isn't just a figment of your imagination, or rather my imagination. It's more like a bitter taste of life rather than fiction. Beer this morning was a nice way to avoid breakfast, or was it? It's like drinking bread, so what's the big deal? The train ride into the city was nice. It was around 8:30 or so. Sun already up. To me it felt like 2pm, but probably because I'm so used to getting up at 4:30-5am. Sometimes I wake up around 2am because I have strange dreams, and I'm ashamed to talk about them, so I don't. Oh yes, the ride in. Without my phone I've been relying on my mp3 player to tell me what the time is when needed or when bored.
I had a chance to dig some intel out of my Hebrew professor about something. Or someone? I don't know which, or rather, would not like to discuss, but anyhow I got the intel I wanted. And then I found out a test date which is coming up. I had spaced that out completely.
And today is the first time I have been able to post EVERY single day for a month. Although due to my excitement, or optimistic depression, I have done 31 posts, and managed to do at least one everyday, acknowledging such. 40 posts for October. Not bad.
At 11am, I could tell that the veracity of the sun's rays
on my face, reflected the feelings of my heart.
I couldn't tell you why I sat on the bench
that long staring at the yellow leaves.
When I stood up I could not stop smiling,
as that god-damned Modern Major General song,
stuck in my head while I reflected on the bad things in my life,
and how I resolved them or rather how they were resolved with help.
plays over the speakers as I buzz up over what's left of the beer from the fridge. If kites, on a string, could fly in the rain, I'd be in the stratosphere. Shit. I wish I could say more. Beer is like that. Especially with the Smiths. Maybe it's because my phone died and won't charge? Fuck, I'm phone-less for a month? Doesn't bother me none!
Today is a Sunday with nothing to report other than things are wet, cold, and miserable. And yet I cannot register things of such nature as a problem, as the problems I see are something you'd laugh at. It's about as cold on the outside as it is on the inside. I don't feel or notice the difference until the knee gives me pain, or until I hop in the shower. The only highlight was the declaration that I will set the puzzle on fire [Link]. And I hope to do it within the next two months. I hope I can get it on video.
I wasn't happy that I turned off today.
But, I wasn't sad either as I flicked that switch off, smiling.
Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want played in the background of my thoughts and room. When it was over, My Arms Keep Missing You performed by Rick Astley came on.
Was this evening passing through hell? So far I still have beer.
I was bored the other day at work and decided to read about blasphemes such as zodiac signs, be them chinese or Greek. Upon further inspection I decided to look at "sign" combinations. While I don't believe in this kind of bullshit, I do think it's interesting to read about and reflect on in terms of whatever it says is truthful or entertaining.
"Two signs that can heal each other!" The title said, and I couldn't help but draw myself closer to the reading. "[A]nd they also have a common tendency towards the religious aspects of life." Just words like that alone sound promising to me, and I had to keep reminding myself that most of this was bullshit or wishful thinking anyhow, even if some of the dialog could be associated with my own experiences in life. I'm sure if I randomly associated symbols with friends without using their date of birth, I could find similar results. I didn't need to when I read the next compatibility link.
[C]an two swords fit in the same scabbard?
By the time I finished reading that sentence my brain had already an image influx threesomes with DV and DP active highlights.
So are these things worth knowing? Yes.
Should they be taken seriously? No.
If they're not taken seriously is it because they are wrong in their assessment?
That's the problem isn't it?
You read a sign and it says or reminds you of what you want in your life, or rather, what you need. Then you reflect on whether or not the other person actually fits the criteria. If they do, then you'd believe the zodiac is right. Yet if they don't then you dismiss it (the zodiac) or keep looking (at newer, detailed ones) until you get what you want or get bored dismissing it. Or like most people you accept your lot in life because you feel guilty for doing what you believe is right. Sometimes doing the right thing isn't without pain. But again, I digress. If you believe zodiacs are bullshit commie-pink-fag-wishful thinking, then you'll end up going to shul. I happen to just be going to shul anyhow, so what I think doesn't really matter on the issue.
The day's exercise has trained me to not think it terms of a hypothetical or try to imagine the future in my mind, unless I'm executing actions towards that specific goal, and then later as a vehicle towards a dream. No one wants to be with someone coming up with hypothetical children's names only to end the relationship before such comes into fruition. So it's best to avoid such ideas, unless one is actually on the track for such, and not because of guilt, boredom, or sacrificed freedom or principles for security.
He didn't drive fast enough. So I passed him and everyone else who was on board with his mentality. From the far right lane it was the easiest thing, and no surprise that it was totally empty. I could tell today was going to be just as cold if not colder than the previous day, so saith my knee, or was it the hunger that drove my knee towards frustration? Probably both.
Blue skies, still damp with lingering darkness. I was letting the cold in at two-sixty-eight, which is my way of saying: two windows down, and 68 miles per hour. Lights on the road began to shut off, but I didn't stop smiling. There wasn't much else to do, other than to do what I've said I declared intention of doing. So far I've upheld all ends, or am in the process of such, outside of sharing want and desire. Yet of those two, they seem more of a disease. But I do not know. The ends that have yet to be held up in completion are often the most arbitrarily hardest ones for me, although they obviously are financial ones since the burdens of surgery expenses, my present living situation, and public-trans fucking my super-pass up has made life miserable at times. But I still smiled this morning, neither dismissing nor welcoming the darkness as it fled west. I watched the sun chase it away.
Inside I feel that it's cold here as well, which may or may not be a good thing since it helps me wonder about people. Thoughts drift towards if they can make the distinction between mercy and sacrifice, or even with greed and love. And I smile, because I can see the want to have both in most people's behavior, and it's even more apparent when it is feasible for them to have both with impunity. Why wait for impunity? Is not such without responsibility or integrity? To execute love with impunity? I don't know if such is possible with humans.
Is it a desire or a disease?
Are my thoughts and feelings even welcomed to question such?
I don't know, but I do know it's still beautifully cold outside, even though it's just as cold on the inside, sometimes uglier.
She asked me if I smoked, I was nervous. She smiled. What could I have done? She got close to me. I wanted an embrace. She frowned at me, hiding a smirk. I beer-ed myself up.
Her physical and emotional nicotine gave me a high. I was drinking in class again.
