Daily flash

-Final draft-


I am a daily Huffpo reader. In fact I visit Arianna's site and other political blogs through the day and rant a lot about the subject here but before Bush, I wasn't much into politics. Always figured it only scratched the surface. I thought, and still do, that we have to go deeper for solutions. I didn't march for peace or women or civil rights, not that I don't believe in all that. Instead, I sought the answers through poetry, art, music, cultivating spiritual awareness and a hell of lot of booze and dope, believing that changes must occur at a subterranean level first if they are to survive the forces of ignorance and apathy later. I've since given up the chemical path to enlightenment but still believe in the rest. On the other hand, perhaps because of people like me who don't want to be drawn away from our personal pursuits, our county is sinking in the ocean of shit and our shit-for-brains president and pirate crew are looting not only America in broad daylight, but the world, as we watch, slack-jawed. I suppose it's only history repeating itself, but damn. This time I thought it was going to be different.

These days I am having one of those out of body experiences you read about, where the observer is the observed. I feel like a gawker at a car wreck. I am watching America implode, mesmerized by the gore, detached, a bystander uninvolved in the outcome. As though it has nothing to do with me. As though my life will continue unaffected by what happens to the bleeding survivor trapped in the twisted metal. So what if our country has been hijacked from within? As though all I have to do is shop and pay my bills with a credit card and everything will turn out okay in the end. Because, after all, I am a good person.

I wax and wane in this hypnotic trance but, until now, I still trusted that if enough of us spoke out together we would not only wake ourselves up, we could abort this hostile take over of America but something Arianna posted this morning challenged that assumption.

"So, it can no longer be denied: the right wing lunatics are running the Republican asylum."

"No longer be denied? No LONGER?"

Just now Arianna, one of the enlightened ones, is coming to this? The Republican party is a right wing lunatic organization. Look at their actions. Actions speak louder than sound bites. If Arianna is just now seeing this then, not only is the Republican party a band of right wing lunatics, we are more compliant and sunk deeper in the morass than I had ever dare imagine.

We can count on one thing. The world sees us for what we are, a blood-thirsty mob of crippled bullies satisfied to talk about change as long as nothing changes. Blah blah blah. Lately, I've been trying to get out of this mental dance-o-death. Concentrate on poetry, puppets, music. Friends, sick of my rants, have been encouraging me. I don't know. Seems there is no going back. And no way forward.

Tomorrow has finally arrived

Uncle Monkey welcomes you.

Fruity Rudy - Giuliani in the wild

I don't give a shit if Fruity Rudy gets his freak on but the hypocrite promises to support a constitutional ban on gay marriages. What's up with that, Giuliani? Right out of the Bush mold, politics trumps Constitution and Bill of Rights every fucking time.



Giuliani Fruity Rudy civil rights gay marriage

Bible Babel

I never did care for the bible. Growing up Catholic, the church wouldn't even let us laity read it. Confusing, the priests said. 5th class scripture, Bhaktivedanta said later. And I really don't like the bible these days with THE SAVED running helter skelter condemning everybody to hell who doesn't accept their patented SALVATION. I understand this clip from the West Wing has been around for a while but I just found it tonight via 2parse/blog and find it very satisfying. Next time one of THE SAVED starts spewing their cherries, I'm going to lob a few of these, chapter and verse. Oh I know they have "explanations" for everything but choir member I am not.


Scene from the West Wing - Bible quotes

NaNoWriMo tips

my apologies to Benedetta Bonichi for screwing with her beautiful artwork.

"Art is never finished, only abandoned." - Leonardo da Vinci

To which I add, "To abandon a work, one must first begin it."

NaNoWriMo is coming up and for those of you preparing to do it this year, here are the tips as promised.

Abandon all, ye who enter here.
Husband/wife/partner/children/friends/pets/work associates/probation officer. Let them all know in advance that they are on their own for the month of November, orphans all, no exceptions. One successful NaNo writer here in Reno, she completed 3 manuscripts in the last 3 years, prepares in October. She fills the freezer with frozen dinners, stuffs the pantry with snacks and easy to prepare boxed meals, soup to nuts, to keep the family alive while she lives the dream. They will survive. November is novel writing month. They can deal with it if you make it clear in advance that this is their only option. Don't worry. Besides, it is over all too soon.

Be a slob.
Another thing this woman does is buy a few sets of cheap sweat pants and tops in advance so that she doesn't have to think about what she's going to wear during NaNoWriMo. If you have to deal with a dress code at work, church, seeing your PO ... whatever ... figure it all out now. You don't want to waste time doing it November.

Word count is everything.
Tell the damn Internal Editor to take a hike. Don't edit. Write. No exceptions. Be a word slut. Keep the fingers moving no matter how nasty the writing may be. One thing I did to throw my IE off the scent was change the color of my font from black to white. Silly as that may sound, it helped.

Avoid distractions at all cost.
Admit your powerlessness over people, places and things. For example, I quickly learned that I could not write in my office because when I am here I always end up down the rabbit hole. Guaranteed. It starts simply enough. Got to go to dictionary.com to look up a word or hop on google for a flash to check a reference. Lies! All lies! Once I get online it's over so I pulled the plug. I took a crummy old laptop, left the wi-fi card at home, and ran to a public place almost every day. It cost me maybe 100 bucks in bistro coffee, food and gas but it was worth it. Consider it office rent. Cheap.

