The End Is Nigh

I was working on a new blahg entry today concerning the deeper mysteries I've learned of our corrupt government, as well as other governments. I was writing of the injustices of corporations & the rich. I was writing of the disturbing history of our own Federal Reserve System. But I find myself overwhelmed by the implications of the degradation we, here in the US -- & eventually all individuals everywhere -- must endure despite the fact few are even aware what has been & continues to be engineered by some few staggeringly wealthy & powerful people.

I've heard it said since I was old enough to grasp even a small portion of "adult" conversation. Even after having worked in a number of large corporations, I didn't want to really believe it true. And as I've continued to grow in knowledge of what lies behind the lies & distractions presented us daily, I simply hadn't realized just how naive I was.

I knew, instinctively, that growing numbers of corrupt individuals everywhere, people who were only concerned with money, power & status, were taking full advantage of us. But I have wrongly attacked only pawns. Pawns who don't even know that they too are being used to the same degree that the rest of us are. These pawns are certainly not to pitied, though. Their corruption runs entirely too deep for this. They are guilty of many crimes against humanity & individuality, but I doubt even they have taken the time to look beyond the money they so strongly demand from us.

I'm speaking of our enslavement.

Oh, yes. A small number of incredibly powerful people had suckered some politicians of the not too distant past into a scheme which has brought us to not just feeding these individuals of a number of other countries, but right down to the continued erosion of our Constitutional rights, &, due to the wonder of credit, have enslaved us all.

It certainly doesn't stop there. Many "trade agreements" between many powerful governments -- the EU & the inevitable Security & Prosperity Partnership (known as the SPP, or North American Union) -- are not plans of the governments involved. These agreements are those of these powerful individuals to create a single monetary & governmental system controlling every country & individual on this planet by these few individuals.

Naturally, such plans, such agreements, are marketed (yes, I actually mean "marketed") to appear to bring prosperity to everyone. The more toys & conveniences one has, the less likely one is to look at who or why these have come to us.

My head is simply swirling with countless aspects of that which is behind so many of the things we find so common today. And I know we, the people who simply want to drink & screw & love haven't the power to fight. There simply aren't enough of us who either understand even a little of what is actually happening round us, or who simply aren't blinded to the pretty baubles & the many distractions of this modern life to do more than entertain -- or be ignored by -- these engineers.

I do not believe that we will see the removal of the USA Patriot Act; I do not see our Constitution ever again being recognized (have we forgotten the contempt of GW Bush stating that the Constitution is just a piece of paper?); I do not see that freedom, in any sense of the word, will ever again be possible for any person, anywhere.

We are at the very end. We will all soon be confined to our homes, our cities, our regions. If we are granted leave to travel for work or pleasure, like Nazi Germany, we will not only be required to carry "travel papers" & RFID'd documentation -- or even implanted chips -- with far more information about us than is realistic.

Freedom will soon be nothing more than myth. Rights will be conferred & revoked at a whim.

Feel free to call me a conspiracy nut. You may also think me deluded. You  -- & I -- would not be the first.

Bucking the System

Note: I'd posted this as a Note on FaceBook, & now present it -- with some edits -- as a blahg entry. Ah, sweet defiance.

New Note - 25 Dec:  Rereading this post, I'm reminded of what can only be the ultimate reason government offices insist on the name on one's birth certificate being one's legal name, as well as why a legal name change can only be done (so they say) via the court system.  If you aren't already aware of this, all government documents -- county, state, federal, etc -- bearing your name display it in all upper case letters.  This is intentionally done because your name in all caps is a legal corporation.  That's right.  It all goes back to our  country needing money because of  flaky financing to stay afloat & the founding of the Federal Reserve.  It's all very complicated, but we -- as individuals -- are not corporate entities, & we are really not responsible for the loans previous governments had obtained.  But we are under the yoke of these foreign bankers. Yeah, we'd been sold into slavery to fucking foreign bankers!  Wild, eh?

Do you still wonder why I don't want to be Merkin?

Ever decide to go by a name other than that on your birth certificate? Being an honest man, I certainly never chose to do so for fraudulent reasons. In my teens, to distinguish myself from my father (really, don't ask), I'd added an "s" to my last name. Then, in my twenties, I'd decided I wanted to go by my middle name, rather than my first name.

