty, actually, though I didn't appreciate having to sit with the grit that coated my mouth after each sip.

      And it rained, tonight. I would have written a poem, except this would have been even more incisive into myself than the poem-diary-thingie. I'll talk around what I would have written, I guess. The best moments of my life have had some quality in them that could be described as 'cool water,' or some variation of that. That's not to say that every encounter with colder-than-lukewarm water is a great moment for me, or that tonight was one, but the rain reminded me or them; bittersweet melancholy and all that jazz, yadda yadda yawn. Anyway. Goodnight.

      My mom's reviews of science fiction shows! I won't even get into why she actually sat through and paid attention to two of them. She liked Stargate SG-1, but that's possibly mostly because it was the remarkably sedate episode where Carter meets that ascended human dude, which is vaguely romantic. Still, she said she liked the writing and the actress who plays Carter. She thought Firefly was vaguely interesting, but not as 'classy' as SG-1, and for both shows laughed to see actors that she hadn't seen for many years (apparently the preacher in Firefly used to be on some sitcom?).

Well, it's not exactly as fulfilling as the old smallpox/cancer research project, but maybe aliens will come and give us the cure for those things or something (they have it for both Mac and PC now)

I wonder whether there aren't enough objects in the asteroid belt and the Oort cloud for everyone to get their name literally on something (from Wyatt)

Quote of the Day: "I believe it was Voltaire who said, 'Well, then fuck them.'" Well, I thought it was kind of funny at any rate.

I like the Southwest. Anyone who knows me probably knows this about me. So, a random loopy praising of such, in an indirect manner.

Ever notice how there’s no Northwestern Literature classes, or Midwest Literature classes? Ah, but there are most definitely Southwest Literature classes. No other landscape has quite the qualities to lend to a whole genre of its own; the Southwest landscape is often described as having similar importance in that genre to one of the characters or plot. Where a forest story is usually about the mystery and shadow created by that landscape, or an arctic story is often about stark survival, a story in the desert has both starkness and survival on one side and life persevering on the other. And at the same time, nothing in a desert is what it seems, and yet is clear at the same time – there are hidden and apparent needles among the flowers. And it is a desert that is characterized as that most epic of places, of the biggest skies, the tallest storms and wide expanses.

The great director of Westerns, John Ford, went to immense lengths to find just those expanses in an age where the only way to create landscapes of epic nature was to actually find them and film in them. Frank Herbert used the desert landscape as an integral part of his colossal Dune series, combining the romanticism of Southwest literature with science fiction. Cultures from both sides of Europe to Japan have become fascinated with Western stories. I could go on listing, so I’ll just stop there I suppose. Somebody tell me if they think I missed anything.

On monkeys being scary. This and probably whatever I post next are really summing up of other conversations I have, so nobody credit me solely on these things. I think monkeys are scary mainly because they have an uncanny nature. That is, they remind us of something in ourselves – they’re generally anthropomorphic, but undeniably different nonetheless. They’re like some mirror of ourselves conjured from our hindbrains, something primitive that screeches and doesn’t hold to our rules of ego and superego, but has cunning and emotion that remind us of ourselves when we’re not controlling ourselves. Manifestations of id, I guess.
Also, some of them have large teeth, or red or blue butts. And fling monkey poo. And, as has been pointed out to me, it’s generally a hell of a lot easier to fight a vampire than a monkey. That’s why I think there’re not so many movies about scary monkeys. That’s just too scary to be entertaining generally, I’m guessing.

Conundrum. I have this urge to write poetry outside of the big ol’ poetry-diary-journal thing I’ve been writing, but my emotions seem inextricably tied into anything I write. I had a teacher once tell me that my writing sometimes went too deeply into my emotions, to the point of making reading the poem kind of uncomfortable. Anyway, in this case, I want to write a poem to be able to share it, but feel like I wouldn’t be comfortable doing so on account of the same rawness and privacy that accompanies the journal. So…I guess this paragraph is what gets put here for the moment instead of a poem.

More massage-themed fun. One thing that was a point in that recent workshop for those interested in getting more into it was that it was a good idea to partner up with someone in a different, but similar field. For example, a chiropractor, a naturopath, or any number of fields like that, basically. I’d actually spent some time on thoughts almost exactly like that in the past, but they had quietly laid down at some point.

