Gleams of Half-Extinguished Thought

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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the "phonoirlex" journal:

November 11th, 2009
09:21 pm [Link]	On Veterans Day My grandfather taught me a lot of things. He taught me to love playing with words. When I was very small, he sat me on his knee and made a game out of getting me to say long words and, later, teaching me their meanings. He got a kick out of the "baby" running around parroting words most adults don't use. He taught me to "wrestle," mostly involving me running across the room and taking a flying jump onto his belly. He always caught me. He taught me that sometimes the best toy in the world is a ratchet screwdriver. He also taught me the consequences of that screwdriver disappearing. And of using it to take other people's things apart. He taught me the joys of bubble letters. And that sometimes the sky can be green and the grass blue, and that's ok. He taught me that music really does sound better when you put on noise-blocking headphones, lie on the floor on your back, and close your eyes. And he taught me other things. He never really liked to talk about Vietnam, where he served as a Seabee. He brought it up maybe once every couple of years. But when he did, I always knew I was learning something important. In those conversations, he taught me about duty, about doing what needs to be done, even when you don't want to. And he taught me about making sure it gets done right. He taught me about surviving, and about finding joy in the little things that may be all you have left. He taught me that no matter how bad things are, they won't last forever. Even hell comes to an end. Some day, you get to go home, and even though it will be different and not what you left behind, it will still be good again. He taught me about honor and standing up for what's right, even when everyone else tells you it's wrong or stupid. You do what you need to do, and then you take the consequences. He taught me about common sense, and thinking things through before you do them. He taught me that it's not a good idea to shoot a snake in a room full of sleeping soldiers in a war zone, even if the snake is deadly. But probably the best advice he's ever given me? If you're going to get into trouble, make sure it's worth it. Current Mood: grateful (Write)
September 14th, 2009
10:34 pm [Link]	Dying "Peacefully" of Cancer According to Annett Wolf, Patrick Swayze's publicist, he "passed away peacefully today with family at his side." And I hope he did. But part of me is screaming that it's a lie. He died of cancer, and the cancer-caused deaths that I've seen...they're not peaceful. They were always described as peaceful later, a lie we tell ourselves to make it better, to make it so we don't have to look, to hear, see, feel, know. To make it seem less horrible. I've seen cancer deaths. Hoarse cries and body shakes and gasps for breath and lurches that come with greater and greater frequency, eased by the morphine but eventually closer together than the morphine can legally be given is not a peaceful death. Having the cops break in and pound on a body, trying to resuscitate it 45 minutes after the last breath is not a peaceful death. Hallucinations and nightmares broken only by the pain do not make a peaceful death. Feeling the skin grow tighter and tighter across your bones while the tumors grow and press and tear, until you die with your mouth frozen in a silent scream is not a peaceful death. Part of me says it doesn't matter. They're gone, and people are grieving. If a little, harmless lie will make them feel better, ease that grief even a tiny bit, let them tell it. Because that grief gnaws at you, and facing that horror, that pain, that so not peaceful death--it can drive you crazy. So anything that makes it better must be a good thing, right? Except it's not a little, harmless lie. Maybe it would be if it were told only by and to those grieving. But it's not. It's told to the world. It's told to people who believe that prolonging life at any cost is the highest goal, and it reinforces those beliefs. It's told to people who fight passionately against assisted suicide and legal euthanasia. And it makes them fight harder. After all, who needs to be spared a peaceful death? But the cancer deaths I've seen are not peaceful. They're painful, wrenching, wracking deaths. I've seen enough to know that I don't want to go like that. I wish that no one I loved had ever gone like that. I hope that no one I love ever goes like that again. I wish that no one ever had to go like that. I won't go like that. If it comes to a choice between that and suicide, I'll take suicide any day. That's my choice. My government should respect that. As things are, they won't. They know better than I do. There's always a chance that a miracle could happen. It's God's plan. Fuck that. And fuck any god that would demand its people go through that. Things need to change. For that to happen, we need to stop calling deaths "peaceful" when they're anything but. We need to stop lying to ourselves and to each other. We don't honor the pain our loved ones experienced when we deny it; we don't honor their memories; we don't honor them. And we don't honor ourselves. Yes, those deaths are awful, and it hurts to look at them and acknowledge that. It tears us apart to know our loved ones passed through hell to get to death. And it's terrifying to think of going through that ourselves. But we can't pretend it's not there. Closing our eyes, covering our ears, and shouting, "Not real!" can't make it go away. It can only make it worse. So stop lying. Current Mood: angry & hurting (Write)