This didn't really create any difficulties for friends & family, though my brother Scott had refused to accept my preference.

But every time my drivers license would be coming due, I'd find myself in a new state & had to go through hassle after hassle because of my name.

Despite my birth certificate showing the initial A for my middle name, the average state government employee couldn't conceive of one going by a name other than that chosen for one & printed on one's birth certificate, let alone that the letter "A" could possibly stand for the name I told them it did.

It was simply impossible to change one's name unless a judge made it so.

Then, a few years ago, I had to renew my passport. How fascinating it was to find two name lines. One for one's legal name, & one for the name one wants on their passport.

Naturally, I chose the name I've been going by all these years.

Now, getting a drivers license in Nevada is a little trickier than the other states where I've done this, whether the license from a previous state was valid or had expired. Nevada is just different.

First I'm told that the name on my passport "contradicts" all the other ID I'd given them. From my perspective, all my ID actually supports all these variations of my name. Grant A Ferguson, Grant J Ferguson, Grant J A Ferguson, Grant Fergusson & Angus Fergusson (note the double "s" in the last two), by all my ID, are clearly one person with one social security number.

But I'm told to put my passport away or I will be denied a license. OK. After taking the written test, I'm told that my passport supersedes all my other ID. But since the name doesn't match that on my social security card, I would -- not might -- would be denied a license.

Being that I'm well aware than no one in government offices has a clue what the actual policy is, I just went ahead to the next step, to get a permit, as if nothing were wrong.

I hand Timothy my ID, sans passport. He looks it & my paperwork over & asks for my passport. I smile & hand it over. He compares all my ID, pulls up Washington State records to verify I have no wants or warrants, punches a few keys, signs my paperwork, charges me yet another fee, & sends me off to get my picture taken.

The people at this desk look everything over & have absolutely no questions for me, despite my "contradictory" ID. I get my picture taken, they hand me back all my ID & tell me where to go the day I'm scheduled to take the driving test.

Out the door, I'm gone.

So, while one can only legally change their name via the court system, I got a passport with my preferred name. I now have a Nevada State driver's license with my preferred name. Does this -- having two picture ID's -- passport & driver's license -- with a name other than that on my birth certificate -- not constitute a legal name change?

Anyone who has had to deal with any DMV office -- or most any government employee -- knows each time they may have to see them that there will, inevitably, be some difficulty, such as an incorrectly filled in form or some missed typo requiring one live with the mistake. I have always just loved encountering the lazy & belligerent government employee who insists that something they've told me which makes no sense is policy. Who hasn't found this to happen?

So, now we know that getting round the system, by persistence & complete innocence, will eventually pay off. You want to change your name but don't like the idea of paying all the money required or getting some judge to allow you to do so? Use the Federal & State Governments to your own advantage.

I just hope no one will be so crass as to follow my steps for illegal purposes. Let's be nice, folks.

Above all, though, question everything.

Time Has Come Today

This morning, due to my my Washington State driver's license having expired some years ago, attempted & failed the driving test for my Nevada license (who knew that good parallel parking was indication of one's ability to send a massive pieces of metal & plastic careening down a path & stopping it without hitting anything?), I came home with cousin Cassandra in tow (it's her car, after all).

We had begun discussing the main subject of my recent Had They Only Consulted With Me First blahg entry entitled Time. In the midst of explaining what I had attempted to impart in that entry, it dawned on me that I have been horribly negligent -- even wasteful -- of what talent I may possess.

There I was, stopping in mid-sentence, realizing where I've gone wrong all this time. Sometimes what I write is entertaining, occasionally educational, but mostly, only of interest to myself. My writing is scattered, my points concerning the corruption of politicians, the greed of corporations, the stupidity of entirely too many petty tyrants, is nothing more than frustration being vented for all to see.

What I should be concentrating on is what's needed most, what too many overlook. It all comes down to one paragraph in the Time post. The first line is:

Is it not time we stop thinking about what others have, or have done?