But then I’m thinking, wait, when I worked at the hospital, massages were incredibly helpful. I spent several hours one day, one of the best days I had working there, giving foot massages to a cancer patient, and was perfectly happy doing it because I knew it was distracting her from her immense pain. When family members or I just rubbed the back of patients who had been stuck on their backs or sides in bed for weeks on end, their relief was almost palpable sometimes. And even just holding someone’s hand or resting it on their forearm or shoulder was one of the best things I could do.

I remember one poor woman who had MRSA infecting her skin, and was so morbidly obese that we couldn’t even shift her off the especially sore lesions. All I could do was hold her hand and murmur nothing but, “It’s okay, we’re here,” over and over and over for the whole day, and felt like an ass doing it because I’m sure I looked and felt alien in gloves and gown and mask, and repeatedly had to move her grasping away from any exposed skin I had, but at the end of the day she almost had me crying as she did as well in thanking us for doing nothing but holding her hand and talking to her.

So. As much as I’m looking into getting trained as a bodyworker, that’s my idea of the moment – working something out with a hospital to rove like occupational therapy or physical therapy people or chaplains and give massage or shoulder rubs or even little hand massages or anything really, as anything like that helps so much. If I really want to be out there in my daydreaming, if I could get training in physical therapy and maybe even start a program of some sort, maybe if I found anyone like-minded.

More random thoughts time. One, endorphin rushes are kind of nice in the winter, and kind of not. I remember my friend and I used to drive back to the university from jujitsu with our shirts open or off and the windows down on really cold nights, just because our bodies were still generating so much heat and we were inured to the cold by the rush. Last night, I wasn’t anywhere near that worked up, but was still able to stand chatting in a parking lot for upwards of two hours without giving much thought at all to being cold or not, and I was just wearing sandals and a light sweater. Of course, as soon as I wound down and rehydrated with a cold drink down the road, I went to get back to my car and my body completely crashed. Headache, full-body shivers, clenched jaw and some loss of control over my breath. So, yay for endorphins in one sense, and crappy for when they run out.

Other random thing. Back in existential philosophy class we spent a bit on exploring the idea of the myth of Sisyphus (eternally straining to push a huge boulder up a mountain each day, only to have it inevitably roll down again) as a metaphor for life. There were several angles to approach it by – say, pointlessness and inevitability of misfortune on one end of the spectrum, and on the complete other end in the spirit of trying even if it’s pointless, maybe part of what defines humanity. So, anyhoo, the random thought I had. Saying we do accept the myth as a metaphor/analogy for human life, we’re generally thinking that the singular Sisyphus is representative of all human life in a kind of synecdoche sense.

But what if people aren’t as isolated from each other within their own egos (which define us as individuals) as they think they are? If we turn the metaphor back upon itself, might Sisyphus, in being representative of humanity, be in fact the great mass of all of us pushing that boulder up the slope, in that being human and going through our lives even if misfortune or death is inevitable is us pushing our own boulder up the slope? I guess what I’m saying is, what’s to say that we have to consider it as each of us having our own burden – what’s to say that we’re not all connected in some fashion and in fact are helping or hindering each other with our common, shared boulder/burden of living in how we treat each other?

I didn’t really think to go into the other nice things about zen shiatsu, so here are some. For one, the…uh…shiatsu-ee remains fully clothed, which is nice for several reasons, an obvious one being their general comfort, especially considering how intimate massage is in general, and even more especially because a lot of shiatsu is done on the anterior of the body. Beyond that, any help with comfort is nice because the person being massaged gets the most benefit if they completely let the bodyworker do their thing; the more they can surrender their self to the bodyworker and furthermore relax past their innate resistance, the more they get out of it (I think that’s a good thing particularly because I have trouble with it, but at the same time consider it a very good thing to work on, so it’s impetus).

Also, the bodyworker would find it nigh impossible to wear themselves out doing shiatsu. Since a kind of combination of ki (in the aikido sense), integrating yoga poses and principles, and using the whole body and weight rather than a couple muscles (in a martial arts sense), and a meditative state is part of the definition of shiatsu, the bodyworker in fact almost ends up actually getting a lot out of giving a massage, rather than tiring. And furthermore, shiatsu is often remarkably convenient to do to one’s self, where regular massage is quite difficult (think about it, how good of a massage can you really give yourself without leverage and without slacking over time?).
And the workshop didn’t even really go that far into pushing all these aspects, to make that clear, these were the mental notes I was making.