August 18th, 2009
05:51 pm [Link]	Bad Poetry Day In honor of bad poetry day, I composed the following: To make my love's heart swoon I went and picked a lovely mushroom I could make no song, I had no harp So I found my love a basidiocarp A fungal bearer of hymenium Hoping that it would make her come To open up her heart's deep core And make her want to swallow my spores How I long to hear her sigh As she spreads for me, her fungi imperfecti * My cat, he took a poo He dropped it in my shoe Then the stench, it grew And then my face turned blue Out the door I flew And puked into the loo Then across the room I threw The cat who crapped in my shoe. * My love is like lying in the green, green grass She makes my heart pound so fast She makes the blood rush to my face Like last summer when I ran in that race Her hair is softer than the softest straw And her teeth aren't too broken inside her maw Her eyes are like two shiny pennies But if I spent them, she'd hate me plenty And how to describe the wonder of her nose? It always turns red and raw when it snows How could I forget her unpointed ears? Every little sound she always hears. To sum it up, I'd say she's fine And I'm so glad she's mine, all mine. * There is a green pot on my file cabinet And that green pot has a green plant in it It's wrapped in paper all red and white And I know it would never fly like a kite Even if I pounded and stretched it all out It would still be too lumpy to air currents mount Not to mention, all of that dirt Would fall out of the sky and land on my skirt And the leaves would break apart, I guess Or get tangled up in a great big mess It would be way too much of a fight To try to turn my plant into a kite I guess it's best left where it's seen On my filing cabinet, in its pot so green. * There are clouds in the sky lumpy clouds gray clouds dark clouds clouds with rain in them. I think the rain's going to fall out of the sky, the sky where the clouds are. And then there will be no more clouds in the sky. Current Mood: amused Tags: poetry (Write)
June 13th, 2009
11:15 pm [Link]	BLITEOTW My water finally came back on. That's good news, I guess. Something to hold onto, in any case. And it helped, at least a little bit. At least I was able to wash the blood off. I keep seeing it, though. I stood in the shower for two hours, scrubbing as hard as I could. My skin is red and raw all over. I know it's gone. I know that. But every time I look at my hands or my reflection in the mirror, I see it. I may have scrubbed it from my skin, but it's still there in my head. And all the water in the world can't make it go away. Gods, why won't it go away? ( Cut for length. ) Tags: bliteotw, fiction, zombies (Write)
April 8th, 2009
09:02 pm [Link]	Pride and Prejudice and Zombies MUST. GET. THIS. BOOK. "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains." It's apparently about 85% Pride and Prejudice and 15% zombies. And Lizzie is now a kung-fu expert intent on wiping out the zombies. This could be horribly wrong or wonderfully horrible. WANT. Current Mood: amused (Write)
April 6th, 2009
11:56 pm [Link]	Poetry Month - Bits of Sappho Around the beautiful moon the stars withdraw the radiance of their form whenever, at her fullest, she shines over earth.... * To Atthis Translated by Willis Barnstone Though in Sardis now, she thinks of us constantly and of the life we shared. She saw you as a goddess and above all your dancing gave her deep joy. Now she shines among Lydian women like the rose-fingered moon rising after sundown, erasing all stars around her, and pouring light equally across the salt sea and over densely flowered fields lucent under dew. Her light spreads on roses and tender thyme and the blooming honey-lotus. Often while she wanders she remem- bers you, gentle Atthis, and desire eats away at her heart Current Mood:** content (Write)
April 5th, 2009
01:23 am [Link]	Poetry Month - She walks in beauty This one has always been a favorite. I love the imagery, the combining of opposites into one beautiful whole. I can see her so easily, a lady washed in moonlight and starlight and shadow. I used to have a problem with the last line, "A heart whose love is innocent." Too much baggage with the word "innocent," I guess. My understanding of the word has changed, though, and after reading "Don Juan," I don't think Byron meant it the way I had previously read it, in which an innocent love would be devoid of sexuality. An innocent love would be a free love, something unrestrained, something that hasn't yet learned to play games or to hide and contort in order to fit society's ideals. It's a natural love that follows the heart without muddying or confusing the issue, that just is as it is, unaware of, innocent of, any reason to be otherwise. A mind and a heart at peace with themselves and with the world at large, moving through it easily and naturally. Or so I read it now, anyway. She walks in beauty George Gordon, Lord Byron 1815 1 She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 2 One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress; Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place. 3 And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. Current Mood: content (Write)
April 4th, 2009
