Overcast weather, birds galore seek their wants, Ipod rumbles deep into my skull. The volume is way up, as per usual.
I'm back, farmer-tanned, and bad as a steel strap, and the storyboard is almost complete.
I've been playing drums as much as I've been listening to drums, lately. My gastrocnemius on the right wakes me up with its protest, sometimes all too early. Working on the bass.
Fair Readers, listen to this: (or buy it on Itunes, I certainly did.) Pay up, Apple.
"There's a light,
And I can see it in your eyes
There's a memory,
Of the way you used to be.
Nothing's gone,
It still shines,
Every time you turn it on,
And when,
You slow it down..."
Serena Ryder, kicking ass like Shirley Bassey, in the first 1/2 minute of "Stompa" that they never play on the radio..
I'd love to say that 'temporal discharges' have hindered me these last 8-plus weeks, from my self-assigned duties to this blog/column.
But that ain't it.
It's more real than that. Isn't it? Of course it is.
A full pallet of pre-mixed concrete. Multiple saws screeching. Engineering stakes sunk soundly into glacial till. The inevitable power supply issues. Respirators. Brush-finishing. Fanned-angle blinds. Brass corner brackets. Helping two young friends with their Friday vocab test-words the night before. Fettucine alfredo from scratch. Occasional roast organic chicken, perhaps stuffed with onion bagel scraps and imported Chilean apples. Actual drum kit, needs a 10" crash but otherwise adequate. Actual bass guitar w/ amp. Writing words in notebooks, reviewing journals for tidbits. Carrying around a bastard file to sharpen anything. Helping strangers push inoperative cars onto tilt-trailers.
And pulling hemlock wherever I see it. Fucking hemlock. (Pull it now, people - it is ready to go to seed, planning to ruin your garden life. You really don't want that, trust me.)
Plus my weed-eater now has the right diameter line, so there's that.
I'm a bit euphoric here, I messaged to the XO. No response necessary, I prompted. Maybe he received it, maybe he didn't.
The lively tangerine colour of that inner room was pleasantly warm to the exposed skin, and as I thought that, the Wibros reacted with a vibrating S-shimmy that changed through several complimentary tones of yellow and red against the sheer wall of light in the room.
"What the fu..." I thought. That almost looked liked intricate dancing. Or, luminous spaghetti spazzing out.
Durd'n gurgled, like a laugh, and I realized that perhaps we all shared our thoughts in this room - and he clasped his claws as he turned to me.
"Shplick sh'kloc houf." His eyes rotated around their stalks, but it wasn't like he could glare at me to make a point. I felt like he did, however.
What he'd spoken sounded mildly juvenile and laden with the dirty burden a fart-joke entails.
Then I found myself laughing, like I'd nailed it.
So, there's news sports-fans, Beatrix and her imported husband put a video on Youfacetube. (Not giving the address, of course.) My unenlightened, knee-jerk observations are...
1) They're made for each other; they both spew the same tautological mantras and have the counseling/coaching backgrounds to confidently utter them, and actually believe them. They're tautologies, for fuck's sake.
To paraphrase some of them:
"If you're having a conflict, then you're the one having the conflict."
"We use the context of our partnership as a classroom for the spirit." (WTF?)
"Sometimes, you just get to be 'right.' And sometimes, I do." (inside-joke chuckle ensues...)
"Get a room," I would offer. Mini-date my ass.
I actually have to thank them for re-confirming my opinion that counselors/therapists/coaches are so disconnected from human reality that they must succinctly codify and create new meta-ideas (that aren't at all new) to preserve the belief that they actually do/create/enhance something. There's an almost desperate tone to their need to be somehow valuable to society here. We know only the well-heeled can afford a personal life-coach, someone who can tell you to 'visualize your future' and 'disregard the past' and YOU TWO make money repeating these bromides. Those people/clients aren't society. Your clients are entitled pricks who are bored, when making money ceases to have that itch-you-can't-scratch allure. As coaches, only those people with more money than actual problems gets headed your way.
B) They're completely convinced that they're the smartest/cleverest people they know. That fetid arrogance is almost sickening to behold. For God's sake, you're both divorcees, so you aren't THAT good at relationships. (Beatrix, how many times have you said 'yes' to a marriage proposal? I know I was #1. High-five!)) Graduate school and all the fixin's tend to make a person think they know Everything. I've watched the video 3 times, once with a few friends, and the general consensus is that between her husband's 'clucking sounds' and her cynical attempts at deprecating humor, they really think they're the bee's knees. Congratulations on not spraining your arms patting yourselves on your backs for staying 'in your relationship.' You must have stretched out first.
III) They both think of themselves as 'connected with spirit' and 'constantly evolving souls.' Welcome to Life 101. We're all constantly evolving and seeking life's answers. Another tautology, then, isn't it? Way to be 'human!'
I find myself thankful she chased me away, demonized me, targeted me with putrid hate, and generally treated me like shit. Things worked out better that way, I believe. I had to learn hubris, restraint, and compassion for those who don't really deserve it.
Eventually, I learned to quit hating her, and by bad-extension, quit hating myself. I could only beat myself up for so long about falling into love and/or loving her. Truly blinded, I was. Her enduring silence proves my assessment - she is partially sociopathic, probably was Borderline Personality Disorder afflicted at one time, and finds it easier to be fearful than to be courageous.
For example, from her blog: "To engage with upsets from an enlightened perspective... seems challenging at best."
"Enlightened Perspective." Gawd I love that. It says volumes about your current self-image.
Beatrix, you're older and somewhat wiser, but you're still stuck with your still-self-serving head in those paisley New Age clouds. I'll know when you pop out of them, won't I? The birds will sing Enya or something, right?
Too-da-loo, back to the novel. Gotta spit it out.