We're all -- particularly now at war -- concerned with what has been done to us. Can't we just let go of the violation against us? Can we not, in the time we may have left, make a shift -- a leap -- into a new way of thinking? Can we not become a greater example than that of the power hungry America by dropping all pretenses, breaking free of the taking from others & claiming innocence when retaliated against?

I'm no historian or genius, but has history taught us nothing? Do we, as a people, really want to perpetuate the mistakes of people & cultures of the past? I believe that we -- that's all of us occupying this planet -- really are capable of taking the next step, to evolve beyond our current state. But we must let go the resentment, the fear, the desire to take advantage of others.

Additionally, the previous line in Time:

Is it not time we all start living with our planet -- the very thing which sustains us?

Who among us doesn't get it? Who cannot admit that chemicals, pollution & disregard are not just making us uncomfortable, but are killing the planet on which we live? We, in turn, are only killing ourselves.

The realization I mention above consists of this. I think there are only one thing left worth fighting for, & they can both be expressed in two words: Our future. If we continue as we always have, there will be no future for any of us.

We must now -- not tomorrow or next week -- now, we must all begin respecting each other as well as our planet.

Lost

I am mutant.

I know this because I have a brain. I know this because my mind runs entirely counter to the minds of each & every person I meet whether they are intelligent or not. Yes, there are exceptions, but....

Before you go on, let me plague you, my audience (of...three?), with a disclaimer. Below you will find not just a subject, but also some specifics which may appear to be directed at a particular person. I assure you, this is not the case. This subject has been welling up in my psyche, growing, perhaps, out of control, for many years.

That said....

As a man, I freely admit to -- at least -- being influenced by the testosterone running through my veins. I can't help but feel excited either when I see a woman I find attractive, see, hear or read something erotic. I'm not dead.

Maybe it's this Sex In the City mentality women everywhere now have, with all the fantasy trappings involved; maybe it's the unnatural influence the sex industry has on society, the mind-numbing drivel spewing from television & romance novels, the brain dead celebrities telling us what's hot & what's not, the inane popularity of advertising some corporation on our clothing -- for free, & let's not forget that so many believe the lies marketing people & politicians want us to.

In my twenties, when I was just another twenty-something male with raging hormones, sex meant a lot more to me. As with most every other guy getting off was the first thought which had entered my mind when I'd see most anything of a feminine nature. And yeah, I had -- & still do -- a great fondness for a woman in a skirt or dress -- particularly in peasant style.

But now, after years of disappointment, education & realizations I grow ever more weary of so much. I became aware of government corruption during the time of Watergate. From that time forward, there may have been certain aspects of one administration or another, one politician or another, that I have liked, but having seen through the lies we've been told since I was a child, I can't help but be disillusioned.

The lies of marketing people -- the likes of which I know from experience even they are oblivious to -- have continued to dig into the wounds of disappointment I've experienced all my life.

Over these many years since my first kiss -- which I'm sure Jacinda Larson has gratefully forgotten -- I have had the great fortune to have experienced a fair number of women -- in my view, anyway. Each of these women were of vastly different personalities, yet -- even those whom I'd grown to like least -- have taught me incredible things. Things I would never have believed when I was a twenty-something.

In particular, I think the greatest lessons were in what I don't want.

Don't get me wrong. Each of the women for whom I've had any feelings -- requited or otherwise -- had some wonderful qualities (some more than others, of course). Whether lusting after or falling in love with, I remember. I even -- much to their astonishment, I'm sure -- remember the good times, as well as the bad.

So, is there one thing, above all else, I have learned from these relationships & liaisons? Have I been searching for something, a thing which, although allusive, grows into a solid mass of desire?

Oh, yes. I cannot say that it has yet become so defined that I can state what it is in twenty-five words or less, but I am beginning to see it more clearly. It has finally taken form.

Growing up, we are all told what the ideal must be. While this ideal may vary from one person to the next, there are certain aspects akin to each description. There are certain qualities or aspects related to all of them -- & they're not all fairy tales.

Somewhere along the line, I think due to the disappointment which we have all experienced, these qualities have been blurred. Let's face it, few marriages or relationships last. People are looking for things rather than senses. We're looking for money -- a "daddy" figure; we're looking for physical sensations -- not cerebral or emotional; we're looking for someone for now -- not a life time.