Word count is EVERYTHING.
Don't Do not use contractions. Avoid hyphenated words. Expand. Let the bullshit flow. You've got what it takes. I know you do!

Participate in the NaNo community.
Join a regional NaNo forum. Don't think that you are better than everyone else, that they are amateurs and you the real writer. You can do it for 30 days. Support is vital. Visit the NaNo site often. Listen to NaNo Radio. It helps you remember what you are doing. I also donated to the project, the minimum 10 bucks which put a golden halo over my name in the forums. Besides being a way to express my appreciation for all the work the organizers put into it, I felt more a part of things. Trust me. It helps.

Get some writing buddies.
Get competitive. It makes it more real. Go to a local write-in. Get down with other crazy writers in your area. Remember, they are also trying to write the first draft of their novel in 30 days.

Don't fall behind!
If you do, the wolves will get you.

my apologies to Toby Mitchel for screwing with his charming artwork.

Write damnit! WRITE!
1666.6666666666666666666666666667 words a day. Once ya get yer groove goin, ain't no thang. Stay up to catch up. This is your month to go crazy so go crazy! If you have prepared your circle properly, they won't try to talk you out of it when your hair starts arcing with electrostatic energy.

No, I won't be participating this year. I haven't done anything with the still steaming 50,000 word pile I did last year but I will be there in spirit and checking up on your progress. It's a blast. Love it. Treat yourself to the madness and the fun. It's worth the trouble.

Behind the seen

I think Uncle Monkey is cutting some back stage deal with Rat Woman to be artistic director around here. I don't know what she has to say about things. I think that damn cape has gone to her head.

Ready? Or not.

Here it is. The sexy new black brace, mostly for night time. Three weeks of PT then the stitches come out. I can do a little two-handed typing now and I even drove to the post office to pick up my mail this afternoon. Rockin. I've been stalled on my creat-a-thon for the last two days but tomorrow I'll be back, sweating it out in front of the camera.

M. Lee and G. are now in San Carlos but they had a terrible day yesterday, just after crossing the border. The trailer broke away from the truck. Big mess. Lucky for them the damn boat didn't fall into the street. And luckily the cops didn't show up for bribes and all that bullshit. Instead a bunch of people immediately volunteered their help, including some guys in a pick up truck who luckily had a hitch and pulled them to a Pemex (the state run gas station, a monopoly) which, as luck would have it, just happened to be across the street and next door to a junkyard that, luckily, had the right size hitch. Lucky they weren't in the states where people just drive around you when you're having a problem.

Now the guy who owns the boat is a good friend. A great guy. I don't mean to be rude but he is, oh how can I say? Sloppy. His business until the trailer breaks away from the truck and one of its tires blows out in the middle of a busy Mexican street all because the fucking ball in the hitch is the wrong size. And probably the tire was bald. Then another problem today in San Carlos. The gas line for the outboard motor came off and the boat drifted to shore and beached. More luck. Sandy shore. Shallow draft. No big deal. Lucky again. And that is a problem. The right size hitch, good tires, making sure the gas lines are fitted properly? Not things you leave to luck. M. Lee is furious and G. is, as you can imagine, miserable.

They both feel horrible. In cramped quarters. They are good friends but very different. M. Lee researches everything first. Everything. But when it's done, it's right, or at least reliable. G. goes with whatever is handy. I'm more like him. This may be a shorter trip than planned. They haven't decided yet but I'm pretty sure they won't be doing any over night camping in remote lagoons.

For your amusment

Four short clips of animals
solving everyday problems.
Guaranteed to amaze and delight you
(if you have a heart).



Smart Animals - video via Metacafe

Wednesday cast removal day

None too soon, if you ask me. This thing leaves zero wiggle room and by the end of the day my hand is really annoyed. If I could just BE STILL, but alas that is never going to happen. A friend is coming by in a hour to pick me up. The doctor is in Reno but here I sit, one hand typing. That should be my new name, One Hand Typing. Or maybe Left Hand Mousing. It slows ya down, but it is a good exercise in mindfulness. I will say that. Anyway, I leave the fort. Other than to refill the bird feeders, I haven't stepped outside since the toy train left for Mexico.

100 seconds of crude

Okay, here is my internet musical debut. I recorded it this morning; another step in my ongoing efforts to rise above crippling shyness, soul crushing isolation, face the machine, and just be myself. Don't ask me why.

This is an improvisation. The melody is simple-minded and fumbled out and the video itself is jumpy. I should be ashamed of myself but apparently not enough. So here it is, for your pleasure, 100 seconds of crude.

The blogging life

 

This episode of Achewood just happens strike a special cord with me.

Mr. Bear's blog

Life in the house and other residencies

Here I sit doing another blog post, as predicted. My hand hurts. I slept on it wrong last night and it is crabby and swollen inside the cast today. Except for the bugs scurrying about their business, and of course the Invisible Theatre troupe, there is no other life in the house. It's not that M. Lee and I talk much during the day. I pass his door on my way to the kitchen. I see the back of his head but he is there and now he is not. For a month. This is supposed to be my 30 days of wild creative abandon but mostly I just feel lonely. What a simp. I would blow a residency in this mood. Interesting that Poets.org is accepting submissions beginning today for the Walt Whitman Award. It includes a 30 day residency at the Vermont Studio Center.

Black Balloons

Climate Project

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