Late Afternoon in the Gardens

The Butterfly

Florida Postcards II

My flight to Ft Myers is late, and after finding my seat at the back of the plane I realize the airlines have adopted a sort of scrappy emergency room ambience. Overly dramatic arguments break out immediately amongst various groups of revolving employees. "Do you really think it's appropriate not to have tissue in the bathroom?!!!!" The meticulously groomed flight attendant with slightly frayed edges pouts at the dark-skinned bathroom crew as they file off the plane. "God! Do they really think it's a good thing to be in a bathroom with no toilet paper?!"

Like a student unsure of the answer I keep my eyes down when suddenly the sound system, reminiscent of a battered drive-thru at a late-night McDonalds, crackles above us. A young stewardess, as the video monitors carrying diagrams of oxygen masks and exit routes blink on and off (does this plane have some electrical issues?), begins to ready us for the flight. A passenger a few rows ahead taps their blank monitor, tries to push some buttons, finally gives up and asks for a pillow. "We don't provide pillows anymore, sir."

"Welcome to Flight 666 to Ft Myers, along with my ex-husband and his new wife Ilsa...The smoking area is out on the wing, and if you can light it going 500 miles per hour, go for it..." I glance up to see if anyone else has noticed the stand-up comedienne stewardess at the microphone. The attendants busy themselves next to me with gossip, cans of soda, napkins and small bottles of liquor. A woman and her daughter exchange quizzical glances a few seats up. "Press the red button for the reading light but don't press the orange button unless necessary because it will eject your seat..."

The seemingly ancient Italian woman behind me doesn't like her seat and I hear her tell the steward she will "call the company". A few passengers make eye contact with each other as they hear the steward ask a passenger, "You put your wife in the trunk on the way to Florida?" I hear a little girl say, "We have a video of my sister falling in the tub doing a cartwheel."

Clouds cast shadows on the water as I try to size up the crew and passengers on this flight. How would we each behave in an emergency situation? Who would fall apart? Who would rise up and be a leader? Who would be first? Who would be last? I feel, if only with that thought, I have prepared some semblance of an emergency plan. I close my eyes and enjoy the bumpy ascent through rolling clouds that takes me far above the midwest landscape.

Denial a Little Longer

A butterfly hovered around the Tiger Lilies and me this afternoon.



I take that as a good sign.

I can feel July slanting toward August, it is dreamy and there is a whisper in the back of my mind. It's saying, "Time is running out. Soon you will go back to school."

What I Want to Believe

The true nature of power is in weakness and suffering. - George Ellis

As much as I lean toward thinking of humans as a big brutish greedy species who dirty their own nest and destroy everything in sight, I have often wondered why, if we are that bad, we haven't already destroyed ourselves. There have been plenty of opportunities for red buttons to be pushed, a plethora of opportunities for nuclear annihilation. I'm sure we have met the quota of hate and fear needed to get the job done.. So why haven't we? (Ok, here comes Gidget.)

Maybe there is a moral framework, an ethical force built into the universe. That's what George Ellis, a Quaker physicist scholar from Capetown, South Africa believes. I listened to an interview with him during my drive to NYC, and his ideas seem relevant and hopeful, just like Liberation Theology before it was destroyed by the Vatican. Isn't it sad that love, peace, tolerance and fairness are seen as radical concepts in our world?

Ellis talked about Knosis, a Greek word that means "to empty yourself" as a concept discovered independently by all the great religions of the world (he believes they discovered the concept within the fabric of the universe, that they did not invent it). The evidence in Christianity would be Christ giving up his life to save the lives of others. He gave examples from his own life as an activist working to end apartheid, a system that seemed indestructable but was eventually brought down by what he calls Knosis, and he also talked about the peaceful resistance of Ghandi and Martin Luther King as examples of Knosis. The universe is effected when you give up your self, give up your need for revenge, give up your preconceived notions and balance self-interest with the interest of others. All of these acts require unconditional (or agape) love, and can change the enemies' mind.

