"Quotes"

So, I have been reading like a mad woman lately, devouring the words of everyone from Henry Miller to Ovid, and have had little time for blogging. But, I wanted to share some of the little tidbits of wisdom that I enjoyed from these wonderful 2-D creations in ink by these madmen (geniuses), and fellow artists.

P.S. I always find it unusual, fitting, and eerily ethereal, that every time I grab a seemingly random collection of books off of the dusty library shelves, that they contain very similar motifs and themes that have weight in my life at the time. Do do do do , doooooo. Okay, here you go, secrets to my soul right now:

"An artist is always alone-if he is and artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness." Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer.

"What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation." John Irving, White Noise.

"The world is full of abandoned meanings. In the commonplace I find unexpected themes and intensities." John Irving, White Noise.

"...and remember withal that it is only this present, a moment of time, that a man lives: all the rest either has been lived or may never be." Marcus Aurelius.

"There is no new thing under the sun. Everything is familiar, everything is fleeting." Marcus Aurelius.

"And over here the white spun caterpillar/ Cradles himself with a living leaf/ (And this familiar to all country people)/ To change into a tombstone butterfly." Ovid, Metamorphoses.

"I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else. And all that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple, frugal heart." Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek.

"My life had got on the wrong track, and my contact with men had become a mere soliloquy. I had fallen so low that, if I had had to choose between falling in love with a woman and reading a book about love, I should have chosen the book." Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek.

P.S.S. Well, there they are, words woven together to make more than merely sense, but also to touch the very fabric of our being. I usually hate when people quote quotes, but I just felt like sharing.

P.S.S.S. I love that terminology of Marcus Aurelius': a tombstone butterfly. It is simply beautiful, speaks the truth, and says so much in just two words. Try doing that Sue Grafton or James Patterson!

TGIF, or Ode to Friday

Oh, Friday. Glorious Friday! What promise you hold. Friday. My favorite day, Friday. The day I was born on, in fact. Children born on Friday, according to the poem, our "loving and giving," which I may genuinely say, from first hand experience, is true. Oh, Friday. Good, Good, Good Friday. You are good! Friday: the Christmas Eve of all the days of the week! The hope for the weekend to come! What promise is in store? What goodies are waiting under the tree? What fun is to be had? Yes, Friday. I'd take a perpetual Christmas Eve night, quivering in anticipation and dreaming of what sugar plums lie ahead, over any old Christmas Day and its finality, its disappointment, any day. It is the imagining how wonderful it will all be, tomorrow, that is beautiful. Yes, Friday. I'd take Friday over Saturday or Sunday, or any day, any day. What the mind can conjure up is always far far better than what the world provides, or what the weekend brings. The dreams always more real and exciting than any reality. Friday, oh, Friday. Like childhood, Friday. Friday is the childhood of all the days. The expectations, the tension, the hopes, and the aspirations for the future. The innocence of life before knowledge, before adulthood. Pure and white, and untouched, before reality sets in, before the week's end. Before the end. What is in a week? What is in a lifetime? Saturday comes and goes too fast. Barely blink and its gone. Sunday, sorry Christ, but no fun. The mind's already clouded by the ominous thought of Monday. And, Monday with its dread, heavy with the weight of so long a week ahead. Tuesday, just the day after Monday really. There for the overflow of Monday's storms, a drain pipe of a weekday, that Tuesday. And, poor Wednesday, the hump. Neither here nor there, stuck in the middle. Like the middle child of the week. Who really notices it? Thursday, oh so close but yet so far. And, then finally Friday. TGIF. Thank Goodness Its Friday. The Mary Poppins, "practically perfect in everyway," day that Friday. So, on Friday, reflect. On Friday, dream. On Friday, live! Let Friday be your Christmas Eve. Let Friday be your childhood again. Enjoy it while it lasts, because Saturday is just around the bend, Christmas Night is unfolding into another day, and our childhood? Well, it most likely has already come and slipped away. But, to those of us who know... there's always a Friday.

