words, words, words
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Thursday, January 30, 2003
almost every day here, I see small black birds flying, over the interstate, around different parts of the base, but mostly near the Illinois cornfields. They're nothing much, just small triangles really, but when in groups, they become another animal, moving and swerving together. i suppose they're looking for food as they seem to be the only birds who didn't fly south. have you ever watched a group of birds wheel and swing through the sky? They move with no discernible head but manage to stay together, even though they seem to do more turning than they do flying towards something. their movements remind me of a sheet blown by the wind, how one edge is pulled first, then the rest curves with it, always fluid and able to turn over on top of itself. maybe they are arguing, pulling each other this way and that like i do with my inner selves when the world seems full of too many possibilities; maybe they are dancing, like i do in my living room, with no purpose but expressing joy; maybe they are actually being blown by some invisible current, like i wonder if destiny and fate push me around on their breath. such flights of birds used to be portents of future impact, but these happen too often, as if they are crying wolf. they make me want to stop, to breathe the air they are flying in, to focus on their lives and not always mine.
8:12 AM
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
I'm obsessed. i can't hardly think of anything besides the book I'm reading, the third in the Philip Pullman series, His Dark Materials. There are so many things that fascinate me like angels (with the real historically based names and roles), odd creatures with diamond structures instead of a central spine, temptresses, knives that cut anything, and a whole rearrangement of religious truths. well, what is truth anyway? I can't talk about much here because I would give too much away, but my head is full of thoughts organizing the book in my head, grasping all the stray comments together, fighting my urge to stop everything in my life so i can finish the book.
2:05 PM
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
I have recently turned into a Dolly Parton fan, thanks to many articles about her excellent last few albums, all with a folk and bluegrass trend, as well as to a few friends who have loved her much much longer. I guess I don't get the exciting chance to see even pictures of Dolly very often, so I really only know her voice, but this quote from another NYT article (yeah, I read a lot at work) is too good to not pass around: "Ms. Parton's physical appearance is as spectacularly artificial as her emotional presence is accessibly authentic. Though her flash and dazzle evoke the kind of awe usually reserved for Stars From Outer Space (Cher, Michael Jackson), her manner evokes the warmth and fellow-feeling reserved for Stars Like Us (Julia Roberts, Tom Hanks)." Yes, she's comfortable and yet she's also the drag queen in all of us.
10:47 AM
I wrote the following and posted it to the forum in respose to the NYT article, The Fanatical Sports Parent
My dad did a lot of coaching and pushing me when I was younger, for multiple sports although he finally decided I should be a football player. Growing up with bicycling, skiing, and hiking were great; they were noncompetitve but athletic activities that helped the two of us spend time together. When he forced me to play football and berated me for not being aggressive enough, he crossed the line from being supportive of athletics to being tyrannical about athletics. The years we spent lifting weights for 2 1/2 hours a day, five days a week certainly elevated my status around high school and forced us to spend time together, but more than anything, they developed a deep dislike for my father and a total avoidance of him in any situation that he wasn't forcing me into. I played football another four years, expressly because of his lies that I couldn't get into college without it, and because I wanted to please him. I hated every minute of football and still have trouble facing him as an adult, as someone who I sacrificed so much for who never thanked me or congratulated me. When I began to succeed in shotput, he never attended my meets and never cared although it was something I thoroughly enjoyed. I went on, after college, to being a competitive amateur triathlete. I know that I owe a lot of my ability to push myself from the times he and I spent biking and lifting, and I am thankful for that influence. I was able to laugh at him when I learned from my mother that although he was proud of my triathlon accomplishments, he had trouble talking to me about it because he himself had never finished the few triathlons he had attempted and was simply jealous. I know he was mainly selfish and wanted to see me succeed in football for his own reasons; but I also know that when he was supporting me instead of blindly pushing me, I benefited greatly.