Other news: my dad recommends the show Bones; he and I are both big fans of David Boreanaz, for one, but he says the show is intriguing enough to carry itself without relying on him, and provides interesting twists.
My mom recommends Curb Your Enthusiasm and Extras. I don’t think I can back that recommendation up; I mean, they’re both kind of funny, the first being from a producer of Seinfield and the latter being British, but they rely on the kind of humor that makes one uncomfortable too much for my taste.

      I'm not sure how to organize these thoughts, so they may appear in a semi-random order. Though I was stood up twice in succesion earlier in the weekend (I responded to that in as blase manner as I could, and did the complete opposite of one of the night's original plans and sat across from a complete stranger in a coffee shop), I was determined to get something accomplished, and so went to a zen shiatsu workshop (cue fanfare). I guess the first thing I should admit was that I had to practically discipline myself to not be distracted by the gal in charge, who looked like she should be on the cover of Yoga Journal, but was even more charming as she had a bit of an accent and a lovely voice. I had no idea there would be such connection between martial arts and shiatsu, though I'll have to note that I'm thinking in the main of aikido and Chinese arts, of which there ironically happened to be two other gentlemen besides me who've practiced those in some capacity. I did learn quite a lot, and plan on taking advantage of whatever opportunity I can find to learn more in the same vein; in fact, I think I actually got some patterns in my thinking re-started, I'm not ready to talk about those yet, though. I will say one more highlight (besides the pleasant experience, free massage and gorgeous instructor) - I finally learned how to give someone's neck and shoulders a massage a proper way, which is a profound thing if you think about how awkward or ineffective it usually is to try to loosen the tension in someone's neck. If anyone wants to let me practice on them for a free neck rub or massage, I'm your man.

The Muse Is Always Half-Dressed in New Orleans, by Andrei Codrescu. I bought this collection of essays at some point in high school, I really have no recollection of why, except that it was for school. So I somehow found it, and thought, hey why not. Off the top of my head, Codrescu essays include commentary on growing up in Romania, the strange nature of that country's most recent revolution, various wry takes on being a vegetarian, a couple literary theory essays, some diatribes against communism, and one lovely exploration of New Orleans. I always did want to travel there, though unfortunately at the moment it looks like the only way I'll be able to will be through writings like this one, I suppose.

      While helping transfer a newly collected bonsai from burlap to box, I got the task of mixing the fill to go in the box around the root ball (coarse and fine volcanic, pine bark, turface, crushed granite, a couple different organics, some original mulch for the mycorrhizae). I couldn't help but notice that one of the organic soils was a very rich and velvet black in appearance, and it struck me that the best soil and most life-producing soil is a color that is often associated with death. Maybe that's why in some places white is instead considered the color of death? But then, does that mean that black in turn becomes a life-symbolizing color in those places, or does it not have any connotation, or does it still have a negative connotation?

Also, picpics

      As it's getting colder out, some of the bay doors to the warehouses are kept closed to retain whatever heat there is inside; some are still open however. So I'm walking by one of the remaining open ones today, which was quite gray and cloudy and dark, and I see snow falling. Like, little flakes of white drifting past across the sky and the next building over, back and forth in the breeze.
      Of course, this being Tucson, it was desert broom seeds, but hey, it was a moment.

Dead Leaves - no sense, whatsoever. Like a cross between Tank Girl, FLCL, Akira, Gen13, Die Hard, Escape from LA, and...probably several other things. Maybe a porn, it's kind of hard to define some of the things that happen, though. I felt like I should be doing something else besides watching television, at least say flipping through a magazine or something, but I really couldn't take my eyes off this, nor could I rid myself entirely of what I'm sure was a befuddled look - there's probably not a five second lull in the entire movie, for true. As much as I had to concentrate to tell what was going on, the rampant havoc is quite fun to watch (though out and out disgusting at times), and there are enough dirty jokes and one-liners to make one smile even if they're not in the best mood.

Each time I go to the 4th Ave Street fair, I try to go to the same artist (if he is there and time is permitting) to get a henna pattern inked onto my hand. So, the first time I had it done, it was during an early morning lull in the fair, and so in talking with the artist he ended up putting much more henna on my hand and complexity into the pattern than the fee I had paid warranted; he even took a picture for his personal portfolio, so that was pretty awesome.