Short Story

Blog. I blog. I am a blogger. I'm sittin' here bloggin'. Blog, blog, blog. I enjoy blogging, it makes me blog. I blog, therefore, I blog. I like coming to this local coffee shop to blog. Blog. Blog, blog, blog. I have Internet at home, but I prefer to blog, blog, here, blog. Blogging makes me feel special. Blogging makes me feel cool, which I never was, blog, in school. Blogging, my blog makes me think I am out in the world. That I, blog, have made it in some bloggish way. Anyone can blog, and--hey-- I can blog, I am blogging. Blog, Blog, Blog? What?
"Do you need a password?" she says.
"What, blog?" I mutter back.
"Is there a password to get on the Internet here?"
The girl next to me is, blog, talking to me...
"Um, no." Blog, blog, blog. I mumble back to her.
"Thanks!" she graciously and sincerely states.
Blog, back to blog. Gosh, she interrupted me and I'm writing something important. I make a living off my blog. At least, blog I like to think so. When I got layed off from my silicon valley tech job last month, I didn't blog this much. Blog, only for fun. Now, I blog to live. If I don't blog, I might die.
"Is your Internet working?" she interrupts again.
Blog, what? "Um, yeah." I manage to get out. She spoke to me again. What do I say? I mean, blog, the Internet has to be working, obviously! She sees me here, blogging!
"Oh," the girl spurts out, " because I can't seem to log in...I'll ask the barista."
Blog, gosh. I lost my blogging concentration again. Where was I? Oh, my blog. How come there aren't any cool people out there? I complain in my blog. I can't meet any cool girls. They just aren't out there. I'm not Brad Pitt, blog, I know...but I'm not that bad. Blog, I'm lonely. Blog, I blame other people for my misery. Oh why can't I find someone, anyone?
"She's checking on it," she perkily says as she plops down.
"Oh," blog, she's talking to me again. I wish she would stop that. I am only in my blog, I exist only in my blog. It is my security blanket, my blog. I wish I knew what it felt like to be in love, blog. I could read another blog about it, but...blog, it just wouldn't be the same, I guess. I wish I had a good job, blog. I wish I was happy blog.
Blog, blog, blog. Blogging, To blog. Read my blog. You bloggers, people, just blog, read my blog. It is cool, blog. Blog, blogging is modern, it makes me modern. Blog, blog, blog, blog, blog, blog, blog.......
"Hey! Hey!"
Blog, "What?"
"I know you are a regular and all, but we've been closed for ten minutes now...so, could you leave?" She is angry.
Blog? Is that the girl from earlier, no blog, it's the barista. The other girl left long ago, blog, and I've just been sitting here blogging away.
"Yeah, um, give me a minute, I just need to finish this one thing, it's important."
"I have been yelling we're closing for the last twenty minutes, and I'm sorry but I have to close the till, like now."
"Yeah, just one minute," I plead.
"I'm sorry, I just have to say this, because you are here everyday, all day long. Do you think you could buy something more that just that one cup of coffee? I mean it is kinda rude. I have to work around you all day long. Feel your presence. And, now you won't even leave. I have a life, ya know? Somewhere to go. Gosh, man why don't you getta life too," she states as she storms off.
But, I'm not here, I blog. I have a blog. Life is blog. I blog.
Okay, I'll blog at home. Gosh, but how fucking rude. Not great customer service at all. That stupid barista who does she think she is? I'll tell people about how rude she is. I'll blog it. I'll write about her in my blog tomorrow. Tell the whole world how rude she is. Blog, blog. I blog, to blog. Blogging is to blog. Blog, blog, blog.

Eureka! No, Chopra!

So, I have been reading Deepak Chorpra lately, and my goodness... it is like so helping me to become one with the universe, and to get out of the karmic funk I've been stuck in lately. I mean, I still think I'm crazy to hop out of bed and write this blog, but I simply had to. It is for evolution, it is for change. It is a revelation! I couldn't keep it from the rest of the world, right?

No, the cosmos compel me! I am meant to share this creative insight with you, my readers, my friends, and hence, myself (if you've read Chopra, you would totally understand what I am saying)! Anyway, here it goes, the groundbreaking, earthshaking, galaxy-moving information I have to let slip is...that...I... finally realized what my PERFECT burger would be!

I know! Gastronomically astoundingly wonderful news! It just came to me too, I didn't really have to think hard at all. I trusted my instincts and came to a conclusion. The answer was always there, under the surface, like Chopra says! For so long did I contemplate all my favorite toppings, and for years the perfect combo would elude me, the holy grail of burgers. But, alas, it is here! I have found it, it has found me! So, do you wanna hear it! It might blow your mind, but here it goes:

First, obviously it starts with a medium rare great piece of beef, and I prefer a bun for this one...but, then the toppings are, drum roll please: Blue cheese, sharp cheddar cheese, avocado, thick cut bacon, barbecue sauce and onion rings! That's it. I mean, it's perfect, right. Of all the endless combos, it is just ideal. And, it might even be my last meal, throw in some fries, maybe a coffee shake too.