01:00 am [Link]	Poetry Month - The Flea I always enjoyed the flea romances. What could be more appealing than, "Hey! You have fleas! Come to bed with me!" The Flea John Donne 1633 Mark but this flea, and mark in this How little that which thou deny'st me is; It sucked me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be; Thou know'st that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do. Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, yea, more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our marriage bed and marriage temple is; Though parents grudge, and you, we are met And cloistered in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that, self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. Cruel and sudden, hast though since Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it sucked from thee? Yet thou triumph'st and say'st that thou Find'st not thyself, nor me the weaker now. 'Tis true. Then learn how false fears be: Just so much honor, when thou yield'st to me, Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee. (Write)
April 3rd, 2009
01:21 am [Link]	Poetry Month - The Garden of Love The Garden of Love William Blake 1794 I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore, And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys and desires. (Write)
March 29th, 2009
02:53 pm [Link]	The Storm The soft kiss of rain blowing onto my face. A golden haze around the streetlamps in front of me, light dancing from drop to drop. The harsh bite of concrete under my ass, the cold creeping up into my bones. The numbing fuzz of the nighttime drugs starting to drain sense from my mind. And then the flash, reaching up from behind me, striking out across the sky, setting fire to the clouds. The low rumbling building to a roar that rattles the windows above me and shakes the stairway below. It is done. I am content. The skies quiet again while the rain continues to fall. I lean forward to rise, but my legs have frozen to the concrete below me. A flash of pain, of fear. Of anger, and of determination. The thunder rises again as I pull at the railing and propel myself up. Up to my feet, up the stairs. Up toward the clouds and the lightning. And when I reach the peak, I laugh. The pain and the beauty, the nurturing rain and the rending lightning, the whole of the storm . . . they are mine. Because I am alive. And it is good. (Write)
January 25th, 2009
08:42 pm [Link]	Happy Burns Night! Today, the Caledonian Bard would have been 250 years old. So here's to old Rabbie! * Contented Wi' Little And Cantie Wi' Mair 1794 Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care, I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang, Wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld Scottish sang. Chorus-Contented wi' little, &c. I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught; My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom's my Lairdship nae monarch dare touch. Contented wi' little, &c. A townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa', A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a': When at the blythe end o' our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? Contented wi' little, &c. Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain, My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!" Contented wi' little, &c. ( More poems )** For more, see Robert Burns Country or download The Merry Muses of Caledonia. Current Mood: cheerful (Write)
January 13th, 2009
10:10 pm [Link]	My earworms are not always songs (QOTD) [...] I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. --"Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey," William Wordsworth Current Mood: sleepy (Write)
December 4th, 2008
07:01 pm [Link]	Prop 8 - The Musical See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die Current Mood: amused (Write)
November 6th, 2008
10:03 pm [Link]	Thriller Appalachian State University Marching Mountaineers perform "Thriller" on Halloween. I love the break in the middle. Current Mood: pleased (1 essay \| Write)
October 26th, 2008
05:08 pm [Link]	Your result for Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test... Linguistic 22% Logical, 24% Spatial, 65% Linguistic, 29% Intrapersonal, 8% Interpersonal, 39% Musical, 16% Bodily-Kinesthetic and 37% Naturalistic! "Verbal-linguistic intelligence has to do with words, spoken or written. People with verbal-linguistic intelligence display a facility with words and languages. They are typically good at reading, writing, telling stories and memorizing words and dates. They tend to learn best by reading, taking notes, listening to lectures, and via discussion and debate. They are also frequently skilled at explaining, teaching and oration or persuasive speaking. Those with verbal-linguistic intelligence learn foreign languages very easily as they have high verbal memory and recall, and an ability to understand and manipulate syntax and structure. Careers which suit those with this intelligence include writers, lawyers, philosophers, journalists, politicians and teachers." (Wikipedia) Take Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test at HelloQuizzy (Write)
October 10th, 2008
10:12 pm [Link]	Remembering Nana ( Cut for length ) Current Mood: remembering (Write)
September 19th, 2008
07:36 pm [Link]	In honor of the day Tom Smith has posted Zombie Pirates in Love. Zombies. That are pirates. In love. "We'll roam the sea eternally, my rotting turtledove! It's not the life you might have had, but zombie pirate, it ain't all bad. And I can't wait to eat - meet! - your mom and dad! Zombie pirates in love, yo ho!" I am pleased. (Also see previous years' offerings, "Talk Like a Pirate Day" and "Hey! It's Can(n)on!" (Hermione Granger, the Pirate Queen).) Current Mood: amused (Write)