Ellis talked about a wartime situation (Afghanistan?) where a group of soldiers were taught peaceful resistance when the townspeople threw stones at them. They simply stood, letting the stones hit them. Even in more dangerous situations their orders were to not kill anyone. This strategy seems crazy to us now, after all the spooked soldiers shooting Iraqi citizens on impulse. Eventually the people of the town, not getting the desired reaction, stopped throwing stones. And the soldiers, whose self-respect was still intact, loved and respected their leader.

To not retaliate requires extreme courage. Our culture, however, teaches us just the opposite. Ellis believes that TV and movies are enemies, that they teach us that killing is the way to solve problems. But I think TV and movies just mimic aspects of our wider culture. Our leaders (people in power) teach us that killing is the way to solve problems.

Can you imagine having a president that you respect and trust, and would take a stand and balance our self-interest with the interest of others? Can you imagine a leader who knows that true security means having no enemies, and uses their power to change enemies to friends? I can't imagine it. I don't believe it will happen, we are too far gone. But this is what I want to believe.

Let's Talk About Death

Most people don't ever see anyone die. It used to be if you grew up in a family you saw everybody die. They died in their bed at home with everyone gathered around. Death is the major issue in the world. For you, for me, for all of us. It just is. To not be able to talk about it is very odd. - Cormac McCarthy

I love Jim Jarmusch's movie Dead Man because it focuses on the subject of death (oh, and because Johnny Depp is in it, of course!). Depp plays a character named William Blake, who travels to the far western frontier of America in the late 19th century. An American Indian named Nobody believes Blake is actually the English poet, and leads him through transforming experiences that prepare him for death. The entire plot can be seen as a ritual process that guides William Blake to the next world.

This morning, awake at 2 am, (the prescription-strength ibuprophen wore off, kids) I suddenly realized that Million Dollar Baby (rented during my "high" after seeing the doctor yesterday) has the same theme. I thought the movie was about a girl boxer succeeding in a male sport, but actually the boxing becomes part of the ritual preparing her for death. Like William Blake in Dead Man, she appears in a new place and forms a connection with a guide who leads her through necessary experiences (or ritual) and ultimately facilitates her death.

What a profound and wonderful thought that there is a guide who will prepare us and lead us through the door of death. Or that we may one day be a guide. I hope I am brave at the time of my death, and haven't been too brainwashed by our culture to experience it fully. If I am called upon to help another person on their journey I hope I have the compassion and wisdom to accompany them.

Maybe we create friendships, families, earthly bonds with other people for this reason, so we won't be alone in facing death. But perhaps the ultimate lesson is in releasing these bonds to take the hand of a "stranger" as we enter that common passageway we each will reach in our time.

Selfless compassion and penetrating wisdom are interdependent, like the two wheels of a bicycle or the two wings of a bird. Compassion unguided by wisdom will go astray, and may even lead to the opposite effect. Blind love or sympathy is not true compassion. - Ch'an Master Sheng Yen

Update at the End of the World I

4:30 am: Triple-Digit Temperatures Scorch Midwest

5:30 am: Wal-Mart says to double China outlets by 2006

6:30 am: Resort to Fear

8:30 am: "The doctor is full today. Would you like to speak with the physicians assistant? Your blood tests haven't come back yet. The doctor has a 10-minute appointment tomorrow. Would you like to see him then?"

One Beautiful Thing

Rummaging through my old video collection, searching for movies with hints on how to die nobly, I came upon the perfect one, The Royal Tennenbaums, which may be my favorite movie of all time, at least today. It has a perfect cast, and Gene Hackman's character is such a likeable and flawed man. I am in love with Gene Hackman. And Wes Andersen movies. If I made a movie like that, just one sweet-spirited gift to the world, that would be enough. I could die happy. (This seems to be a theme with me lately. One is enough. You know, like if "Yesterday" were the only song Paul McCartney had ever written, that would be enough. It is enough to send one perfect thing out into the universe.)