Even better than that, though, was the woman who was working with him; she was beautiful in and of herself, with wavy-curly blond hair and a loose skirt and backless top of something gauzy. But what was on her upper back were wings, down to the details on feathers, surrounded by arabesques, all done in a light red-ish henna. It was gorgeous, to say the least. My question to myself is, did I get the idea for my tattoo from that image (it's funny that I haven't remembered that till now, if that's the case), or did I have my tattoo idea before that? All I've got is a mental shrug, at the moment; who knows.

In other news, working with lots of people with relatives in Mexico is nice because of one of the most important reasons: food. I, at this moment, have a bag of twelve solidly large, fresh tamales sitting right next to me. Red chile, baby. Not to mention the fresh, homemade tortillas on other days, and the list of the best places in South Tucson to get Sonoran hot dogs on the other side of my desk. Now, come on Vietnamese half of the people working the warehouse: where y'all at with the food? I'm hungry!

Neologism of the Day: awebysmal - in the vein of that lovely word, 'aweso,' awebysmal combines 'awesome' and 'abyssal' with a nice linguistic twist in the suffix for aesthetics; used, say, for those jokes that really do hit new lows

random quote time yay, plot stuff ellipse'd -
“She could disappear here...Eden again. Return to animal awareness; the eternal Now before the Fall armed humanity with consciousness and care. Beyond money, beyond power and telecom and tax bills, beyond mortgages and bank loans and pensions and insurance. Beyond the day-to-day drudge of pushing the boulder of living in a society up the asymptotic slope of Mt. Entropy. Freedom without a bar code...But it is an insidious Eden where everything might be had by reaching out to take. It is the determination to push that boulder of hopes and dreams through the relentless material world that makes you human.”
-kind of an oblique take on Sisyphus, maybe? anybody have any thoughts?

Completely random things time. Apparently, my dad once had breakfast with Johnny Cash. He was sitting in an almost empty restaurant, saw the singer, and asked if he could sit with him; apparently, he had a slow, southern drawl and was very down to earth. Also, my dad used to be a DJ, back in college; he laments that DJ’s aren’t allowed to just sit and ramble anymore, and have to stick to station playlists (of course, that’s why I’ve been listening to KXCI lately).

I don’t know why I remembered this, but when I got my new camera, I turned it on and there was a little chime noise, as electronics are wont to make these days. So my mom hears that, and says, “It sings!” Not, “It made a noise,” or, “What a pretty noise,” or anything like that, but she described it as singing. I don’t know if it was a quirk of her accent or just they way she put it at that moment, but I thought it was a lovely way to describe something that I’d otherwise just think of as a gadget.

Another reason or two why I like the fun local radio station: at night time, there are such gems as a local bands performing live a melancholy, indie rock version of the ‘Milkshake’ song, and a hard metal, head-bobbing-inducing cover of ‘I Like Big Butts;’ in the morning, there was a combination of alternating indie rock, sublimely funky bass and Asian instrument instrumentals, and even a cover of a Sneakerpimps song of all things by a woman with a lovely, smoky voice.

In other news. I was prompted on this line of thought by an email conversation the other day. Lately, my life has been full of changes, and I’ve been changing extensively as well, enough at the least that I’m conscious of it, if that makes any sense. After graduating, a lot of stuff got turned upside down. Up till that point, I’d been living in a regularly shifting but still solid roommate-environment, and going to school which was probably a bubble insulating me from a lot of things (not that I was physically in school or living where I was, but the fact that I could retreat into labeling myself a student and just not have to think about or deal with a lot, and had the luxury of having choices made for me by virtue of that fact).

Then, roommates started moving away. And friends moved away. And I felt quite alone and afraid. I hadn’t accomplished anything my hesitant ambitions had as goals. And I was back at home, which is nice in a sense to save money and be secure and have family right there, but at the same time feels like something of a regression or an escape, and is a downer in that sense, and beyond that is living in a room full of boxes – not pleasant to be stuck in a temporary-space. Unfortunately, I handled it with varying degrees of system shock; depression, lashing out, clutching or clinging, mood swings I’m sure, I could go on. I got a job, which in an objective sense is a perfectly fine thing, but one that I had to assign purpose that had little to do with me, which backfired horribly. More turmoil beyond that, too personal to talk about, but as much as everything else combined.