Maybe I'm a man out of time, or just old fashioned (read delusional). Sex & things are great, but do I give a damn if this woman or that can get me off? No. I'm much more interested in that sense of looking forward to being in her presence after work, a trip, or whatever. Am I looking for fantasy? Maybe in respect to finding an actual partner -- a woman with intelligence, rather than college degrees -- which we have to admit really don't denote intelligence; or that I seek someone with an artistic nature, rather than economic. By no means do I mean to discount sex, silliness, or even of roll-play. I just see too many looking for the wrong things.

Whatever happened to good times & bad, what happened to thinking of the other first, where are the compromises?

Are we all now doomed to disappointment in love?

A Galapagos of My Very Own

Your silence surrounds me
like a tattered coat in a winter storm.
Thoughts plaguing my
continued desire of a reunion with you.

Has it finally happened,
little fish marries the big fish,
or have you finally found
your little piece of the Galapagos?

Do you now laugh
that I had actually payed attention,
that I have learned
the ways of your once & now conflicted heart?

Twenty & more years ago,
you'd captured my heart with your eyes.
I can't stop the thoughts,
and I'd then written these words to you:

And rapture in your smile
like the time of my trials --
won't you help me along
to the end?
Endanger my past
with a wave of your stance,
will you make it the time
that we spend?

You have one to consider
when thinking of life
and lost touch with half
of the whole.
Well, maybe if we, or maybe if you....
Oh, hell. Can I start over
again?

May I bring you a flower
in the night for a while
and start a fire kindled
only by love?
If we find it's all right,
we can make it tonight,
and I'll try not to
fall out of bed.

Will you now leave me here
caught in the center of that storm?
Can't you just tell me
what lies in your mind?

Here, Without You

Like a lightning bolt to the heart
I sat stunned & enthralled there,
your eyes staring back at me
over the rim of your glass of Coke.

It was at that very moment,
with your smiling & beguiling,
I could feel the future I feared & greatly desired --
a future of you & me -- had finally begun.

Tender moments spent alone with you --
frightening sounds in the forest all round.
The long conversations we'd shared,
though no words did we need to exchange.

There was also enjoyment felt
as you'd ensnare the unsuspecting --
leading them on with their very own words,
only to leave them crushed at the realization of their folly.

What I miss most about you
are those silent conversations we'd had.
Feeling so content in you,
wishing they would never end.

The nights we'd shared in my Astorian lurch,
making love, caressing, & the whispers in the dark,
I cannot know with another --
my regrets at so many years now without you.

The times we'd shared --
all the good & all the bad --
fill my mind with desires
which come flowing in spasms from my heart.

This new silence between us
is not so warm, so filled with truth.
It screams & echoes through my emptiness,
my barren life here, without you.

A Different Angle

And I don't know what to do now --
if never again I'll be with you.
Zeppelin on shuffle brings me back --
dancin' days if only you'd make me your man.

Is it another man, or fear of what's gone on
that keeps you hiding, unwilling to talk with me --
the word of another too close & corrupted by drink
without the reality of the third voice to see what is?

You know better than any other
the man I am -- the years will never change.
Have you not questioned even once
that which you know cannot be true?

Let me back into your heart, your thoughts --
the very essence of what is you.
Such a future you won't regret
when it's your happiness I seek to forever bring.

How can you move on like this
without taking a chance, without a word exchanged?
Any place you go, I'll be with you --
the strength of that which is us will not let you go.

Wild One

So I'm watching this movie. Never mind which movie. That's not the point.

In this movie.... No, the title doesn't matter. In this movie, there are four artists. Three of them are in college studying their form of art, while the fourth just stumbles upon hers. As is often the case, movies don't make me think about the theme or moral the writer or director intends. It's all about me. It's always about me.

One of the characters is belittled by someone -- see, the movie is so negligible, I don't remember any of their names or who this someone is. Because the character just takes it, I'm reminded of my first art class. You see, I'd been drawing since I was twelve or thirteen. I wasn't particularly good at it, but I could look at something & reproduce it. It was neither a distinct depiction, nor was it impressionistic. It was just a pretty fair rendering of whatever I'd looked at.