I would like some day to create one perfect thing, but seeing as I can barely stand or use my hands due to this "unfortunate illness", I must face the possibility that I may never leave such legacy to humanity. Oh fuck, what difference does it make anyway? Do you really think in the total scheme of things that Paul McCartney or Wes Anderson or fucking James Joyce for that matter are any better off, dead or alive, than the rest of us? I think not. I remember reading somewhere that there are thousands of Brad Pitts walking around, just as talented and good looking (maybe more so!), but "chance" chose him. Or destiny. Or whatever. So is the famous one more valuable somehow than the unknown?

I always thought living an artistic life was enough. That you could always take your palette-knife and apply thick coats of swirling color, that unexpected mixings and an occasional bold black outline could always give you focus, and reading the roadmap of composition could always bring you back around. But now I don't know if it is enough. Experience and being special don't seem as important anymore. Perhaps it doesn't matter.

So yesterday I cried through The Royal Tennenbaums. Why does that movie move me? I can't watch it without falling apart. Is it the earnest and flawed characters? Is it the damages done and the kindnesses offered? Maybe I am just your typical sappy sentimental midwestern fool. ("There's no place like home. There's no place like home.") I think I like it because it's smart. And funny. And flawed. And sometimes it just feels really good to cry.

So then I watched Edward Scissorhands. I had forgotten that Vincent Price was in that movie, and it made me smile to see him. Veronica and I used to stand in a line that sometimes stretched for blocks outside the local theater on Saturdays to watch the latest Vincent Price movie, which always seemed to involve a torture chamber. And then later V called me. "I have been thinking about you all day. This just isn't right. Why don't you fly back down here and I will take you to a specialist. You can stay as long as you need to. You can stay forever."

After that I watched part of You've Got Mail, which seemed to deliver the message that large corporations have a heart, too. But I watched it, didn't I? And Meg Ryan was still cute then. Are any one of her movies "enough"? Hmmm...maybe When Harry Met Sally? What do you think?

I will be watching movies again today, no doubt, seeing as the "unfortunate illness" doesn't seem to be getting better. It does seem to be morphing, which is a little alarming. I don't think I am dying anytime soon, however, so I may still have time to create one beautiful thing before I go. I always was a procrastinator.

Suspend Your Disbelief

To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallable god. - Jorge Luis Borges

It is irrelevant to the universe what we do overall, but it is of the utmost relevance for us. Religion and laws and the concepts of right and wrong are completely constructed by our human mentalities, but they have been improved with time to better suit our small tightly packed part of the galaxy. - Gene

Most people don't ever see anyone die. It used to be if you grew up in a family you saw everybody die. They died in their bed at home with everyone gathered around. Death is the major issue in the world. For you, for me, for all of us. It just is. To not be able to talk about it is very odd. - Cormac McCarthy

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. - Eleanor Roosevelt

Clearly, I play people who are smarter and braver than I am. But the truth is, when I watch movies, I look and see how I wished I'd behaved in a critical situation. That's why westerns are so special to me. Back then, people didn't have anybody to arbitrate their problems - you got by on your wit, wisdom and toughness. Movies have always been that for me - a learning experience. - Kevin Costner

---

I have always been plagued with a sense that life is meaningless. Of course, growing up as a kid in the midwest no one ever said to me, "You know, MJ, great philosophers throughout the ages have wrestled with the issues with which you struggle. Here. Read these books." No. Dolly would wring her hands, recede, tell me to cheer up. Stop being so philosophical. Go out with your friends! So, with legions of other teenage alcoholics, I would head out for days and nights of debauchery, searches for meaning, forming of tribes, a quest for connections.

Without realizing it, Dolly was teaching me to suspend my disbelief, just like we do when we watch movies. No questioning allowed, no critique of the industry or how it promoted the status quo, no talk of camera angles, who held the camera, who told the story, how different characters (race, class, gender) were represented, no analyzing. Because that would ruin the story.