She said, "I'll call you sometime." It was clear that what she wanted she couldn't put into words or tangible feelings yet. She left, I sat in front of the TV.
Just like a violated torah, not being read, yet opened, she left me. Or was it my feelings? Unfortunately, nothing exists to cover us.
Children outside rush toward the river's bank, each with a folding pram cradled in their arms. I saw the sun overhead.
I woke up again, feeling the cold pre-dawn air. I don't see the sun come up or go down anymore. The waking days begin in darkness and end in the same manner, only slightly more callous. A cheap and amicable affirmation of depression waits in a pint glass named "Temporary Resignation". It doesn't yield to the smirk on my face.
The most recent update of the iPod by Apple has a neat function with blogger. If you click on the title of this, or another title that's posted on this blog, and then click "Reader" where the URL is at. It turns the blog into a book-esuqe looking (web)page. I don't know if this works with other mobile devices.
So far it's pretty neat, but the bullshit happens when colors or other things come into effect, or rather not come into effect.
Pros:
Gives a book-like feel to the reading experience
Makes things black-on-white for easier reading, depending on how you feel
Links appear to still function
YouTube support
Cons:
It's bullshit that text ONLY appears as black-on-white, goodbye oranges.
Not all pictures show up.
Format changes a bit.
So basically the reader function is more like a novel idea, geared for those who want to read at their own leisure without the color and structure that I personally enjoy. Since I've wrote most of the shit here, I don't personally see the reason to use such for my own personal consumption, as most blogs I read are done via desktop PC.
None of this matters anyhow unless you own a mobile device (such as that of a iPhone, iPod, iPad, whatever).
I feel like God ought to feel the same way about humans. We're a great idea, but the end result, with humans acting on their own volition, kind of sucks. If you don't believe me, look up Die Endlösung [Link].
Midday I watched a few snow figures move around me as I sat in my own cloud of smoke alienating myself from the world. Or was it the world alienating me? The smoke was dense, probably as dense as my self-esteem, which does not mean I lack respect for myself. It means that I acknowledge things as trivial and declare such. Some people would say that if you do not respect yourself you do not deserve the respect of others. If such is true, then what about Hitler? Outside of all the Jew killing, if he did not do such, would he really have been worthy of respect? It's not like people really give a shit about Poland anyhow, or France for that matter. Especially since the Russians also attacked Poland and killed a massive amount of Polish officers who were captured by the Russians. This fact was hidden for a long time, at least 2000 polish officers died at the hands of the then NKVD, later known as the KGB. Seriously how can one genuinely feel as if they deserve respect, if there is no love? Can you love someone to the point of disrespect? Can you respect without love, even a little bit? I do not think such is possible, lest it would not be call love.
Yet I digress. Can you dig it?
And, I have yet to learn this "digging" term in Hebrew, as I know they're a bunch of diggers of information (and gold) in general.
Digging? Not as much as my cigar buzz. A pack a day? Doesn't matter. Beer'ing it up? Doesn't matter. Even if I had three in a hour.
I saw the snow figures stare at me. I also stared in my own haze. And the cold and callous snow avoided me.
Figures in white, against the grey. I wondered if they really needed clothing. Were they as cold inside as I assumed them to be? If so, why bother wearing clothing? Was my emotional smoke enough to melt them, or was it the foul nature of tobacco that drove them away? Would I genuinely know if I never shared my feelings on the issue or issues? What did I want? Does it matter? Did I really believe such? Would anyone care to ask me? Again, does it matter? It doesn't matter if I'm going to lose. Does it? The sickness of hunger was only enhanced now when I realized I may not be the only one who may lose. But yet again, I smile as I can always slow down these thoughts with a biblical flood of alcohol into my blood-stream, just slowing myself enough. Slowing myself enough to run only the primary tasks of the brain. Not to forget. Not to avoid, but to slow down. It's a shame I can't drive this way, at least legally that is.
A long time acquaintance in grey saw me in my desperation to resolve such feelings. We chatted as if it were a brisk jaunt, moving around the atmosphere of others ignoring them as we talked. With the exception of snow people, or was it just one? Thick leaves, fruit, what else could be made from such? Anyway my grey-friend and I are more or less familiar with my own dialog, as I ought to be with my own dialog anyhow. When we had a chance to sit down, and my desire, or emotional depression-driven disease for alcohol told me to sit down and drink, she told me that I am much less anxious before when we first met. I think I was 20 then. Has it really been that long? 6 years? A lot changes in 6? Is not love of life the same? Anyhow, let's call her Top-Coyote since her name has the name ring as a Native American, without the redskin or heritage.
Either she kicked me or was vying for some kind of physical reaction as I felt her shoe's tip hit the shin of my crossed legs, even after I had motioned them away. I couldn't tell. We exchanged numbers, and after we parted she texted me saying she was free on weekends. I don't mean exchanged in that way. I don't think she had any other means of contacting me.
I don't consider her in league with the hookers and pot I often wonder about, although that taste is far from my mouth, although IPA isn't. Yet I did wonder if our relationship of friendship would or could develop into mutual escapism, regardless of the degrees of enjoyment I had expressing dialog and receiving such. I do know however that she becomes "bored" with those she shares intimacy with, albeit I am not sure if that includes intellectual, as I know eventually such happens with boyfriends in TC's case.
A cigar buzz lingered, well after an hour. It's been that long since I've sat down I think. Maybe it's because of an empty stomach, which isn't entirely true, as I had beer earlier today. Cheap tasty beer. I wonder if my life is a 24 hour bender, that lasts several weeks? It's only a problem if there is admission of such. I imagine love is the same.
a bender:
A term commonly used to describe a period of time (preferably more than 24 hours) spent escaping life's harsh realities (marriage, work etc) Consumption of alcohol and[/or] drugs is a must. Anything goes.
I feel as if when I participate in life, since nothing can be done of significant spiritual value, the drunkenness or desire for such is less of a disease than that of life. Since life's prescription in itself is death, one could conclude that life IS a disease which causes death. And no, I do not think that is morbid, especially since at present I am writing this near a philosophy department.