So. Starting over. Finding new ambitions, new goals, making new plans. Making new friends, I suppose. And yet, even as everything from diet to hobbies to interests changes, the more things stay the same, hien? And change. Layers, and dualities, and life and all that. I guess, I'm learning a lot about myself; about my reactions to things in the past, for example, like when a friend and I realized our past ambitions were fine, we just hadn't realized at the time the kind of stability we needed to act on them.

As much as when I was younger I tried to style myself as a loner’s loner, I realize now that I’m something of a social animal – not a very garrulous or prolific one, but I rather enjoy having someone or a few close friends who I can be very close with. Finding myself bereft of that for the most part is kind of a good and bad thing, I guess. My dad, upon finding me on the couch staring into space late one night, commented that I thrive on helping people. As much as I’ve devoted myself without reservation and given my love in whatever fashion to those immediately around me in the past, it somehow actually feels wrong in a way, or difficult, to just work on helping myself. I hope that doesn’t sound arrogant, it’s meant at face value. I think I need to find some balance between helping myself and giving myself to others, but at the same time maybe giving myself to others again is part of helping myself.

One thing I think I’m learning about this starting over stuff is that it’s not just a one time thing, but something that is continual, and changing on a day to day basis. Conflicting emotions, torn thoughts. But I read the other day: “It’s all right. It’s okay to be exactly where you are.”

Yeah.

At the least, I’m just going to do my best to keep breathing, deeply.

I know I compared Christmas decorations to Chaga on the other blog, somewhat facetiously, but now that I consider it a little more, I wonder whether the decorations being present might begin to change people’s demeanor in a similar way to how the Chaga changes and explores what it means to be human in Evolution’s Shore, for those who’ve read that one. Or maybe I’m giving metallic foil shreds, dangly ball things, and faux evergreen plastics too much credit.

In other news, as I’ve been re-reading that same novel, and feeling my usual I-wish-I-could-have-written-my-thesis-on-this feelings upon reading it, I noticed a parallel between it and what I did actually write my thesis on (Frank Herbert’s Dune). While McDonald doesn’t quite use it to the manic degree that Herbert did, a perspective that shifts on the fly from chapter to chapter and even paragraph to paragraph is still there. In one sense this is interesting because of the skill required of the author to pull it off and keep the narrative thread coherent.

I find McDonald’s quirks in using it to be of particular interest in that while some of the shifts are a consequence of what’s appropriate within the narrative, such as a simple example of a shift to a different character for a moment to reveal something first-person narration couldn’t (adeptly based in the narrative by having that character physically walking up to the situation in question), other shifts are brought by a more obvious and yet more subtle device.

That is, Blair Witch style – for instance, the main character ranting into a video camera, as an expression of her character’s comfort in front of such and use of such as a diary as a journalist, which have their own meanings, and then the shift in perspective occurring when another character walks in the room: the perspective shifts from the reader essentially being the camera that the character is talking into (tiny motes of metafiction, or post-modernism, there?) to a more ghostly third-person perspective while the two characters talk.

And a sidenote, on a more personal level. I’ve been writing this sort of poem-diary-journal thing on and off for a while now; I changed the name from “Alchemy” to “Threnody’s Song” (after learning more about alchemy and after the direction the writing took). The thing is, it brings forth conflicting feelings in me. On one level, it’s a diary, which seems to be by definition very, very private, and something to never be shared. Besides the inherent conflict there that’s obvious for those who know me well, that this diary is also a poem is an issue – a poem seems like something that’s generally written to be shared. So, in that sense, the logic/compromise might be to perhaps share it with only the very closest person or people, but that’s not a compromise I’m ready to deal with addressing yet. So, apparently, y’all just get the title for now.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter. I'm going to go with saying that this is a solidly good movie. It can also probably be adequately described by mentioning that it's a Tim Burton movie, I suppose. Though I don't feel very locquacious about it right now, I'll finish by saying that it made me laugh when I thought my day had been compellingly ruined, so that speaks for it, and I have trouble thinking of another movie that my entire family would enjoy.

The Thomas Crown Affair, with Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo. Or, if one likes, Two Very Attractive People. Now, this movie, I will probably buy at some point. Or move in with someone who owns it, another possibility, you know, whichever is more reasonable. As a review of it that I read pointed out, it's not a mystery, nor is it a suspense or really a romance per se. It's really a true cat-and-mouse story, and you definitely have to pay attention to detail to get the full benefit of all the little cinematic and narrative clues. And a see-through dress like whoa. Unfortunately, the copy we had was scratched right smack dab in the middle of what is reputedly one of the steamiest love scenes known to man (and woman, too, I suppose, Brosnan is just as nekkid). Alas. Luckily, the film is worth multiple viewings.