But what about life? What if you can't suspend your disbelief about life? What if you realize that there is someone directing the story and the character you are playing is called "Useful"?

Useful does not think about whether or not life is meaningful. Useful is unselfish but always makes sure she is needed. Useful, in fact, is always looking for ways to make herself more useful. She knows the script. She knows the story. If she is old, she may be thrown away. If she is weak, her life is in danger. If she has a lapse, a break of character, she may be "let go".

After all, didn't Kevin Costner recently get himself a new young wife? Who else? Thousands of older men. And thousands of new young wives are thrilled with their new acting job of trophy wife. It pays well. (Now is where, in the storyline, I must reveal, subtly and artfully, that I sometimes hate men.) And actresses who were once desired are now useless. Replaced with those who can still suspend their disbelief, who produce eggs, who copy the poses of supermodels in magazines who teach them to mimic sexual positions, to create bedroom eyes with Maybelline, to attract men. Men who have things. Isn't it all biology after all? I remember being horrified in fifth grade watching a film of determined sperm, hundreds of them, swimming like salmon upstream. That is life.

I have realized, in the past couple of days, that if I were living in another time, in a nomadic tribe, that I quite possibly would be dead by now. I am having trouble walking and am lying low. I wait to see if this sickness will pass, and face the realization that perhaps I am no longer useful to my tribe. I search my video collection for movies that may teach me how to play this scene realistically.

Languishing in My Unfortunate Illness Feels Really Good Right Now

I am lying here on the bed like a rock, which is exactly how my body feels. Exactly. I'm watching Silverado, which is one of my favorite movies, the kind I watch periodically. It has to be Kevin Coster's best movie after Bodyguard (that's a joke). His character is a cute little tightly-wound bundle of adolescence, and I love it when he is swinging on the jail bars, or saying in his innocent but cocky way, "All I did was kiss a girl!". Perfect. That movie was enough to redeem him for all time (and I don't think Waterworld was all that bad). Some actors have one movie that is so good it is enough. Take Dennis Quaid. Breaking Away was his perfect vehicle and it doesn't really matter, from my perspective, if he makes a hundred shitty movies. I will still love him for that wonderful little gem. Patrick Swayze has Dirty Dancing and even though everything else he has done is mediocre I like him for that.

Speaking of Kevin Costner, I was leaning over in the grocery aisle earlier today scrutinizing the wine choices when a male voice said "excuse me". Startled, I jerked up to see Kevin Costner smiling at me. Only more handsome. Wider lips. Wearing a suit, which doesn't usually move me, but this guy was really cute in a suit. And he wasn't the typical "suit", who would have been irritated that someone was blocking their busy life. I was (I'm sure visibly) flustered, which happens to me only in a blue moon. It made me happy.

A couple of nights ago I was standing on Broadway at 1am smiling up at a big beautiful yellow moon over Manhattan. All of the smokers standing on the sidewalk looked up too, and someone said "it looks overinflated!". A moment to remember. And then AJ and I headed down the street to a diner where she had her second cheeseburger in as many days. We took a taxi home, admiring Saint John the Divine as we passed slowly in the night. At home in the steamy apartment we watched Blue Crush and imagined the ocean waves cooling us. We also drank Bud Light in bottles, which is AJ's favorite, until 4am. Too much Bud Light.

Too much everything, which may be why my body couldn't fight off this supposed virus, at least that's what the doctor calls it. An arthralgia virus. She thinks I probably got dehydrated in NYC, too, which added to the problem. She asked what I ate, and I told her I ate about three million mussels one night, among other delightful treats. She asked if I had pineapple with it. Is this person really a professional? They took multiple vials of blood and are testing for various plagues, like mono. I didn't tell her that I could barely walk upon waking but later, as soon as I could take a few steps, we were off. Let's walk across the Brooklyn Bridge! Let's go to Coney Island! Let's walk the length of Central Park again. Let's buy more beer. We simply have to buy that extra long bag of Twizzlers at 4am in Duane Reade. Ready to carry another load of groceries up the steps? Fuck! We have got to remember to buy another deadbolt!