Today has been eventful enough to merit more drinking and another pack, albeit the former may wait for me at home. It's all I can think about to avoid the snow people and trees. A tree, in a garden. The tree that affirms life and responsibility. Thick and lush. Does such protect me from my intellectual and emotional nakedness? It worked for Adam and Eve, I'm sure something could work for me, as it kept them warm, did it not? I hope God doesn't mind.
Snow people. Yes. Snow people. At 5:10 am, I arrived in the concrete jungle, away from the darkness. Oh you couldn't imagine the darkness even if I told you. It wasn't just something that lived with me at times, it is real. I've seen it chase me, even lord over my being at times. Once I drove into it, and retreated out of fear. Or was it because I would run out of gas? It is nothingness. Clouds as black as the firmament. No stars, no nothing. If I called out to God, I'm sure even He would say, "Do not venture this way, as I do not. So saith the Lord thine bitches." You wouldn't imagine the cold I felt this morning, in the isolated streets of orange reflective vests and grim unshaven faces. These weren't snow people. I don't know if they were people. But they were something.
You wouldn't want to be there, but I was. You wouldn't want to see what I saw, but you'd want to hear the stories. So why would you tell me you don't want to see how I feel? And as your emotions rear as a startled horse, why would you reject such if you weren't there? I can only wish these days that I could say what I want with such. It doesn't belong in the past. It is what it is.
And when that fails, the only ones who don't escape are the five remaining of six, waiting to be slaughtered tonight in a desperation without enthusiasm or emotion. A prison of bottle caps and glass. It's amazing that the objectives of prisoners, be it duress, anger, solitude, do their best to escape such. So what about prisoners of love, joy, and compassion? Ought they escape into solitude? Anguish? And malice? Are they not entitled to such, or are they?
Are they?
I don't know, I usually consult these issues with friends.
Sometimes I forget that questions are often important in life, and sometimes I am afraid to answer the important ones: the ones that follow me. Sometimes I'm afraid. The power of questions is amazing. It's not so much the answer, but the fear of such questions that pushes us to hide. Sometimes people avoid answering such, regardless of whether or not they are rhetorical. I recall a program that reminded me of such questions, here they are:
Who are you?
What do you want?
Why are you here?
Do you have anything worth living for?
With the last three as just a segue from the first four.
Where are you going?
Who do you serve?
Who do you trust?
A few times in my life I have said I cannot live without X or Y, and I often suggested such when I was unable or fearful to answer a question in the way that represented my feelings. So I forgot to respect the question with an honest answer. I detached myself in the process. And I'm sad that I make this mistake often, out of fear and fear of appearing selfish. I find the balance between purity and fear to be a difficult thing. And it is a terribly repugnant thing that I cannot figure this out.
I wasn't sure if it was Michael Bolton's voice or if it was the morning blues that took away my appetite. Every bite seemed forced. I had no desire for anything that wasn't a watery liquid, and I would much rather drink ice-tea for breakfast instead of eating, but I knew I needed be in collusion with my stomach or else I'd feel like shit for the rest of the day. Okay, not the rest of the day, but somewhere near the mid-point.
Personally I have felt hunger throughout my whole life, not in the sense that I acknowledge it as an experience, but it often comes back in my life rather than making structured plans to avoid it. But I often don't feel a general "hungry" feeling like a lot of people, rather I almost have a hunger based around being famished. To me hunger negates concentration and living. It's not just about a griping stomach vying for control of the body and mind. Hunger to me is like slowly laying off employees until the factory no longer functions the way it was designed.
I have long concluded that emotional hunger is much worse, much more devastating, and dangerous when not addressed. Yet at times, I find that the "food" necessary to find the solution for such is often few and far in between the annals of life.
"So? How do you feel?" I don't know, I haven't expressed it in totality.
"What do you want?" I can't tell you. I suppose, I'm afraid.
"Them's the brakes, isn't it?" Isn't it. Is it? Is it?
"You know it doesn't have to be this way, it could be better." I think it can be too.
Maybe tonight, I will go for a drive? And take in the Night?
It calls me these days. It misses me, and I miss it.
It asks me not to drink. It asks me not to smoke.
And so I try to do less. And I try to do none at all.
And nothing is easy when you do it alone, nothing at all.
Sometimes it asks me things, and tells me things.
And yet, it leaves with the coming specters of colored dark shades.
It leaves with the purple, and the marmalade colors of orange in yellow.
It leaves with the pink. Oh the pink!
It's so pretty in pink. But it leaves me at times
To deal with itself, in the night. In the dark
Just as I deal with myself.
Could I bring tonight to Night?
And the Night comes for me everyday.
And sometimes it wants to talk to me without words.
And I talk to it, with the windows down and the radio on as I drive.
I looked at the stars, and I saw three of them.
I knew the Night was calling.
I knew the Night was young,
And yet as soon as it would begin
it would be old. But as it got old,
I loved it more. I loved its sincerity.
And I did not want to go away.
I did not want to go back to sleep.
I prayed for wings.
I did not need the sleep,
the wings, ideas of escape.
I could put on airs about myself and others with words.
I could hide away in the night. I could hide in the day.
The Night could hide away in the night. It could hide away in itself.
Just like I could. Just like we could.
But when it was done. And I step out of the car, I would still hear,
I would still hear the Night and see the night.
And I would still be myself.
And myself was telling me to do another lap, to continue driving.
To continue thinking.
To continue wondering about the maker of the night.
The Night and I thought about God, who created the light.
Maybe the Night and I will think about it together tonight?
Maybe we will say nothing.
When I step out of the car, and I walk inside
I forget sometimes that I take the Night with me,
and that very night follows me inside.
Follows me throughout my day. In the day even!
I wonder if the Night took a part of me?
I suppose that's a thought for another night.
On another drive. Onto where the tears of bourbon,
and where the breath of cigars, could not come.
It would be where we allow the other things, the following things
to wash over everything else,
pulling the towers of knowledge into the sea,
only to push back debris.
We'd never escape the water, and
these feelings of spiritual issues and pain.
And to escape would be no different
than crying in the rain. Wouldn't it?
But I wasn't alone, not tonight. Not tonight, as I stepped out into it,
looking up.