8:46 AM
Sunday, January 26, 2003
If today were my last day; if I knew there would be no tomorrow and I would have to make do with now, I would probably go for a long walk around here. I could spend hours writing to you and you about how much you meant to me, and what I wish for you, but I couldn't actually say what the hours you and I spent together meant and did for me. So I would probably go for a long walk through the neighborhood I live in, the one I walk around all the time, enjoying the steady red brick and the old french feel. I would wear plenty of clothes (I wouldn't want to be cold on my last night), and I would sing a few songs out loud, stopping when i thought i was off key, to try again. i would probably forget some of the words. I don't expect the phone would ring; it doesn't usually, and although I often wish more people would call, I would revel in the peace of being outside and walking alone. I would find a bridge (there are many where I live, bridges that cover the rivers of cars passing by underneath, cars going too quickly for their own good, like mine usually does) and walk over it, stop around the middle to watch and feel the cars, to view the city as if I am just an observer, alrady out of this world, unable to participate, but loving to watch. I would watch the steam rise, one of the few of us able to leave gravity in the earth. I would look for the moon, what few stars shine over the city's lights. I could read some poems or play some music, but the best art, the art I have seen or made, is already inside me, or passing through my head so slowly that I have to stop and match its speed so i can understand. Oh, I would miss seeing the moutnains again and the rush of laughter after eating some raisins while cycling (that seems so far again already), but mostly, i would let go fairly easily, full of strange faith that having survived here, I will also survive somewhere else, whether that be nothing or some unimaginable existence. I would probably walk around for a while, and then maybe heat up some water for tea, or chocolate.
1:48 PM
Thursday, January 23, 2003
a tribute to theonion.com. all my praise. you take divisise, angering subjects, and allow me to laugh about them? oh you wonderful people who write such ridiculousness, filling my head with such deliciousness. kim jong-il unfolds into a giant robot; you don't appreciate the muppets as deeply as i do; as a rich plutocrat, i don't need the tax cuts, so no thank you. studies of highly cultured apes reveals that they have made such things as tools and utensils, have taught each other how to use them as well. but mostly, they figure out how to make silly sounds by blowing on leaves, make raspberries on their kids bellies, and goof off. where's the government that cavorts with silliness instead of planning to bomb people? oh, maybe we just had that government a few years ago. i think i'll go back to my banana and it's lovely curve. "hello? what? I can't hear you, i've got a banana in my ear. Hello?"
10:37 AM
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
I alternate between being shy and being a show-off. I have always been a bit shy, but then, there are parts of my life that I'm very proud of, and want to show. For too long, it's been my chest. It's still nice, but i'm finally crafting a part of my life that is a bit more important. I want to show off that I am a conscientious objector, proud of what I'm standing up for. There have also been times when I've been proud to be gay, to hold a guy's hand in the street. Actually, that's most of the time, but I haven't had a chance to do that since I'm not dating anyone and probably won't for some time. I am actively not looking, knowing that I'm digging too deeply into myself to support someone else, knowing that I'm probably moving in the next six months, knowing that I really need to spend time developing friends, not another lover I'll eventually want to run from. I guess I can be both shy and a show-off, vary between the extremes, choose my behavior based on my surroundings and my mood. Maybe this is growing up, knowing that we don't have to solidify, knowing that we can be ourselves, whatever that means. If so, I still have a long way to go, a long way before I learn how to be myself. Imagine how different we would all be if we were all our own individuals. We'd have to write a whole new language of emotions, well beyond shy and show-off. We are like Walt Whitman who said, "I am large; I contain multitudes."
11:12 AM
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
I marched yesterday in the Martin Luther King parade with my fellow Quakers. I felt in some ways that many groups had hijacked what seemed like a black pride parade to promote our peace rally. Granted, many people there of all races were holding signs with quotes of Dr. King's anti-war beliefs. Of course, I say it seemed like a black pride parade, but we surely copied our gay pride parades from what black people had already been doing. Moreover, they have something to really celebrate, a man who had worked very hard and accomplished very much for them, for all of us. Who or what do we actually celebrate during a gay pride parade? The riot at Christopher Street, certainly, but how many people do you see holding up signs recognizing that? Our parade seems more just a time to jump around and show off instead of actually celebrating what few civil rights gains we have made. I enjoy our parades, but I loved yesterday when everyone was marching. There weren't many people watching which was a bit depressing, but that was because people were in the parade, marching along with us. No floats, no awards, just people who were happy to celebrate a great man and a great change in society. We still need a voice, don't we? We still need national recognition. We still need people who care, who don't brush it off and say, eh, we do all right with what we have. We still need to stand up for ourselves.