I think I'll call it The Dharma Burger, aka The Deepak, or maybe, just maybe, The Alexandra, but that's too egotistical. Plus, I don't know if I want anyone eating me...wait..nah, I won't go there, my mom reads this. Anyhoo, now that my dream burger is out of the way, I'll focus on some of life's other questions that I know the answers to are right here, below the surface, waiting to be discovered. The existence of God? The meaning of life? Why the sky is endless and blue? The perfect Pizza? Life is beautiful, ain't it?

**What is your perfect burger? Think hard, or, no wait...don't think hard at all!!!

Earthquakes in China???

I could write about what we are all thinking.... and, then I could not, write, what we are all thinking. Life sucks write (right) now and for some reason, I care so(s) o much, and part of me don't care at all. Funny how it all works out...ya know, life and all. Don't want too many periods. It might be misinterpreted or something. Yes, too many periods might not be good at all right now, and, yet one would be good enough, all I need...Do you ever feel trapped? Yes, you...do...Do you ever feel stuck? Ever feel like nothin' is ever gonna change unless you pray to God so hard and so fast that He has to listen to you, no matter who ya are? Sometimes I think I'm, gonna step into quicksand and realize it was for someone else. Funny, right? Sometimes I feel like I'm living someones else's live, but really it is my life. And, I feel funny about that. It's gonna be a normal life, and it is gonna end. But, people are gonna care, even if I don't care. And, it will be fine, it will be good. It will be "normal." And, normal is fine. Freak, why don't you want to fight it? Why haven't you been fightin' it your whole life long? Don't you wanna BE? Don't you wanna BE? Be? Bee...aren't we be dying? Don't ya wanna die, don't ya wanna dye? Don't you wanna be if be-ing means dye-ing? Dying don't seem so romantic at all anymore. Don't seem cool at all. Cool, so I figured that out... It don't mean a thing, really, it don't mean one single gosh-darn thing anymore. How many people died in China, in Burma? What does it take? We don't care anymore, I know. We can only wait, wait until it happens...to us. Will someone care then? Who cares anyhow?

Ode, to the Comma

Oh, comma, oh
you wondrous punctuation, you
emphasize my writing so,
so, readers can, understand
all the dramatic pauses, pause,
in my writing, in my life

Oh, comma, oh
how my English teachers hated you,
marking my essays in red,
'But!,' I would shout, 'Dickens, he,
thinks so highly, wait, of them too!'
in his writing, in his life

Oh, comma, oh
how underestimated you are,
our scribblings wouldn't mean much
without your hope, why, who wants
the, stop, fate of a period
in their writing, in their life?

Travel Tips, Sexist Style

Okay, so I hope writing two blogs in one day doesn't constitute me as being pathetic, or even worse a "blogger," but I simply had to write this one down. My recent trip to Paradise Island, Bahamas has ignited some kind of traveling bug in me, which I just cannot shake. To fuel the fire, I went to my local library and got as many travel books on all the exotic locales that I wish to (I mean will) go someday. While most offer tips for lone female travelers noting the usual common-sense stuff like don't hitchhike or go off the beaten path, the book I picked up on "hidden" Cancun and the Yucatan offered the most hysterical (and sexist) advice I have ever heard, travel or elsewhere. It goes like this:

"Finally, women travelers agree that away from beaches and major resorts, a lot of unwelcome advances and gropes can be avoided by wearing a brassiere. In the macho Mexican male mind, this particular undergarment is a clue to distinguishing between 'good' women (mothers, the Virgin Mary, et al.) and 'bad' women (mistresses, streetwalkers, gringo soap opera stars and the like)." (Harris, Richard. Cancun and the Yucatan, second edition. Ulysses Press, Berkeley, ca 1999.)

Hilarious right? I didn't know it was that easy to be the Virgin Mary, all I have to do is where a bra! Forget my actual sexual status. There's hope for us--I mean you-- sluts! Just keep your chest securely fastened in the latest fashion of female chastity, your "brassiere!" Don't even get me started on the soap opera stuff, that is hilarious on its own! Plus, did you note the footnote? I would have thought, and you too, that backward writing/thinking like this was published somewhere, well, backward. But my lovely notation says it all-- published in 1999, yes good 'ole '99 when every lady who wore a bra was Santa Maria herself, and in Berkeley, Ca, feminist capital of the world--where no hippy, organic tofu-eating female I've ever meet even comes near a bra, let alone wears it. So I say this to you Richard Harris, are you serious? Have you ever been around any women? How did the editors let that through? But, thanks. Yes, thanks for the laugh. And, don't worry, I'll keep my girls under lock and key next time I go down Mexico Way, so as I don't seduce any of the macho men there. Wouldn't want to cause my own rape or anything! I'll also advise my female readers-hell, all my readers- to do the same. Adios!