August 6th, 2008
06:50 pm [Link]	I surf like a man Likelihood of you being FEMALE is 38% Likelihood of you being MALE is 62% Apparently, spending a lot of time on news sites gets me pegged as male. Current Mood: amused (Write)
July 31st, 2008
03:13 pm [Link]	Today for me is the first day of Lughnassadh. I don't know that I'd call it my favorite holiday, but it's the one I connect with most deeply. And this year it has an unusual poignance. This year, I feel more keenly on a personal level the loss inherent in the holiday. I know now what it means to lose a mother and can feel Lugh's pain at Tailtiu's death. I know the sorrow and grief that would lead him to seek refuge in games, activities, anything to drive away the incessant, intolerable thoughts. And I also know the love and pride that would drive him to seek to honor her and remember her to others. So the holiday probably would have meant more to me even without this week's events. But this week, the strange mixture of both sorrow and hope at the heart of Lughnassadh have really been driven home to me. I've seen people I care about endangered and attacked. I've seen sanctity encroached upon. I've seen thoughtless comments and actions by some in the community. I've been at turns angry, sorrowful, confused, and outraged. And I've grieved. But I've also seen strength like I've rarely encountered. I've seen love and a community, family, friends, and strangers alike, pull together to comfort and support each other. I've seen sanctity protected and regrowing. I've seen hope that, though there's pain and grief now and for some time to come, something good and strong and loving will grow in its place. Somewhere in that nexus of grief and pain, hope and love, I see the conflict of Bres and Lugh, Fomor and Danann. I see their battle raging across the sky - the battle between chaos and order, fertility and destruction. It's not a one-sided battle. Bres has a bit of Lugh within him, and Lugh a bit of Bres; both bear the blood of Fomor and Danann. And I tell myself that both are necessary, that without the Fomor, the order of the Danann would be sterile and lifeless. Without the Danann, the Fomor unchecked would destroy themselves and the world with them. I tell myself that without the pain of the attack on my friends, I never would have seen the goodness, strength, and love I've observed and participated in this week in the local community. I tell myself that, and maybe I even believe it, a little. But then I tell myself that I'm just saying that to try to make it better, to find some sort of comfort from a horrifying event. Maybe it's true; maybe it isn't. Maybe it's a little bit of both. It would fit with the paradoxes appropriate to the season. As I write this, I hear thunder rumbling over my head. It's just starting to sprinkle. Lugh's storms are coming. Welcome, Lughnassadh, with all your paradoxes - your pain and your hope, your destruction and your plenty, your war and your games. Welcome, storms and tides of change. Welcome, autumn and the coming harvest. Welcome, Lughnassadh. And welcome, welcome, thrice welcome, Lugh. *** I sing of the cauldron of motion I sing of the wisdom in pain I sing of the sweet summer twilight And the kiss of the soft-falling rain I sing for the day that is ending I sing for the autumn to come I sing for the loss of the mother And the season of harvest begun I sing to the Danann above me I sing to the Fomor below I sing to the children to follow And the dead who just had to go I sing of sacrifice and sorrow I sing for prosperity and peace I sing out to Lughnassadh And those honored by the feast (Write)
July 19th, 2008
10:29 am [Link]	Challenge: Make the Bible look like kiddie porn Chris Soghoian offers $100 to anyone who can trick either the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC) or a cable company "into taking down a copy of the King James Bible, under the mistaken belief that it's actually kiddie porn." I don't think it would be all that hard to make the Bible look like child pornography. The difficulty would be in keeping anyone from looking just the little bit harder it would take to realize what's behind the marketing. That, and not being arrested under Congress's law that makes it a crime to exchange messages about any purported material that could "cause another to believe" it depicts a minor engaged in a sex act. You'd have to be careful to make the Bible look like child pornography while at the same time not offering to sell or trade it. Or you could make it obscure enough that it could be interpreted as indicating child pornography without actually saying any such thing. I think it could probably be done, but it would be difficult. On the other hand, using the Bible might make officials reluctant to apply that law to the case, on grounds of violating the religious freedom aspect of the first amendment (in contrast to the free speech clause used in the original ruling). Especially if you put something in the Web site (well-hidden, of course) indicating that you were using the child pornography slant to lure pedophiles into reading the Bible so you could convert and reform them. Of course, anybody going that route would have to be a Christian. Current Mood: contemplative (Write)

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