We got sidetracked and missed the Brooklyn Bridge and Coney Island, but will save those treks for another time. Enough already! So in a way it is a relief to be home, even though the stress from home is probably what made me sick in the first place. I'm up in my little room watching movies, drinking wine, missing my blogosphere friends, wondering when I will feel good enough to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Now as for Johnny Depp... everything he does is gold. He's just too bizarre not to love.

"Mother Breaks into Daughter's Apartment. Drugs Suspected!"

I am typing this post on my phone while sitting on the fold-out couch in AJ's apartment. Sweat is running down my face and it is once again hotter than hell in NYC. I am struggling to write, as my body aches. Apparently using my body as a battering-ram while breaking into AJ's apartment wasn't the cause of the debilitating disease that has crippled me, but more likely it is MS, or maybe I was poisoned. Yesterday I was pretty sure I had viral meningitis, but that's what you get for reading articles about Brad Pitt. I will drive home tomorrow but I don't really want to be "home", and I must admit the thought of being sick is a little attractive right now. Being taken care of. Just lying there while a really competent and compassionate person attends to your every need. Life is such a struggle here, which seems to be the theme of this particular visit. From hefting loads of laundry up and down five flights of stairs, to enduring two-hour middle-of-the-night subway rides home, to watching AJ run the gauntlet of men ogling and taunting her each time she steps out her door. It has been an exhausting trip. I wasn't expecting this. The key is still broken off in the door lock, AJ and I, when we are especially tired and broke, dream of being "kept women", and one thing we have learned is that doing mounds of laundry is a lot more tolerable if you run to the deli next to the laundromat and buy a few 40's between loads. Poor AJ! Where is this girl's mother?

Breaking News from NYC

It is hot in NYC today and I am sore, maybe from walking miles up and down pathways and steps in Central Park. More likely my body aches from using it as a battering ram while trying to break into AJ's apartment early this morning.

NYC Bound

I have, at the spur of the moment (my favorite) decided to drive to NYC tomorrow. I am leaving at 4am and will get there late tomorrow afternoon. I am playing it by ear, maybe stay a week, maybe longer. It's going to be a little desolate at AJ's because Mo is now living with her boyfriend and has turned off the cable and phone (no internet, kids!). We are deciding what we want to do while I'm there. Go to Jones Beach? Maybe a concert, but what musician can possibly top the father of AJ's twins, Mark Kozelek? We shall see! You know, AJ is a force to be reckoned with!

If possible I will post something while I'm there, or maybe send some pictures from my phone to my Yafro Moblog. See you soon!

Florida Postcards II: "Honey, you can do anything you want!"

My memory of our first night in Key West revolves around two statements uttered that evening. One was when Veronica emphatically slurred, "I am not gay!" Like Georgia, V felt compelled, by the end of that first night in Key West, to set complete strangers straight on that subject. This was after we stumbled into a drag show and V got hit on by a lesbian. V let her admirer buy her a drink, I might add, even though she declined to dance with her and later felt the need to frequently proclaim her sexual preference to everyone. But I get ahead of myself.

The first and defining quote is from the beautiful woman, (our best friend!) manning the frozen daiquiris lined up behind her like slurpee machines in a 7-11, who said, "Honey, you can do anything you want!" Veronica and I looked at the waitress incredulously and then at each other suspiciousy. (We had been waiting our whole lives to hear those words.) Apparently we could actually take our refillable thermos containers holding enough key lime dacquiri for a small army with us. And then we could come back and refill them. Perfect.