10:09 AM
Sunday, January 19, 2003
What are we but shadows of ourselves? So much more stays dormant inside of us, parts of us we can't hear, and only know about by premonition. Who tells us to keep it down, to stop looking for it? Where in our adolescence do we read the message to stop seeking ourselves but be satisfied with the copy we have made of the current culture? All through it, right? message after message that we are not good enough but instead have to follow the crowd to find what's right and good. That's a sham, and I've always known it; so have you, haven't you? and yet both of us let it tempt us into inactivity, the mundaneness of performing useless tasks, moving one mountain of sand three feet from where it currently sits, wishing that our noses weren't quite so large or that our muscles were a bit larger. I've been trapped, you've been trapped, and no matter who i shake my fist at, the only one to blame is the one who listened to those messages. so I'll shake my fist at myself, yell, demand that I go back to searching because I haven't dug deeply enough yet, because I haven't built the man I know I could be. A great author, Tille Olsen, wished that her daughter would be stronger than the shirt she was ironing, limp underneath of the massive power of society. Which one of us reaches our full potential? Which one of us understands the love we have inside of us? Which one of us can help ourselves, or even admit that we need help from outside ourselves? There is so much more inside me; there is so much more inside you. Maybe we can help each other find it, and learn to wear it.
1:06 AM
Friday, January 17, 2003
Gil Scott-Heron, the great blues jazz poet, wrote "Winter in America," which i listened to again this morning. The lyrics so well apply to the state of our country. And how cold of a winter this time is. What do you see growing around you? How much sunlight is in your day? Not much around me that I can see, and it looks like it might grow darker still. How long will this winter last? There's no timeline to look at, no way to judge how deep a winter we currently have. What help or hope can we look to? I don't know yet; the only hope I have is no longer being a part of our oppressing military. maybe we are the only hope to find. instead of hoping the sun will shine, we'll have to work extra hard, creating heat while we plant our seeds, helping and nurturing them. with hard work, we might just thaw the freeze.
8:55 AM
Thursday, January 16, 2003
there's supposed to be a hawk flying for me tomorrow. well, maybe i'll be around for the hawk, in case he needs some luck. i certainly wouldn't mind seeing a hawk tomorrow, so i'll keep my eyes open for it. of course, if i looked hard enough every day, would i always see a hawk? i used to see unicorns all the time, it felt like, little bits of beauty most people were passing by. Even when I told them about the unicorn, they just stared, either blind to it or uncaring. I guess I still see them here and there, the steam from the brewery, the pink and mauve in the sky driving to work this week.
unicorns, hawks, puddles that reflect the sky. goodness.
4:13 PM
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
in a break from the personal heaviness i've been laying here recently, I had to quote this all too true statement from a CNN article about the new Bush tax plan. Please don't be like this.
"Politics isn't as dense as economics, though, and the Bush people see no political risk in the plan. It's difficult enough for people to contemplate what they're going to watch on television tonight. If the economy is rebounding, the fiscal implications of the deficit in 2013 won't matter a whit in November 2004."
Then again, it's difficult to pay attention to everything all the time, isn't it? it's even more difficult to do something about it. I can write a letter to my congressmen, but I don't have a good feeling that any of them will care. and even though I don't watch tv, i certainly spent a good deal of time last night looking for a new pair of sunglasses seeing that my old pair flew off my face and out the window during my car accident last week. I don't do that every night, and i spend much of my time at home cooking, reading, and writing. Sure, I've been a snob most of my life and tell myself i'm better than everyone else, especially when i walk around my neighborhood and see so many blue glowing lights coming out of windows. But am I? I'm selfish, I don't give enough to worthy groups around town; instead, I horde my money in the bank.
I don't understand americans. Who are those people who wait until weeks before to make up their minds and base it on the last minute standings of the candidates? Maybe I know some of them and they just don't admit to it, those crazy swing voters. Advertising doesn't make much sense to me. People should already know what the candidates represent, but then again, maybe they're too busy watching tv.
I used to think I was stronger than all this, politics and anger, that I was above feeling emotions and beyond the pettiness of politics. I think I was just not paying attention. now i have to learn to not let other, random people bother me. i have enough work to do on my own.
1:23 PM
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
i'm thinking back lately, telling myself stories i didn't know mattered, stories that hold such relevancy, i can't believe i forgot them over time. stories about things i decided, stories about happiness and stories about my first best friend. like the story when i decided at what, 12? that i would no longer try to have friends, that because Crystal rejected me, I was going to like being alone and would never ask anyone for their friendship, would never burden others with myself. yes, so i avoided company and hardly spoke, figuring that nobody really wanted to hear me anyway. i remember telling myself to learn to like being alone, to revel that i would not have to lean on others, that i wasn't weak like those people i saw hanging on one another always in groups.
stories about how much i hurt myself, mostly. and wasn't i cruel? it worked. i didn't have friends for years. i didn't have a close friend for five years, and even then, i didn't trust him much or have him for very long.
then there's the story of how happy i was my last semester in high school, how perfect life was, how i finally grew comfortable with myself and though that i was adequate. that's the only time in my life when i've truly felt that. It ended abruptly when I showed up for basic training. how do i convince myself of that again? i know that i am already working on that, that following my beliefs is a part of believing in myself. but it might take a while before i really think i'm good enough.
these are stories i have known for years. i wish i had paid attention earlier.