As an aside, I'd created a water color & acrylic painting of flowers in a vase with a couple of nick-nacks back in...I think, first grade. This is probably the only piece I've created which I think is actually any good. That's what made me think to take an art class in eighth grade.

Everything was going smoothly. I'm drawing spheres & cubes, I'm learning how to shade things, etc. That's when the instructor decided to tell me I was wasting my time taking an art class. I sat listing to this very long & drawn out critique of my horrible lack of talent which made me feel as if my dear, old father, as he continues to do to this day, belittle & berate me for any of my efforts.

Naturally, I was crushed, completely defeated. I was worthless.

But it wasn't just that I had been lectured in this way by a teacher -- that hurt, but it wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was that a teacher -- a teacher of a subject I felt rather strongly about -- had done to me what my father had always done to me.

Granted, these pieces, these mere exercises in art, were no master pieces. But I remember that they weren't bad. What the teacher was getting at, I now know, was that they weren't like the others. Every student was following directions to the letter -- they couldn't draw outside the lines. I used odd colors, & I didn't draw to the scale I was told to.

A year later, in a guitar class, I began to stretch my rebellious nature. Sadly, my first steps in this took the form of defiance, but I was growing. My instructor, Mr Distacio, who had never touched a guitar, was teaching strictly out of the school district's lesson plan. We could only play these amazingly simple -- & downright boring -- songs from the one book allowed in class. I'd been teaching myself guitar for some five years before this class, & simply wasn't challenged by the likes of Down In the Valley & the wonder of Tom Dooley.

I, too often in that class, could do little more than hang my head.

Then came the day, the very first day of my rebellion. We were told to play a Christmas song. I snapped. I refused to play it. Three or four bars in, the instructor stops everyone & asks me why I wasn't playing. I'd replied, "It's against my religion".

I'm sure you can imagine his surprise.

He decided to ignore me -- after I took my stance & explained myself. At the end of the last class, he told me to stay. Once everyone was gone, he told me that he couldn't pass me to the advanced class because I refused to follow his instructions. I looked him in the eye & asked if that was the most intelligent decision he could make. I guess he didn't like this because he then started raving about my not following rules & that I'll never get anywhere in life if I wouldn't do what I was told.

As he continued to get louder & the vein on his forehead throbbed more fiercely, the door to the classroom opens. Mrs Vitt, head of the music department, storms in & asks Distacio what's going on. He goes into a long story about what a horrible & worthless student I am. Mrs Vitt stops him & says, "Don't you understand? This student should never have been made to take your class. He should have been placed in the advanced class from the beginning. You are incapable of challenging him. You will pass him."

Mrs Vitt turned to me & asked me to go with her. We left Distacio standing in shock behind us. I supoose he experienced a very profound aneurysm at this point.

In the hall, Mrs Vitt apologized -- really, she'd apologized to the likes of me for Mr Distacio's behavior & said she looked forward to seeing me in her class the next year.

Unlike Mr Distacio, I've had a number of other instructors in one form of art or another do what that first art teacher had failed to do. They would see something in my work -- not necessarily a good something, but clearly something different & would take the tack that I was doing it all wrong. The most shallow of these was a writing instructor in college. This was an odd class. One week we might have to write a three paragraph article with specific elements. That's journalism. The next, we'd be assigned a thousand word short story. I enjoyed this class, because each week would be something new.

This instructor had a check/minus system of grading. For many weeks, he was giving me his lowest, passing grade on my work. Here I was, slaving every night trying to come up with some way to raise my grades when one of these pieces was returned to me with big, red letters on top reading: SEE ME.

The rest of that day's class was filled with trepidation. Could I possibly have been wrong? Could the certificate in journalism I'd received a year before have been a scam? I just didn't know what to expect.

At the end of class, he starts off with my not being a bad writer, but that I might do well to question my abilities. He went on to rip everything I'd written in that class to shreds, leaving me not humiliated, but pissed off. Who does this piece of crap think he is to talk to me this way? Oh, sure. He published a book on writing. Note that he never mentions that he'd published it via the famed Carlton Press -- a publisher who publishes any book, so long as the author is willing to pay for it. Note also that he'd not sold a single copy to anyone except the idiots taking his class who believed actually had to buy his book to take the class instead of photocopying it in the library, as I & a few others had done.