      In other news, since I've not done any real jujitsu besides some odd grappling matches for a long time, and beyond that only fallen in a controlled fashion for so long, I'd forgotten that throws can be effective at all. I suppose I'd started to think of them purely as a positioning thing, like trying to maneuver the opponent into a less defensible position. Then I gave an instructor with a substantial size advantage all the momentum I could generate to play with, and the very first thing that hit the mats was my temple. And hoo boy did it slap right onto them, like my hand should have been slapping had I been able to breakfall properly. At first I thought it was just a momentary dizziness or light-headedness that I'd have to deal with, but it seems that even now later in the weekend there's the last remnants of an ache eminating from my left temple. So, odd as it sounds, I'm actually happy for that reminder. Even if had that been asphalt my head would have split like a melon.

I really hate to say it and I’m sure I sound arrogant, but I will because I’m sure it’s the same at any other place I could be working at, but there are some guys that work here that I have to wonder how many times I might have seen them at UMC for alcohol or something else similarly stupid. But at the same time, even if they seem like that, I’m simultaneously wondering what they really do in their off time, and hoping it’s not just drinking and driving as I’d heard about at times. So far I’ve heard about a myriad of side jobs, the requisite bar hopping or strip clubs, and today I learned a lot about billiards. Specifically, from a guy with almost no teeth, long hair, and hasn’t seemed to have taken a shower in a while, who makes more by playing in billiards leagues for prize money and bets and tourneys in Las Vegas than he does working at this company. I never would have guessed that about him for the world, but apparently he’s one of the top billiards players in Tucson, and is highly ranked in Vegas as well, enough to retire early because of what in effect is a doubled salary he’s made. So…not sure what to say about that, it’s just interesting, I guess.

      When I get time to walk, it's usually night. And it gets really quiet, except for me and the dog. So i end up singing the few songs I know, and reciting the poems I've learned. Not loudly, though I have before when the winds came, but just enough that my words resonate in the air, a little. For anyone that might be listening; it's quiet out, at night.

I'm not sure I identify at all with this anymore, but I suppose I would have before...interesting to consider, either way...
"It had never been a man who would keep her here...It was being rooted in the land. It was the fear that her strength came from the physical presence of place and house and people, and separated from them she would become pale and transparent. An unperson."

Completely random thoughts. The woman in front of me in this office listens to this atrocious oldies radio station, which is always on whether she’s in the office or not. It wouldn’t be so horrible, what with the soulless songs, too-incessant boogying, and endlessly lovelorn lyrics, but being an oldies station the repetition of a regular radio week’s playlist is compounded – it’s the same songs, forever and ever. Anyway. One thing I’ve noticed is that more recent songs, I mean on the new music stations, are completely filled with either direct samples from these oldies or are ripping off oodles of their melodies and riffs. The only two examples I can think of off the top of my head are the song from the first Men in Black movie, and Madonna’s “Music,” though I don’t know the names of the originals they’re copying from, and not copying in an ironic hipster fashion. I don’t wonder whether that’s obvious to people with more of a mind for music than me, but as this was the result of arduous aural labor, I leave it as is.

Also, in catching the end of the first Kill Bill the other night, I was reminded of a thought I had way back when, when I first saw the movie. In it, Lucy Liu’s character curtsy’s in a very stylized way in lieu of bowing (ah ha! had to sneak a pun in there) before her duel with Uma Thurman. I guess I thought it would interesting if female martial artists did that in real life, not like a real curtsy per se, but that stylized knees to the side kind, in that to me it seems like that could be a real expression of feminine identity in a context that sometimes has some undercurrents of denigration towards that sex. Or maybe I’m just completely stepping on feminist toes. But hey, if they’re martial artists, they can come argue their counterpoint as they may, and just bow first, I suppose.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, with a whole bunch of English people. I've talked a good solid amount about this a lot lately, so I'm not so compelled to write a lot about it. I'll note that (having not read the novel) it sure seemed like they left a lot out, though that's certainly understandable. And I still doubt that Harry and Ron were really lifting weights all summer, but nothing to be done for appealing to the ravenous sexual appetites of the Harry Potter audience. Or maybe that was over the top a little, sorry. The computer animation was gorgeous, and well suited to the movie, so in the least that would almost make it worth going to see by itself. Though the ending was kind of a downer, I suppose, though possibly intriguing for the future.