7:28 AM
Monday, January 13, 2003
Several times a week, I walk over to the Sidney street bridge over I-55 at night. I watch the view of the Budweiser brewery as the white steam billows and escapes into the dark sky. I love this part of winter, where such a natural event extends from a man-made object. The steam seems able to escape the brick confines - the engineers know they have to let it out, or let it damage the building. I feel steam building up in me as well. I know how to let some of it out, dancing, running, writing, but I can feel a higher energy inside, from the last couple of months. i have willingly caged myself for years, told myself i didn't need to say that, didn't need to express these feelings here. I had a taste of letting more steam out the day I spoke at the peace rally. The steam hasn't been quiet since. I can feel the internal pressure and heat hoping to find a way out of my control. Only a few more months, only a few more months. oh, but look at what chances i'm missing while just sitting here! think of where i could be and what i could be doing, so many possibilities. I have things inside me, waiting, pushing, hoping. If I dont' let them out, I know they'll continue to hurt until they cause permanent damage. Let me just find a way to open my valves, to agree to the steam flowing out of me. When you do let go, it's beautiful watching the steam fly out.
3:10 PM
Friday, January 10, 2003
i don't usually have dramatic things happen to me. the past six months has been full of them. although wednesday's drama was not my fault. A guy in a big old Ford hit my wonderful volkswagen golf while on the interstate, almost stopped due to traffic. he was going around 50 mph. yeah, my neck hurts. my car needs help; i think my sunglasses flew out the window, and the rental car cd player isn't working. thank goodness for NPR. so, i'm all right, and that's good. i was hoping that the accident would somehow alleviate the tiny bit of work i have here on base right now. but it didn't, just put it off for a little while. i got to spend more time at home yesterday, which was awfully nice, even though much of it was on the phone with insurance people, etc.
my poor golf though. i love that car. now i have this ugly white thing, a chevy cavalier, generica sedan. i hope they can fix my car, and that the cd's in the back didn't get crushed with the rest of the back side.
once again, i'm disappointed by health care and doctors. why do people give them so much respect? They hardly seem to know anything. and then the wait, oh my goodness, the wait. i guess it's just normal, to wait for two hours. if only i had had my book with me.
i'm whining though. i haven't whined in a while, and i hope not to for a while. i have a delicious barley and mushroom stew to eat while i sit here, and so long as i don't move much, my neck doesn't hurt.
9:40 AM
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
wednesday. doesn't mean much, does it? so hard to not let the days drift by, hoping they pass into the next day. so hard to enjoy where you are and what you have. like the sunshine outside, like the gym at lunch time. like plenty of food and water. i want it to be friday, but if it were, then i would miss the rest of this day and tomorrow. i can't waste time like that. can't let it just go, as if it weren't important. so let me learn or grow or move or understand how to just be.
1:43 PM
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
i don't want us to go to war. i don't want us to go to war. how many times can i say before people will listen? i know, i am already saying it as loudly as i possibly can. but it's not enough. it's not working, not stopping anything. all i can do is read about the coming war. i don't know if it will happen. but my goodness, people actually want it to happen. people all over this country support the war. i can't just pretend it's not happening, like so many people i know. don't you forget either.
8:59 AM
i love it when people get crazy-creative. The site illegal-art.org (i'm not linking since I haven't actually been there and can't from where I'm currently at) serves the exhibition called "Illegal Art: Freedom of Expression in the Corporate Age." Apparently, quoted from the NYtimes, "The show's video section includes Brian Boyce's 'State of the Union,' which juxtaposes images borrowed from C-Span and the children's show "Teletubbies" to depict President Bush as an evil sun god destroying bunnies to make way for oil wells." No doubt I've always thought the teletubbies' baby sun-god was wicked, but this is an even better interpretation! I'd love to see the video.