This morning I woke up around 1 am from a dream I had. It was almost like an action movie, and somewhat inspirational in terms of addressing some spiritual issues. Later again I woke up around 4 am. My dreams became less action-y and suspenseful, but maintained that high degree of soul therapy, not seeking, that I often strive for as much as possible. At some point I told myself that I would avoid going to shul today so that I could spend more time in my dreams thinking about life and dreaming wonderful things.
At exactly 8 am, or damn near it, I had a dream of a white clad figure near a large frame looking structure. I think it was a parking garage for a mall or something, since nothing else was neighboring it except a few houses. That structure was also white. It reminded me of Japan somehow, but it wasn't, even though I saw some Japanese looking people around. The white clad figure had the same dead eyes I wrote about in a previous story, whose title I snuck out of the lyrics of the tune By Starlight, performed by the Smashing Pumpkins.
The white clad figure stared at me, saying nothing. I don't know why did such but when I looked up it rained. Terrified, I woke up immediately. I wasn't in a sweat, that was around 1 am or so, but I realized right then and there that I should go to shul. I believe that wouldn't have gone if I did not experience such when I did. Minyan started at nine, and I knew I could make it on time, but making it on time wasn't the only reason. I couldn't let those dead eyes haunt me into the day! They were just a dream, they were just what I wanted to see, or not want to see or believe in.
Sitting in minyan waiting for more members, we noticed those who normally were going to lead us through weren't showing, which was fine. So to pass the time briefly a question was brought up.
"When you think of God's creations, what do you believe is the greatest? What do you believe is important to you? Why is that?"
Sitting right there immediately thought about how grateful I am to be alive even though I'm in pain at times, physically and emotionally. Even though sometimes I don't like being here.
I left my body and it's thoughts about life. I floated away, while still sitting there and I thought about what made me happy. I remembered an experience, or experiences rather, that I shared with Fozzjnen. Since I've known him Fozzjnen has asked me several times to come over and clean his place, when it is too much for him, albeit if he lived alone he probably would never contact me, but in any case he would have me come over to help clean.
I honestly will say that while I didn't mind having money in my pocket from him, I felt better about cleaning his place. Even though I wasn't always helping myself, or my own place be it emotionally or physically out of whack, I was grateful that I was helping him. That mattered to me, and it still does. Even when I couldn't help myself, and when I couldn't bring myself up into the light again. When I could smile and still be detached from everything outside of being a warm body on auto-pilot. I could still be there for him somehow, to make his life easier for him. I am fortunate that I have him as my friend, for being there when I myself am not always there or even here at times. And I think somehow that always made the job easier, except when it came to cleaning up melted-cheese or washing his car. I did think of more examples as they flashed in my mind and heart, especially ones that are more recent and probably more relevant, but that's all I can share for now.
Back among the conscious, while I sat in my chair, I again was asked for an aliyah (עליה), I replied with more or less said, "Not yet." I usually do not participate in such, except when I am responsible as a brief congregational participant. But when we were instructed to say the names of the loved ones whom we wished God to come down upon and heal, I found myself uttering names quietly under my breath, several times, although never over another's as they said it publicly.
It wasn't the first time I have done this, and I prayed throughout the service, giving up at times with singing along, since some pages had no transliteration, and my Hebrew is too weak to follow at such a promenade of joyous voices. I could follow along with reading the Hebrew, knowing when a start had begun and an end had come, yet I did get lost at times only to have to myself find the place again.
I lost track of what I was doing while I was there, even in the middle of my prayer, which was in the middle of singing. I forgot to stand, and I stared intently at the words. הרים (Mountains...)I can read that! We're not on Haftarahyet?I paused myself in my own confusion, which went beyond just my limited knowledge of reading the language. Then I refocused myself. Sitting up straight, following my air, as it moved past my heart, feeling it beat. Feeling the air move my lungs, pushing my sternum and ribs outward.
When I looked up I remembered that I had to continue with what I said about time one day. I had to give things time, as much as possible, and I had to continue praying. I had to surrender to who I am on the inside, waking up to see myself. When I left shul, there wasn't any rain that I could see, but it would come. Yes it will come, sometime, but not right now. The sunshine was out, of course with the naturalness of expected and lingering clouds. I rolled my driver's side window down taking in the wind, letting it push itself, me, and feelings through my mind as we meandered through its rough trails and overgrowth.
This morning I woke up in my dream and took a shower. When I woke up, I was in the shower only to realize I wasn't dreaming at all. I felt like I was bathing in the Sun's tears with the amount of heat on my body. It felt great, but when I reflected on the previous day I felt miserable.
I stood in the rain briefly. And in that rain I waited to collect my thoughts, but most of these left me as a fog of slightly-angrily forgotten expressions came to me. I had forgot about what I said! With such shame, I sat down and tried to pick up broken pieces of whatever myself that I had dropped. I had no reason to feel angry briefly, even for just 20 seconds. I felt like I was losing myself this way, and losing myself from others.
Sitting down in the shower I reflected more on that. I thought about how I prayed, and prayed and prayed. I never thought for a moment that I needed to pray for myself even briefly, just for a moment of clarity. I asked God to help me, so that when I stretch out my hand, claws as words or feelings do not cut those I am trying to help or those trying to help me.
I continued sitting in the shower miserably, until the water reached its zenith with heat. As I put on trousers, I continued to chew on these words and their ideas. I knew misery wasn't always necessary, and it wasn't always necessary to believe I had to deal with it on my own. So I smiled began humming the Major-General Song in my head. I could be okay, and I could be okay with being okay. I thought about rebirth, spiritually, and emotionally. And for a moment, I sat quietly in the car, within its own darkness, thinking about freedom. Then Alan Shepard's prayer, albeit a partial-misquote came into my mind,
"Dear God, please don't let me fuck up."
That's when I turned the key to the ignition of my being.
Apparently too much. Waking up 12 hours later wasn't my idea of fun, since I had a lot of work to do, and I was hoping to wake up earlier so that I could get most, if not all of it done. It's not over yet, and while I still have to leave home first, I've got about 6 hours roughly, to make the best of it between assignments. I almost went back to sleep in the shower since the heat was intense.
Unlike yesterday where I wimped out, I will definitely figure out a wake to stay awake today, as opposed to giving to sleep. Much need or otherwise.