But he wasn't kicking me out of his class. I took his assessment of my writing abilities & decided that I'd show him. I spent the next week writing, editing & honing the assignment. I felt very good about the result & turned it in.

Come Monday, I'd received...his lowest grade.

If I was pissed off during his lecture, I was now livid. This time, instead of entering into this next article in the manner he insisted was the only way to write well -- doing a little at a time & polishing it as you go -- I was going to do what I'd done through high school -- wait till the night before it's due, pump myself up with caffeine & GO!

Now, at this point, I was working at night, & I had classes in the early part of the day, as well as the late afternoon & evening. I lived twenty miles away from school, so going home in the middle of the day just wasn't practical. Besides, why pay twice what I was for gas?

So, as did & do so many other college students, I turned to Vivarin. Never mind that it made me jittery. Forget the fact my eyes were seriously blood shot all the time. Ignore how groggy I was, or what horrible things were happening to my liver. The stuff felt good, got me where I had to go, do what I had to do & made it possible for me to get back & forth to school & work.

Last night before this paper is due -- an all-nighter -- was the most fun I'd had since I'd started that class. I was so much more articulate, using those five & ten dollar words my instructor absolutely hated. I was flying.

Wouldn't you know, from that point on that bastard started giving me his highest grades. And, for some odd reason, he never had another word to say to me.

So, as little faith I may have in my own abilities, I can't help but pity any instructor I'll have in future. Either they will see something in my abilities, or they won't. But if they should get in my way, they're only going to succeed in forcing me to defy them & rebel.

I really hope that the instructor I get when I take my TEFL certification course challenges me too.

Pieces

I'm feeling you again
as if there really is a chance.
All I ask is a simple, little response,
even hi would suffice
to get things started,
to renew something I know you think about too.

Give me something,
just a little bit to go on.
Tell me what you're thinking,
the first thing up.
Would you really leave me here,
adrift with no communication, nothing shared?

You're not the kind of girl
to tease & play with any intent.
Perhaps, not one to take a leap of faith,
to pursue a renewal of what was once.
But your heart isn't hidden from me,
I know, not even you, can ignore the truth before you.

I need you,
I need your words too.
You've always been one to take your time,
to reach, eventually, your destination.
And I may grow a little impatient,
but can't you now, send to me just one little bit of your heart?

In An Effort

Early morning torment,
and I'm thinking of you.
Frustrated night,
and the blanket's on the floor,
Then in John Darnielle fashion, I slide across that floor and bash my head
against the wall in an effort to understand your continued silence.

Incoherent ramblings in my in-box,
and I'm still thinking of you.
Start some music playing,
and I'm assaulted by Farben Lehre's Snukraina
wandering what it's all about?
My Polish is lacking since you'd gone away,
and visions of your luscious body bring me no relief.

Do you ever wonder,
as I constantly do...
do you know what it is
You continually do to my peaceful nights,
turning them into awkward conversations with an empty room
or a fervent search for some sort of handy relief?

I have these flashes
of making coffee in a strange house --
your slumbering form under the blankets
you'd stolen from me in the night.
There's this contented feeling come over me,
as I stand there wondering exactly how much coffee I'd just put in the pot.

And you're coming home
after errands run.
There's your smiling face
seeking out my lips,
As I spill whatever I'm making all over the floor,
and we laugh at my stupidity as I stretch you out on the kitchen table.

And now Harry Nielsson's
screaming it out again:
We can make each other happy!
or the crooning in:

Cuando pienso en el futuro
veo todo tan oscuro,
no se por que te deje marchar,
y es necesario que te enteres sin tardar
de la verdad.

mi vivir
no es vida si no estas tu,
no podre
existir sin tu amor

I just don't have them,
the words I need to tell you,
My constant thoughts
and my fevered desires
Of what I want to bring you in the days and in the nights,
the making up for so much time lost, and clearer future, morning, evening, nights with you.

Been Thinking

And I've been thinking
about the way you left me there,
the last day I'd seen your eyes,
Standing confused and alone,
cursing the rain
as I stomped through the streets
back to the subway alone.