During the Academy Awards in 2001 (yes, I actually watched the whole show), one of the directors (steven soderbergh maybe?) stood up for his award and thanked not so much the people that helped him but everyone who created, every person who took the time to creatively approach their world. what a beautiful comment and reminder that no matter how small we are, we can produce and add to the creativity in the world. Even if it's the crazy concoction of food I make, the photography that i've been playing with so often (by the way, i realize my photos don't come up very easily - i'm not quite sure what to do about it yet), or even the blogging around here. amen to everyone who creates!
8:28 AM
Monday, January 06, 2003
my brother sent me some books for Christmas, a young adult series called "His Dark Materials" by Philip Pullman. Beautiful, epic pieces about a young girl named Lyra. They are every bit as good as C.S. Lewis' "Chronicles of Narnia," and more friendly than "Lord of the Rings." I have had a hard time putting the first book down since I started it this weekend. My favorite part of the world Pullman creates is the daemon that every human has. Almost an alter-ego, the daemon can take any animal shape when the human is prepubescent and finally decides on a shape when they grow up together. The daemons take on characteristics of their humans, they help them somewhat, but mostly offer them a constant companion, illuminating some of their emotions to others, acting as both a conscience and a spur forwards. The daemon is almost always the opposite sex of the human, although there are a few cases of same sex pairs (i'm glad the variety reflects humanity). The concept feels much like the alter-ego that most of us already have but few admit, our imaginations becoming the bird in the air wheeling in the sunny day or running up the cables of a ship as a monkey. In a more mystical world, people might create shapes for the monsters in their head, give them the extra eyes they wished to have, the courage they can't quite sum up, even the feelings they wished they understood. I'm afraid my daemon still hasn't chosen a shape which yes, may mean I am young at heart but also reveals that I do not know myself well enough yet to say what I am. of course, if my daemon becomes my favorite animal when I was a kid, I'll be a lazy koala sleeping all day in a tree. which isn't that far off much of the time. Nor am I sure I get any say at all in what shape he takes (i'm assuming I get a same-sex daemon); I think I simply have to discover it, accept it, and learn to live it.
12:06 PM
Friday, January 03, 2003
Listen to your finger
shaking at people who
have what they want.
so said night ear
3:18 PM
Thursday, January 02, 2003
The investigating officer gave me a copy of my CO report today. This includes the application I submitted, the reports from both the chaplain and the psychologist, supporting documents from the Quakers, summaries of the witnesses statements, and the recommendation from the investigating officer, based on his analysis. I read through what I had not seen while still in the legal office, before heading for a run in the snow. Here are some of the words I read (removing my rank and last name):
from the chaplain: "It is my opinion that [stephen] is sincere in his convictions and solidly grounded in his beliefs."
from the psychologist: He has had "some mild, sub-clinical depression secondary to tension between his beliefs as a pacifist and his participation in the military."
from my friend from the Quaker meeting: "I had no concerns about the sincerity or depths of his convictions . . . I do not believe [stephen] ever does anything shallow."
from my former boss: "If I were charged with writing [stephen's] performance evaluation, I would rate his performance 'excellent.' "
from the investigating officer: "there is no evidence that [stephen's] mild depression was the result of anything other than his sincerely held beliefs that directly conflicted with his military duties . . . my investigation uncovered no possible motive for [stephen] to falsely claim [he] is a conscientious objector . . . I find that [stephen] has established by clear and convincing evidence that he opposes war in any form or the bearing of arms, that his belief is by virtue of religious trainig or other belief system akin to religion, that the belief is honest, sincere, and deeply held, and that by nature or basis of his claim falls under the definition of conscientious objections described in [AF regulation]. Therefore, I recommend that he be classified as a conscientious objector and discharged from the United States Air Force."
I took a walk after reading that to consider this, to clear my head from the tears that wanted to come out. It's never good to cry in uniform. Yes, tears, because this is the best report I can possibly imagine. I still have to wait for everyone to read it sign off on it, etc, which will take a few months, but I could not ask for better than this. To have others say that the depression I worked through stemmed from all of this feels like the usually indifferent world giving me a hug and saying, of course you had trouble with this, it's ok, we believe you. We believe you.
The magazine DoubleTake includes a poem from a Seamus Heaney play, The Cure at Troy at the beginning of each issue. I have hoped for a great sea-change, and I have begun it in myself. Maybe, maybe, I can help push it along with those already pushing the tide.
12:25 PM
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
Here are my shoes, old and now new. 
and see South Dakota - beautiful isn't? how many of you knew that?
5:37 PM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