What’s with coffee shops? Or, a commentary. I think they’re interesting in that they are a space ostensibly created for one thing – imbibing coffee, like that’s the denotation – but the connotation is obviously more about a social purpose, like going out for coffee really means going out to converse (I was going to throw in the word palaver there at first, but then felt silly). I wonder how much of a gestalt affect there is, too; I mean, I know the atmosphere is generally directed towards that kind of social space, with often dim lighting or lots of wood and dark tones, but I wonder how much the fact that the people in the coffee shop are conscious of the fact that they are inhabiting that space and thus kind of playing a role in the purpose of that space augments itself. Of course, that could apply to nigh anything, but that was my original thought anyway.

Speaking of coffee shop conversations, here’s a minor point that came up in one. Every once in a while I unconsciously say ‘gods’ as an exclamation, which in an objective sense would probably label me as a definite fantasy or scifi nerd, in that I’d be imitating some novel or Battlestar Galactica or something. But just to explain, one day I had this sudden thought that took deep root in me, and it’s kind of summed up by (I’ll do my best to remember it correctly) something the poet Kabir (I think) said – “Everyone knows that the drop of water is contained in the ocean, but not everyone realizes that the ocean is in the drop as well.”

So, my thought was that whatever divinity there is or may be, in whatever shape or form, is – if it is divine in the sense that it is everywhere or is everything – also contained in some way in every person…in every drop, as it were. Hence my saying of ‘gods,’ as when I say that I think I’m remembering that thought in some small way. Or, for a different metaphor, as I just read again on the second page of my favorite novel,

“They were the stars, remote, subject to laws and processes larger than human lifetimes. By their high and ancient life you saw the nature of yourself. You were not the pinnacle of creation beneath a protecting veil of sky. You were a fierce, bright atom of selfhood, encircled by fire.”

But, all the stars in their magnitude beyond real comprehension are in that atom as well…Anyway, to loop back around to that gestalt idea, I wonder whether being in that coffee shop brought out something that allowed me to identify with someone else on a topic that wouldn’t have ever really been brought up in a general sense with that person, or maybe I’m just trying to connect to the coffee shop idea too much, who knows.

This hallucinogenic moment has been brought to you by me. The end, as I feel kind of silly now, but there you go.

      This might be blasphemy to some ears, but I'll rationalize it by stating in advance that it's a really, really oblique parallel. That is, between Top Gun and Harry Potter. A large part of the appeal of both, I think, though I'm sure this is patently obvious so if you're reading this going yes yes I know, sorry, is the identification their audiences can make with students in a school, but what makes these doubly appealing is that the schools in question are very unusual for a regular person. So, it's similar to something that everyone has gone (or is going) through, and yet in one way or another more fantastic and exciting - schools that the characters actually want to attend, as opposed to the reality of people often being frustrated with their mundane education. I just think it's kind of funny to find any connection between those two narratives, I suppose.

      Angry, angry lurking pothole: 1. Frank, driving along in brooding too-early-in-morning mode: 0. What really befuddled me was that the tire wasn't flat when I pulled it off to put the spare on; the tire's fine - instead, the rim itself was dented. Goodbye, oh hundreds of dollars for a replacement; I won't shed a tear for you, but will stick my tongue out at that construction zone in your memory.

      Apparently my dad was also the winner in terms of seminars gone to this morning (sorry for my ruminations, I expect the day to get better from the point of writing this part at least). He got to work with a world famous bonsai sensei, who even complimented what my dad had already done, and gave him several signed sketches of potentialities for those trees. I, on the other hand, felt compelled to leave halfway through the one I attended; I have some disillusionment questions I need attended to, I think. Getting to the other school allowed me to try some kung fu cross-step (why they call it a unicorn stance sometimes I will never know) to what appeared to be good effect, at least.