Coffee this morning? Yes, after breakfast and some fruit I hope.
"Thanks." I couldn't believe I had to wait like this. I'm sure he did it intentionally.
Cosgrave stood up from behind his desk smiling, "Insipientia corde suo, non es deus. Non est vita qui adorem, non es usque ad unum. Es excommunicatus, ex unione fidelium." He continued in English with an even bigger grin on his face, "'Foolish of heart, thou art not a god. There is no life for those who do not adore, and to a man thou hast not. Thou art excommunicated from the union of the faithful.'" He paused briefly to take a quick breath and slightly changed his tone, "You're no longer a cop you know, so don't bother the real ones." He must have loved every single day since my early retirement from the force.
"You know, if I wanted a ham, I'd go buy one at the market."
"Is it for that Christ Killer you got workin' for ya?" His teeth rested on his bottom lip as he waited for me to reply. I gave him nothing, and he motioned me to sit down.
"The Hirsch-Landers case. I'm going to need to see whatever you have."
"I can't do it. Police only." He smiled at me again.
"I have waivers from both parties." I pulled out an enveloped from my inside jacket pocket, and I could already see his slime eating grin wipe clean off his face as he scanned my paperwork for any flaws. There were none. Every detail was perfect. Or as perfect as money or extortion could afford. I thought whimsically.
"Why don't you let the police handle this? I mean, that's why this place exists." He said, stretching his arms out like a hawk. "And frankly, I don't think we really need to co-operate. Not with you, anyhow."
"For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."
"Your Latin is pretty off." His grin came back.
"I didn't know that the Lord mattered to you."
"Around here, I am the lord." His cheeks puffed up under his eyes.
I stood up.
"Thanks for the lesson. I'm taking this paperwork to records. So it doesn't get lost."
"We have things under control here, unlike your drinking." He hid his smile as he crossed his fingers together, resting his elbows on the desk.
Was he keeping tabs on me? I raised my eyebrows, and smirked at him. That'll catch you off guard, you piece of.... Cosgrave's phone rang and he waved me off. And I was happy to leave his office.
Records was probably the best part about being back in the department, outside harassing those in I.A. Quick, clean, and helpful, records was there for us, more or less. Sometimes a little too helpful, if not robotic. I wondered if it was because whatever was left in terms of humanity was shed as soon as they entered that section of the department. I didn't really want to know.
I scanned a few documents. Little of what I looked at was promising, outside of a few names. I'll have Mose run some names later. I thought stepping out into the rain as I left Cosgrave's reach.
I like Mr. Rogers' commentary on a lot of issues, especially when he sings things. I don't think his commentary is shallow, just so that only children can understand. But rather because the underlining meaning of what he's trying to teach children is equally important with adults.
So as I sit here wondering about these things, and I reflected on a title from an episode. Transformations. The title opened up in front of me and I read,
"Transformations: No matter how we change on the outside, we're still ourselves inside" [Episode:] 1698"
Mr. Rogers continued expressing his character about who is he is and what it is to be himself. And I believed him to be correct. He smiled at the camera and sung [LINK, 2:48]:
I can put on a hat, or put on a coat,
Or wear a pair of glasses or sail in a boat.
I can change all my names
And find a place to hide.
I can do almost anything, but
I'm still myself inside.
I can go far away, or dream anything,
Or wear a scary costume or act like a king.
I can change all my names
And find a place to hide.
I can do almost anything, but
I'm still myself,
I'm still myself,
I'm still myself inside.
I thought about what that meant to me. About things I've experienced in life, while I've probably over used my character in X or Y situation, it's those things about me that make me valuable to some people. I am who I am because of those things in inside, whether I express them or not. And this correlates to another post, see Tearing away & full circles. What a wonderful episode with friends and teaching children what 143 means, and its value. Words came back to my brain, "You're always going to be tearing away at yourself until you come to terms with what you are. Until you come full circle." It's hard when we're not ready for these things. But as Mr Rogers sings, "It's such a good feeling, to know you're alive, it's such a happy feeling you're growing inside."
I sang along in my mind while smiling, only to look up at people who entered my department. The last I heard from Mr. Rogers was:
"And I'll be back
When the day is new
And I'll have more ideas for you
And you'll have things you'll want to talk about.
I will too."
When he stopped singing, stood briefly by the door and said,"You make each day a special day. You know how, by just your being you. There's only one person in this whole world like you. And people can like you exactly as you are." He smiled and left. I was strangely comfortable he didn't say "all people" or "everyone".
I woke up in a sweat to Ivanova speaking about C&C's procedures or something related to the war. I wasn't, quiet sure why I had not set a timer to turn off the T.V. It wasn't like I didn't want to watch Babylon 5, but waking up to it in a sweat was problematic. Or was it the amount of heat I felt while sleeping? I'm sure that could have been it, but I wasn't sure which of the two it was specifically. So I went back to sleep, over slept, but still made it to work well on time. I was just exhausted emotionally the week and prior week. This explains why when I got home zonked out as soon as I sat down.
Something I wanted
to do this morning
Spacing out at work this morning, I listened William Shatner sing Rocket Man. Then some idiot-man-hating-lesbian-customer who instead of actually getting proper instruction on computer use, did her best to "solve" her problem by downloading installers for programs already on the computer! Eventually the crazed angry, and presumed, lesbo started smugly talking to me from her seat, while the industrial printer was running as if it were a belt fed machine gun. She was about 15 feet away from me, and talking at a low voice. I couldn't hear a damn word she said. So I got up, walked to her, stared at her as if she is a moron, which I believe she is, and I told her, "I'm sorry I can't hear you over printer." Blah blah blah, from both of us. Eventually I solved the problem in less than 15 seconds. I could have held my breath and did such, if I did not have to speak. Her alien sounding "Thank you sir." only confirmed my assumptions of militant-feminist-lesbianism.
I wasn't angry at her per se but rather dealing with people who don't want help, and yet she obviously couldn't solve it on her own. I- No, I'm actually am irritated that she looked irritated that she had to ask me. I'm sure it bothered her to thank me. I could help, I did help, and yet it just bothered me because I didn't feel like anyone learned anything, other than I realized I didn't really learn anything or change. I'm wondering how I can fix that or if I can't do it alone? But in the end, in the very end, I was happy I did help her. Even though I was irritated at her ambiguous behavior and smug face. The latter of which I find disturbing. Fucking man-hating-militant-lesbians. It's really the man-hating ones that bother me.