Transformed, we were 15 again, sitting on the hood of our friend Betty's big brother's car out on some country road with a case of cold long-neck beer between us. It felt so normal to be in each others' presence again, as if we still had identical blonde streaks on the same side of our long hair. As if we hadn't gone off and lived our own separate lives but had somehow, unbeknownst to us, remained connected, like some deep sad joy that Siamese twins share.

But let's back up a little, to the moment when we stepped off the boat and had our first glimpse of shops and restaurants and boats and tanned bodies and the smell of fish and open air and ocean. Heaven. We dragged and wrestled our suitcases about a half-mile (actually V carried hers because she had some special designer suitcase or something, the kind that people buy who never have to carry their own bags) because the girl at the hotel had told V that the hotel was a half-block away from the docks. Sweating from the climb up and down busy tourist-filled boardwalk ramps, we were thankful for the airconditioned lobby and didn't even mind that our room wasn't ready. We headed straight for the hotel bar where we spent three hours admiring the ocean and enjoying free drinks that the cute young waiter concocted especially for us. "I'll make you my specialty. It's called a 'Dead Head'. You'll like it. Tell me if it isn't the best drink you've had." He then went into a flurry of activity with a mortar and pestle, about 20 different liquors and things chocolatey and minty and fruity. "This is definitely the best drink I have ever had," I said soberly.

Later we admired the view of the ocean from our fourth-floor balcony. A group of boys played Marco Polo in the pool below, and parasails floated over the blue water. We hungrily headed for Duval Street, where we had a remarkable seafood dinner and key lime martinis. We then were drawn into Sloppy Joes, a bar that looked hopping but where the drinks were skunky and next to us a drunk middle-aged woman slowly humped an embarrassed middle-aged man's thigh and where delighted dwarves danced and whooped in front of the band, which consisted of middle-aged hippies playing Jimmy Buffett songs. Leaving my full glass on the bar, V and I snaked our way out into the street.

"Let's walk for a while." V wanted to see the six-toed cats, and "I think we passed the Hemingway House, let's say we did. Wasn't it beautiful?" Suddenly the sidewalk ended and our feet were in sand at the southernmost point of the United States. I wanted to go into the ocean, but V had seen where the action was, and steered us back toward the drag show. The guys out on the sidewalk had been so cute and inviting. "You coming to the show? Another one starts at midnight! Come back! You'll love it!"

We loved it. V and I sat at the bar and were totally absorbed in the carnival atmosphere as the three "girls" took turns strutting around and lip-synching to songs like "Let's Hear it for the Boy" and "Dancing Queen". During a song that asked "So you wanna see my pussy?" the stunning and statuesque drag queen in her bouffant blonde wig demurely lifted her ruffled petticoats to reveal panties with a furry kitten sewn to the front. Charming and in-your-face. The audience stumbled over each other to slide dollar bills into their "cleavage". They were likeable, and vulnerable, and talented and fun. V and I agreed that we love gay men. And gay men love V. She's beautiful.

Gay women also seem to love V. A 40-ish woman (a dyke, V corrected me) approached V from behind, put her arm around her, asked if she could buy V a drink and asked her to dance. She told V, "You should take a walk on the wild side," and replied, "What a shame, you would be wonderful to be with," when V uttered her first "I'm not gay" proclamation. "Have you ever considered it? Your friend is on the edge, isn't she?" She came back a couple of times to see if V had changed her mind and then withdrew and became lost in her little crowd of uninhibited dancers.

Stumbling out of the club, we were greeted by drag queens thanking us for coming, giving us hugs. I love the way drag queens challenge the meaning of gender. It is good to have our ideas of conventional sexuality confronted and contested. Their performances challenge our subjective mindset, and that is good, art should do that. It should put us off balance, give us moments of cognitive dissonance that allow new ideas to enter our tired old mental landscape. Like the East Village, I love the inclusiveness of this place.

V and I looked forward to parasailing the next day as I crawled into bed and V happily uncorked a bottle of wine.