Counting Crows playing out every feeling
I've had about that day.
And he screams he's down on his knees,
his anguish of the girl's very needs.
I too am drowning, here
on my own Sullivan Street,
I'm struggling just to hear.

I'm in the desert now,
drying out from the incessant Seattle rain.
2,419 miles stretch out between us;
almost a straight shot
through the waste land,
crying out in broken echoes
in the night as I call out your name.

And I think again about that day,
wishing there were a way back to where we were.
No New York, no Brighton Beach or K&K
to ever darken our hearts again.
How about Toronto or Santiago or Medellin?
Or, perhaps, an adventure in our own back yard?
Just help me stop thinking about that day.

A Covenant of Two

Memories of what could be,
all the while listening to Yes, as yet another caller
leaves no message on my answering machine.
Could the impossibility of you,
with Leonard Cohen filling your heart with past regrets,
be reaching out to seek a new covenant with me?

I tell you repeatedly of my love,
I cry out the painful lyrics of others, as well as my own,
longing for the soft caress or your simple "Hi".
You know of my love of your home & culture,
& I tell you of my new-found desire for a Latin American escape,
but do you realize it's you I want -- anywhere you choose to be?

What can I say to you,
when everything has forever been said,
to provoke your response, to start new, to make our life?
What can I do for you,
as an Aries forever seeks to provide the Leo,
that will open communication, to renew the agreement of two?

Hanging

Do you experience moments
when you smile to yourself
knowing my heart still beats only for you?
Do you think of my touch
reaching you over these many miles
as another draws your attention away?

Is there ever a time
your thoughts of me arouse you
and cause you to touch upon memories of what we'd had?
Have you ever called out my name
in intimate embraces,
as I have called you incessantly with others?

I leave you missives
of my undeniable love
and wait as patiently as any man can.
So much lost
and so many questions
swirl through my anguished, tormented mind.

I see you sitting in your favorite chair,
or talking with a friend,
smiling in the knowledge of my calls but revealing nothing.
Keeping your joy or sadness
completely to yourself.
Do you think it fair to withhold the truth from even me?

Haunting Desire

I remember you best
in your peasant dress,
Your chestnut hair flowing & dancing
in those sultry NYC streets;
The sweet innocence
in your disbelieving eyes
When I'd explained the intent
of the guys who'd forever stop you in the street.

We'd drink & talk
late into the night,
And we'd make love for hours
with my Brother in the very next room.
I loved the embarrassment you'd felt
in those early mornings
When you'd remember
the sounds you couldn't help but make.

The love you'd brought to me,
and the pain we couldn't express
At our mis-communication
and child-like grasp of the desires we'd felt
Have never stopped
strangling my heart with one or another.
Your beauty and grace
haunt me each day and make me want you all the more.

OK. So today's Waking Angus looks suspiciously like my Lux Obscurus blahg, but that's just the way things go sometimes. Let's move on.

Bowling Night

Those wacky bowlers, eh? So, the shot's a bit shaky, I was rather drunk at the time.

Hate Fist

Who doesn't like a little street art & Hate Fist?

La Lune

La Nuit

Weird. I've been listening to Flamenco all morning, & thinking in French....

Lucky Motel

Feeling lucky...?

Morning Path

First snow after arrival. You know, it's supposed to snow more here than in Seattle. Not much more, mind you. But this is all the snow I've seen on the ground here in the past month. Oh, well.

Pioneer Theater

This place hasn't changed since I was a kid. I find it very comforting to return to this town after thirty years to find these little gems here & there. Eventually I'll get up to the university & get a shot of the planetarium. I'd seen a shot on Google Images showing that it's not changed either. There are also a couple of casinos which haven't changed, but I don't yet have a decent shot of them. I'll keep you all posted.

Shea's

This is Shea's Tavern, my favorite dive. The girls behind the bar are all great, & each has made a point of remembering my name & Guinness (now on tap!). I really can't get over the stupid video games on the bar & that cigarette machine in the corner. I remember in junior high school, these things -- ranging in price from $.45 to $.75 -- were once everywhere. Though I won't pay the five-plus dollar prices these things now demand (besides, I hate Merkin cigarettes), but I'm so happy to find them in so many places here.