It's worse for me when I'm asked for help, and as soon as I ask a question or want to provide help, I'm waved off or my help is dismissed. I've had that happen while trying to direct someone to another department:
"Excuse me do you know where the picture department is?" "What are you trying to do?"
"Oh never mind."
Me pissed off and irritated, "Wait." said sternly, "Are you trying to get an ID or replacement? If so, go into that building. It's the far right corner."
"Oh, um thanks." She said as if she didn't care.
I was pissed off at that. If she didn't care, don't ask me to! Especially when one asks for help.
This morning would have been easier to deal with if I didn't have to deal with goddamn militant lesbians, and if the banana bread I bought in the cafeteria didn't taste old.
"It's all coming back to me now." I said again, only this time I was only talking to myself. I looked out the window and stared at the emaciated clouds and crisp sunshine.
I was flying at around a low seventy plus. The road was clear, along with black morning sky. Stars were still out, and while I maintained some degree of insecurity within myself, I felt relatively safe in the car.
Just safe enough.
But would it really be such?
When I parked I sat in the car for about 15 minutes to listen to more music. Windows up I watched nothing in particular. When I got out of the car I remembered a conversation I had with a professor within the previous day.
Or was it another day?
We battled wits, albeit his superior to mine, and not without my reverence towards him for even wanting to talk about certain issues. Suicide was addressed. Unlike other conversations I've had to either justify or demonize such, he concluded the dialog with something like, "In Noh, when one's soul is floating around it isn't important anymore to that soul in question whether or not they died valiantly on the battle, how they lived in life, or how they committed suicide. What matters is how they'll stand in front of Buddha before he sends them to where they ought to be, because the soul is more important than any of that."
Isn't it? Isn't it supposed to be most important?
Why not?
So I left my regular area of operations. I avoided the issues I wanted to address. I avoided the work, and I avoided my thoughts, myself, and I avoided my soul.
I sat down on a wood chair, and began to adjust my emotional and spiritual dampers to 70%. Instruments were all accounted for. Flight two-zero-niner cleared for vector three-two-four.Roger. I tapped my fingers on the small wood table in front of me and contemplated.
Would you mind if I had the controls?
I've got it from here.I said. Lying to myself as I leaned back in my chair. Roger, switching to auto-pilot.
I looked down at the table in front of me. When I reached out, my hand felt cold again.
The first sound I heard when I woke up was a bolt slapping. I almost didn’t care enough to see if this was the last morning I would have. It wouldn’t be the first time you've felt that way. It took me a moment to realize it was from the office door. The blurry image of a somewhat recognizable man came in to my office. He tried to be quiet about his entrance, but the fact that I was already awake reminded me of his failure.
“I didn’t mean to wake you- I’ll just leave this with you.”
“No Mose, you can stay. Have a seat. Just give me a moment to collect myself here. You caught me off guard...” I said trailing off.
He put a manila envelope on the edge of my desk. I watched him stare at my half empty bottle of Old Crow and empty tumbler next to it as he began to sit down.
“Got something on your mind?”
“Yeah I do. Where’s my tie?” I asked rhetorically, and slightly irritated.
Moshe “Mose” Hochberg embarrassingly stood up from the chair he was sitting on and picked up what was a previously unwrinkled tie. I watched Mose’s face purse up when he saw how I frowned at him and my tie. I waved it off with my arm, and picked up the file. He was the only other person other than former Inspector Pennetta who still had a key to my office. Of course the landlord had one too, but the landlord didn't care enough to check the offices, so long as she was paid. Mose was a slightly taller than me, and often wore clothes that hid his lanky physique. Most people assumed he was Scots-Irish since he had brown and slightly wavy hair, most of which he hid under a pub hat.
Outside of his brother, I never heard anyone else bring up his Jewish upbringing, most of which he did his best to hide. His nickname confused a lot of people, since it sounded a lot like “hose”. Often new acquaintances would just call him “Mo”.
I went back to skimming over the files, shaking my head disapprovingly.
“Is this all you have on Cosgrave?” It was pretty slim.
“Yeah, in the back there is a picture." I shuffled papers in my hand, and then placed the photograph on my desk.
"Him. I can’t place that guy there.” Mose pointed to a guy standing a few feet behind Cosgrave and some other jackets, who I identified as auxiliary police.
The guy under Mose's finger was a well dressed man wearing a black fedora with a grey band. His face was obscured by his glove covered hands, which held a cigarette. I'd never seen this guy before and for some reason, I feel like I should.
Today with קבע (Keva), or rather עשה תורתך קבע, I realized that when asking someone for forgiveness it also depends on whether or not that person is capable of forgiveness.
Sfat Emet (Yehuda Aryeh Leib 1847-1905) Poland
The commandment of sukkah comes after the Day of Atonement. It is said that "only your sins (wrong-doings) separate you from your G-d" (Is. 59.2). So now that they have been purified of sin, the separation has been taken away. Some sins cause separation of the unity of the person and his fellow-man; this is "separate you" in the limited sense. Other bring about separation between man and G-d.
On Sukkot all becomes one and all the souls of Israel unite. This is pointed to by the four species [representing various types of souls,] all joined in one grouping. And the sukkah joins the souls of Israel to be one with their Father in Heaven. That is why it is called "the holiday of ingathering."
5:236
Yesterday on Friday, before shabbat began, I tried to meet someone I haven't met in several months. Maybe five or six. My intention was to apologize. He didn't show. I started thinking about why he wouldn't show up. Anger most likely.
I remember writing about him a lot, and talking about his anger as a weakness. I thought about two things he specified to me in an email,
"I know more than you think about this whole situation, and I know that you just wish I wasn't a part of the equation."
He never talked with me about such. And when he did it was practically a month or so after the fact, by then I had more or less moved on. And to say he knows what I wish for? How does he know what I want? Did he know what I wanted him to forgive me and let go of his hate? Does he know what I've been saying for well over a year and then some? Does he know that due my insistence on a certain issue, according to someone else, he has something special with someone?