It's All Good

We do not commonly live our life out and full: we do not fill all our pores with our blood: we do not inspire and expire fully and entirely enough....We live but a fraction of our life. Why do we not let on the flood, raise the gates, and set all our wheels in motion? - Thoreau

To find your real self, you must lose yourself. You must put aside thoughts about your own birth and death if you are to get anywhere. - Ch'an Master Sheng Yen

There is so much going on lately. My mind is everywhere. Shall I write more Florida Postcards, or perhaps some thoughts about the future? I'm planning a New York trip this summer, to see AJ and Mo, and there has been some drama there! And I finally got a message from Georgia yesterday, after I sent her an e-mail telling her that Dolly fell and has a black eye and five stitches. Here's part of her message:

Lately I seem to make a lot of mistakes and probably shouldn't be driving a car. I am tired and I work too much -- full time plus many nights and Saturdays, and usually work through lunch. I thought I would keep this job until I retire, but am not sure now; I like to work but I don't want to die on the job. Theo and I are fighting lately and that wears me out, too. It seems like I just can't talk to anyone --probably just depressed as hell. I love you but don't quite know what to do to pull out of this. I am going to try to come out and see Dolly this summer for a quick trip, but right now I feel like I wouldn't live through it. I am really thinking about dying a lot again, but I've made it through before -- I didn't say that to worry you; I am fine, really.

Being the concerned and compassionate sister, I gave Georgia some uplifting advice:

First, make an appointment with a psychotherapist immediately and kick that motherfucker Theo to the curb.

Hmmm. I haven't heard back.

My mind is also on this blog, which is now one year old. I have been wondering what that means. Again I ask myself, am I running from or am I running toward? My goal was to discipline myself to write, and I did that, but there were some unexpected twists and turns.

My very first post was agonizing. I set out determined to tell the truth and make myself vulnerable, and I revealed that I wanted a new life, which was huge for me, as I knew it was there for Huck, Auggie, Mo and AJ to see. (I am used to making myself invisible, kids!) And what do you know. It's happening. For good or bad, a new life is being wrangled and the old one overturned. So, kids, be careful what you wish for.

He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great tributary. 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.

Gene was the first person to leave me a comment. I remember looking at it, mortified. I had been found out. Once I left a message on his site that said his writing was "raw, yet plodding." He took it really well, and he is one of the most mesmerizing writers I have come across in the blogosphere.

Then my little family of bloggers developed, which is just right for me. A funky colorful group of varied ages, interests and inclinations. All generous, all intelligent, all talented and (let's face it) all a little off-center. Perfect.

I remember thinking that it would be really interesting if the comments became the heart of the blog and the posts were secondary. Well, that happened, too. A friend that I grew to respect and whose words I valued left without a trace, which still hurts. God! I guess you can't distance yourself from the sting of life, even here in the blogosphere (where identities are so malleable). I must admit, I still look for that friend, and wonder if they ever check up on me. I miss them. But then again, "Maybe it's because I didn't know you at all." (Jeff Buckley)

Reflecting on the past year, I wish my blog had more focus. I look around sometimes and see magnificent freakin' blogs. (How irritating! Jesus!) And what the hell? Some people are so prolific! The Bee-atches! But it's all good! (That became Veronica's and my mantra during the Florida trip). I'm not as impatient as I used to be. Change is inevitable. It's coming. I'm not pushing as hard.

So am I running from or am I running toward? Perhaps I am balanced in between. Again, I remind myself to just chill, and enjoy where this trip takes me.

She wears her heart like a leaf on the surface of a pond

Independence Day

Things that make me crazy this morning?

First, the Bush administration won't listen to scientists about global warming in favor of the world's No. 1 oil company, Exxon Mobile. Read Exxon Chief Makes A Cold Calculation On Global Warming by Jeffrey Ball.

Oil giants such as BP PLC and Royal Dutch/Shell Group are trumpeting a better-safe-than-sorry approach to global warming. They accept a growing scientific consensus that fossil fuels are a main contributor to the problem and endorse the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, which caps emissions from developed nations that have ratified it. BP and Shell also have begun to invest in alternatives to fossil fuels.