Storm

Of course, the full-sized shot of this & the French-named shots above are much better, but Blogger only allows up to 8MB image size. Sorry.

Tunnel of Love

No, this is no tunnel. And I imagine the only love taking place here is of a wondrously lascivious nature, but dig that massive satellite dish! I guess size does matter to some.

United

This is another shot which exceeds Blogger's size limits. Can you imagine, an international airport in such a small town? It just boggles my mind. What won't be done in the name of greed.

12 February

Despite my being a night person, due to various necessities, I've taken to sleeping during the wee hours & getting up round the crack of dawn. I start these mornings -- as painful as it is at such a horrible hour -- by making a pot of coffee & then stepping out for a morning smoke. I would normally stay in where it's nice in warm for my cigarette, but having an asthmatic room-mate forces one to do many things one would never normally consider.

But there is a benefit to not just moving to a high altitude city & smoking outside. Each morning I come back in with the most wonderful head rush. That thin oxygen further, reduced by the wonder of tobacco, produces fantastic spinning sensations. I recommend this to all.

Now, understand -- if you've not got this already -- I'm a pretty liberal & accepting guy. I like diversity. I like it so much that if I really knew what "pride" were, I would be proud to be a freak. Oh, yes. I am a freak, happily so. But considering the majority of examples of pride in these (not-entirely-)United States sicken me, I really can't say I know what it is, let alone take actual pride in my freakdom.

So, it should surprise no one that I have lived in three American cities in which there is either a substantial or a large homosexual community. Homosexuals -- & all the sub-categories this misinformed & psychotic society has defined as "gay" -- are everywhere. Why would one of even Bush's piss-poor IQ pretend that they are any kind of minority? Get used to the fact those of us with little or no interest in the in-bred, conservative agenda are here to stay -- freaks & homosexuals alike. And some of us may just wind up marrying your daughters -- or sons (hey, some guys make pretty damn fine women).

I'm now living in what was once -- when I was growing up not far away, actually -- a very red-neck community. Sure, I was a pre-pubescent troll the last time I was in Reno Nv, but one doesn't become a freak -- just as homosexuals, we are born this way. I was aware from an early age what restriction was all about. Hell, my parents were (are, to some degree, though much tamer now) horrible bigots. If I wasn't hearing about how nasty the Oakies (those from Dust Bowl era Oklahoma, for those too young to know the term) were, it was blacks (or Negroes) this & Mexicans that. I never grasped prejudice, so I'd never had to reform my thinking.

Reno has become, by far, the most friendly & personable town I've ever lived in. If not for the fact people, complete strangers, in the street -- contrary to what Seattle would have the outsider believe of that town -- actually call out a friendly "Hello" or "Good morning", & I would never have imagined the welcome I'd received from the patrons of my new land-lord at his gay bar, the Cadillac Lounge.

From the moment Pam, my room-mate, & I had walked in, I just felt accepted for being who I am. Unlike the gay bars -- or simply drag nights in straight bars -- in San Francisco, NYC, & Seattle -- no one cared what my orientation might, or might not. be. There were free drinks, jokes, decent conversation...generally. A good time was had by all.

Then came the invitation to a monthly drag night.

The Cadillac puts on various shows during the month, but Pam & I had been invited to what they call "Campy Drag Night". OK, so it turned out to be considerably tamer than the average drag shows I'd glimpsed elsewhere, but it was a fun night -- despite the older woman who'd kept insisting I kiss her.

The highlight would have been a rather attractive trans-something (no offense -- she may actually just be a very feminine guy & trans-nothing), quite passable girl who's facial structure & voice are far more that of a woman than a man, having decided that she wanted to dance with me. I don't dance, but I certainly didn't want to be rude. So, I danced.

I suppose the situation was made more surreal than the shots of Bushmill's & Guinness alone had made it by the fact she & I were dancing to that silly Mexican (sounding?) song known to most any American often associated with the "Mexican Hat Dance" (that may be the title, but something tells me the song has little to do with real Mexican music).

In the end, I wasn't drunk enough to hit on her, or anyone. Perhaps a missed opportunity, but I think she was just having fun with one of few (or, possibly, the only) straight guy in the place -- but she was great & told me that I'd been a "...great sport".

A great sport, eh? Heh.