And,
"I can go on about it, but I'm not interested in 'discussing' this any further. I tried, I really did, to give you a few shots."
Uh? Yeah maybe... No. No he didn't. In fact, even this last message from him, still had the same ol' three week plus delay to it. I more or less gave up too, which was my fault and giving up was a mistake. I had my reasons. His anger for one. Absolutely no progress would be made if he decided to justify his anger. Vengeance isn't justice. And at the same time, I was kind of hoping for it. That's why I wanted to meet him yesterday. I wanted to explain to him, that there are many things in life that I could give a rats ass for, money, life, shelter, etc. I didn't need those things at all.
Drinking? Problem solved
I wasn't born with a good family. But when I got to pick my own I started to feel there is a higher degree responsibility to that, one where I would unconditionally try to be there for my created family of friends, regardless of what happens. Did I want to be forgiven? Why not? But frankly what bothered me was that his anger was just going to consume him and make him insecure. He'd blame me of course, one hundred percent. I'm used to taking that kind of heat. Though I am bothered he didn't show up. And though I wanted to ask, I couldn't ask him if he felt he needed his anger or not, to feel like a better person or whatever his reasons were.
Distractions continued this morning while praying when I thought about how his anger would get in the way of his "heart and soul." How can anyone really love someone with all their heart and soul and still feel comfortable enough to have room for anger and wrath? Is it really love at that point or just greed?
No fucking point in being here.
Part of me knew that him coming to meet me yesterday would have been extremely hard for him. I wonder if I could have said something, in some manner, to make him violent? It would have proven my case, and it would have made me right. But I don't like being right about these kind of things, and I'm usually disappointed that my theories on certain issues have the potential to be correct. It almost makes being here, where we live, fucking pointless.
"You'd better feel guilty about not only how you felt about the situation, but what you continued to do even after you knew it was very wrong."
Nothing I can do [...]
would change anything
for him.
I better feel guilty? Actually I feel sorry for him. It's clear by his writing that his anger is unending. Nothing I can do, even if I felt "guilty", would change anything for him. He can barely even mention what was wrong, in fact he almost doesn't. If there were some way for me to apologize so that he could lose his anger from consuming him, I'd be doing it. Outside of suicide, I realize nothing really will stop his anger. But I almost feel like he'd be happy if I did such, just so he could demonize that kind of action further. Without asking him these questions and getting direct answers, I know it's just speculation, just like the stock-market.
It would be easier if there was something that could be done, but really I don't think there can be anything to be done. I can't solve this issue, not alone, and it runs deep. Also, I'm not sure the solution will come unless everyone is on board of the U.S.S. Forgiveness.
At shul, I thought about these things. I thought about how detached I was from my fellow man in my sins, even though the rabbi's wife had just grabbed my hand, pulling me into a large train and soon to be circle of women who were dancing and celebrating. Next time I'll sit where she can't get me so easily. And yet, I wondered about how anger - though wrath is G-d's alone, - can detach us from one another. I felt detached today at shul, just a little bit, but it was enough to say that I am detached. I wonder if people use love as a way to "escape" their anger, rather than letting it go? Finding love to avoid problems at home? Finding love to avoid problems of the heart and mind?
I wonder if that love is actually freedom, or if the love is an escape to avoid hidden wrath? Hidden sins (wrong-doings), while hidden, still detach us from one another. Would there be unity in my life-time? Would I ever be in the gathering of love, without some kind of avarice towards love? I think it's possible, but not for someone like me. I think it's possible to love without avoiding one's truest self with others. To love just enough, unlimited amounts, to where we cannot have hate and anger rule our lives. Anger isn't ours, and as Leviticus 19:18 (NIV) states,
"‘Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD [you bitches].
He's not talking about the Barry White kind of love.
So when today finished at shul, I thought about that guy who was hell-bent with anger.
How can anyone genuinely accept an apology of sincerity, if they don't even want to forgive? When I got in the car, the radio came on and my thoughts drifted. Once again had too many questions with few answers. Waiting at the light to turn left onto the highway, my thoughts came back, "They can't."
Over the past few weeks, maybe even longer than that have I felt like total shit. Sometimes not so much. Depressed from the knee, depressed from living, depressed from dying. Everything is depressing, and at the same time everything isn't.
I woke up around noon this morning, to a class that had just finished.
I won't be going to the later classes, including the Jew one.
My pain in my knee has been killing me lately and I have no intention to leave the house, not only because of that, but because of other reasons as well. I also had dreams again. Dreams where I asked questions at men, and never received an answer. If I could say I'm feeling good or okay with sincerity, I would, but I'm not..
Today will be a time-out. A time-out for me to think about what's important.
I kind of know already what is to me, and I wish my knee wasn't so stubborn today, as it distracts me from thinking at times. I need to drink more water? Take some drugs, take some food, lie down, stare at ceiling, and fall asleep to wake up again. Can't go back to normal, we're about 15 minutes off.
I went downstairs to warm up in front of the fire. I put something in the fire. It burned quite well. But even after it was burned to almost nothing, I couldn't help but become more frustrated, or rather empty, since nothing filled that empty void. I was hoping it would make something easier, it didn't, other than leave room for more important things.
While I did replace my journal, with a shitty notebook and I also made a new blog. The blog is primarily for addressing an issue that almost everyone I know disagrees with. So I will not discuss that blog, its name or how to get to it.
I'd be lying if I said that I believed things were getting better for myself.
But I can assure you that I have to go back to what I believe in, and I can't use guilt as an excuse to avoid responsibility. Too long I have been selfish and cowardly, in my own way. And my duty to those I love must be maintained, in the end, such was my only family.
I left my office for a lunch stand on the street, wondering if I locked my office door or not, I passed a woman I didn't know. Did I? She looked at me with dead eyes. Maybe it was my own, as I was concerned about other things than food. I haven't seen that look in a while. At least not on other people... I admitted to myself. In the mass of the crowd I could tell that when our eyes met she felt vulnerable. So did I, even though I didn't feel physically at risk. That's what the Webley was for, or at least I'd like to think that's what it's for. Or is it Walther? Whatever. As soon as our lock fixed, she moved in another direction, as did I. A ballet of kites, flanking each other, hoping the other would not look back. I was fascinated by the reaction, as this place seems dead most of the time. I don't even think the sun exists here, if it does, it's probably fake anyhow. And they'll send someone to investigate, won't they?