      I also happened to watch two movies tonight; I rationalize that I worked out, cross-stitched and wrote poetry at the same time. The first was The Lady Eve; I've been taking quite a liking to some of these old black and white movies. The flirting and focus on the acting and the perfectly obvious literary references and in-movie connections are refreshingly earnest, I think. While this movie was actually quite hilarious through most of it, near the end it kind of...fragmented. And then the ending? The guy gets screwed over six ways from Sunday, but there's no comeuppance for the girl? Strangely unfulfilling. Unless he really did know...hmm...
      And then, Return of the Joker was on a different channel. Who'd've thunk it, a Batman Beyond movie. In any case, I was quite surprised by how dark and heavy it actually turned out to be in some ways - some parts of that would not be good for kids at all. One thing that interested me tangentially was the use of the weapon-from-orbit concept without any belabored explanation at all; I wonder whether that science fiction idea has become commonplace enough that it fits right in the flow of the narrative as a natural thing, and what that implies.
      And why was Cruel Intentions on the ABC Family Channel? That doesn't seem appropriate at all.

Interesting thing about company owners showing up in pictures of random fundraising events and galas (as I happened to have noticed in a posh Foothills magazine or two), is that I suspect they also get either season or free tickets to all sorts of ancillary events. For example, “Oklahoma” (what is the proper punctuation for a musical, anyway?) at Centennial Hall at the UA. In the second bloody row.

The musical was certainly energetic enough, though as I’m sure I’ve already said, being in the seats we were in I sometimes found myself watching the conductor in the orchestra pit silently sing along to every part in a very, very animated way. I also wonder, where did the cowboys find jeans that fit so nicely, and yet allow them to kick so high? I know they sell jeans cut like gi pants, but those didn’t look like them. And was there always a burlesque sequence in this one? I know I was young when I first saw it, but I really don’t remember one; I felt kind of awkward with a kid or three sitting in the immediate vicinity while that much skin was being waved around. Another thing I’ll note was that I did not find any of the actresses attractive except for said burlesque women – I kind of started figuring there was an issue when I realized I was comparing the lead actor favorably over his counterpart. What’s that about? Seriously, people.

Ok, who’s up for a round of “Phantom”?

      In walking through the grandly re-opened Safeway nearby, my initial remark was that they were trying to imitate Trader Joe's, running off the sample tables and profusion of organic products. My mom's more astute remark was that they were probably going for more of a competition with A.J.'s, which made more sense considering the various decorative efforts towards poshness. That thought in turn made me notice the several women, probably in their late forties or early fifties, dressed exactly like sorority girls in trendy/'classy' mode (swishy pants and printed tops, hair in artful sprays, shiny lipstick). I think I was going somewhere with that and was probably going to make some sort of snarky social commentary, but on the other hand I think I'll just leave it as it lies.

-though they turn into 50/50 throwdowns too easily for my taste, an ankle lock breakdown (not my pun!)

-and these bug me because they really require a cup to do well in my opinion, so that kind of negates them for anything but sport

-as much as I'm into yoga, laughing at oneself for anything is good, right?

Resonance - shades of Starfish as a reference, but any vague suggestion of the possibility of telepathy always interested me, and if one really stretches it might play into some yoga ideas as well

So, I’m all insured and whatnot now, on account of ninety days employed and all that. I suppose I should feel more secure in some way, but mostly I’m just a bit annoyed at a further cut out of my paycheck, and melancholy because of certain parts on the forms I had to fill. I guess the standard minimum life, health, and vision insurance are fine, and are standard accoutrements of American life. I’m sitting here looking at this other optional insurance, however, and this one seems a bit more disturbing to me on some level.

Basically, there’s the choice of adding this option on top of the previously mentioned ones, and then also disability insurance and accident and sickness ‘indemnity plans.’ If you get sick, or injured, or basically anything at all happens, they pay you varying sums of money directly, which pretty much covers the co-pays of the other insurance, so in effect you end up making a profit of sorts (this is how it was explained to me, at least).

Kind of facetiously, of course I thought of Double Indemnity (on account of not hearing the word ‘indemnity’ very often), and making lots and lots of money and vampy noir women and immorality. But that’s neither here nor there. The other thought I had was that this seemed an odd sort of gambling, especially considering some of the sums of money proffered. I’ll bet you this chunk out of my week’s pay that I’ll get at least 200 square inches of third degree burns, and if I win, you owe me...oh, several tens of thousands of dollars. What happens if I only get 199 square inches of burns, though? I get how much if I'm in a coma for at least seven days? So if I wake up early, I should just keep pretending to be asleep? I mean, it’s not all like that, but I can’t help but look askance at it as a somewhat morbid form of betting.