Not Exxon. Openly and unapologetically, the world's No. 1 oil company disputes the notion that fossil fuels are the main cause of global warming. Along with the Bush administration, Exxon opposes the Kyoto accord and the very idea of capping global-warming emissions. Congress is debating an energy bill that may be amended to include a cap, but the administration and Exxon say the costs would be huge and the benefits uncertain. Exxon also contributes money to think tanks and other groups that agree with its stance....

Exxon's approach to global warming typifies the bottom-line focus of its entire business. It is slogging away to improve the energy efficiency of its refineries -- primarily to cut costs, although this is also shaving global-warming emissions. But it says the business case for making more sweeping changes is still weak. It's a conservative, hard-nosed approach that has helped make Exxon the most profitable oil company in the world, with 2004 net income of $25 billion.

Another thing that makes me crazy? The retarded House of Representatives that approved an amendment to the Constitution to ban flag burning. Why are we so freakin' stupid? I just don't get it. Is it the faillure of the public school system? Or toxins in the water? Read this article from Information Clearing House: Show your Independence on the 4th; Burn a Flag. I like these quotes that the author included:

"This 4th of July, I ask you to find a way to thank the men and women defending our freedom, by flying the flag" George W. Bush, Fort Bragg address 6-28-05 

"If the flag needs protection at all, it needs protection from members of Congress who value the symbol more than the freedoms that the flag represents." Jerrold Nadler, (D-New York) 

"Some folks are born made to wave the flag, ooh, they're red, white and blue. And when the band plays "Hail To The Chief", oh, they point the cannon at you, Lord" John Fogerty, "Fortunate Son"

And one more thing while I'm at it. The cover-up of the identity of the person/s who outed CIA agent Valerie Plame. Mykeru (yes, Gidget LOVES Mykeru) says that Joseph Wilson "...long ago said he hoped to see Karl Rove frog-marched out of the White House in handcuffs" for that crime.

If it turns out to be solid that Rove was the source of the outing, that fact should be harped on like the next Downing Street Memo using the keywords treason, perjury and hypocrisy repeated again and again until the seriousness of this crime sinks in and the media can't pretend that it's a little mistake, a misunderstanding, and no big deal, like the deaths of thousands in a needless war.

Can't you just almost imagine justice happening?

(Photo taken from Mykeru, who got it from this MetaFilter thread)

Robert Redford, because he starred in "All the President's Men" was approached after the identity of Deep Throat was revealed. I was glad to see him deflect attention from himself and direct it toward the media, telling them to investigate the Bush administration.

...the shock revelation has reminded the actor of the power of the media and the similarities between Bush's secret cover-ups and the Watergate affair.

He says, "There are deep similarities going on but where is the press? where is the press?"

"There is stone-walling, not telling the truth, getting people under wiretaps. The US public continues to be told things that are not true and what worries me is that we have these brave young American guys risking their lives everyday.

Will Karl Rove go down? Will the media transform? Can we sustain this standard of living? Will we crush ourselves under the weight of our own lies, greed and corruption while waving our flags and driving our SUV's? Can we save ourselves?

I like to imagine what it would be like to have leaders who respect the earth and make sure that protecting the environment is a top priority. What would it be like if kindness was modeled and promoted by our government?

After the Overtaking

After the overtaking
I stand on the edge of an overthrow of my life
Looking down I see Dolly looking up at me.
"Be careful what you wish for."

I stand panicked.
Panting.
Overwhelmed
Overridden
Overpowered by my silence

Inertia
My old friend,
(breathe in, breathe out)
I think I went too far when I toyingly slipped my hand from yours.

The function of our dysfunction filled the map
with invisible gardens, our secret!
and now uncharted territory looms
where once there were flowers.

Sweet, sweet, bitter spice of lemon petals await my bare feet.