I tried not to think about it. I tried to get back to my client's case, more or less about financial fraud between man's wife and CFO in his company. The primary question was to address whether or not he was going to be framed for company embezzlement, and it was more or less my job to see if his wife was on board with framing him. I doubted there was a sexual relationship between the CFO and the man's wife, as clearly her history told me that she was a closet lesbian with some political ties to local socialist party. No surprise that most of the commies' members were socialites.
"8 dollars."
I thought the point in going to food stands was to save money? I really need to buy a mini-fridge for the office. I handed over a ten.
Sitting down I thought about that kite. The hawkish eyes, so solemn, so dead.
Dead eyes, are you just like me?
"Not even dense smoke could
cloud my thoughts."
Maybe you're dead, and that's why they look that way. I nodded my head at my own mental commentary and shrugged. What else could I have done? I was growing frustrated with desires to avoid work and investigate more important things. Maybe if I was back on the force, it would be different?Maybe if you were marr... No, that wouldn't change anything. Would it? I doubt it. I'd still want to investigate things. And that's why it's your job now. And yet even if I was attached, I could never come home and talk about my day, "Hi honey. I'm fine... Oh today? I've got a case where a man caught his wife cheating, and when he returned home after leaving, she was murdered. He's being accused of the murder, but I've been hired on as a consultant to see whether or not it's true. How was your day?" That wouldn't work. What would? I didn't know. So I sat in the rain on a bench near the gnats and pigeons trying to avoid these thoughts. Not even dense smoke could cloud my thoughts. I don't know how long I sat on that bench thinking about those eyes before I went back to my office.
Among being fucked over - car issues(?) - for errands today, I started the day nominally.
At least I intended the day to start normally.
Last night in an effort to fall asleep early, which somewhat worked, I was able to catch a glimpse of a movie that more or less lifted and crushed my feelings simultaneously. I was hoping to think about "Limelight" by Rush, with quite powerful lyrics on their own, but the 1952 film Limelight, just made me feel crushed. I thought about a lot of things watching that movie such as the quality of life, relationships, lack thereof, and so forth. It had a lot of wonderful feelings in it, to which I could relate to indirectly or directly. I never really was a fan of Charlie Chaplin, and I thought his humor to be somewhat idiotic by own standards, until I saw this film.
I laughed, and soon after, I shed a tear, like a big pussy.
I strongly recommend giving this movie, Limelight (1952), a chance.
At least the first 40 minutes.
Seriously.
After a cigar and coffee, I tried to start my day.
So far it's going at speed. I'm wondering if things will get better. If they will get better and if I will get better. I think about Limelight more often, in fact, it helps with thinking on these issues. I'm empathetic with Calvero, and for good reason. I like drinking, I like company, and of course this is true if it is good. While I like humor, I spend most of my time intellectualizing about life in ways that are often taken far more seriously than I intended, although I think at times it should be taken as both.
Yesterday was the conclusion of the highest Jew holidays.
Entitlement
I spent most of that day sleeping in and reflecting on whether or not one ought to have a relationship with G-d. Whether or not it is necessary to forgive or not. To be forgiven or not.
At some point during the morning I was told my sister's son was having some health issues, in fact she even dialed 911, so I viewed this as a life and death issue. I drove my mom to my sister's house, more or less violating my shabbat, so that she could watch the youngest kid while my sister went to the hospital. After which I didn't go home. I drove around and took my time in the car thinking more and more about G-d, friends, family, bad guys, and good guys. It didn't bother me if G-d was watching or not. If watchers were watching or not. I didn't watch my thoughts, and I was happy let them out, so that they would be subject to examination.
At the end of the day I don't know if I was written in the book of life or not. And I don't want to assume I am entitled to anything, especially life or death. Or a car accident.
What did I learn about Yom Kippur?
I won't really say, since really only applies to me.
Ask yourself in 3 months or so what January 1st means to you, and maybe you'll find out.
I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping she buys SHIT. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it I want to taste it.
The other day as I was sitting down thinking about drinking the rest of my coffee, I reach over grab a cup, which felt similar to mine in size and weight, and begin drinking. As soon as I took a sip, I realized two problems:
I taste milk
This isn't my cup of coffee
I like my coffee about as black as Wesley Snipes.
Sorry Jackson.
Shiiiiitt....The moral dilemma I faced was whether or not I should tell person I drank from their cup. It was so fast, I don't think anyone noticed. If they did, they said nothing, yet the person whose cup of coffee I drank from didn't notice. I felt bad that I didn't have cash -although credit card...-, so I couldn't replace their cup of coffee. Worse, even if I did replace it or offer to do such it might be taken as an advance or a planned advance. Neither of those are acceptable outcomes, or desirable to begin with.
So I did nothing and in some sense, while I retain power over the knowledge and truth of the situation, I don't feel any better about such.
Somehow the complete morality or retention of such, regardless of what I could have done after the mistake, was compromised.
I like detective-anything, although I usually do not read a lot detective novels or stories. Most of the time I watch them. As for the idea of a detective-anything, I have found that character isolation to be extremely important. The idea that a person is alone and knows it, yet escapes into his or her work regardless of the cost socially, emotionally, or spiritually is a defining characteristic of a detective, let alone a wizard or great spiritual leader, although the later of which is a separate subject.. Most detectives, including those in medical professions (see House), often spend more time at work or constantly go back to thinking about work regardless of what they are doing or ought to do.
This is part of the reason I do not like Batman to some extent, as he is unable to interact with people except on a superficial level. He is constantly thinking about criminals and stopping crime at all hours, so that he can satisfy his insecurities. Batman does not enjoy interacting with people, and in fact appears to loathe them. His callous expressions almost make one wonder if he is capable of love, and this is confusing for someone who is supposed to be a glorified hero. I digress.
Don't confuse them!
Although I have and will watch Batman movies, T.V. and occasionally when I was younger I read the comics, I did not actually like Batman himself. I did not like Bruce Wayne, and I did not see any reason to like him either. I actually liked the Joker more, because I felt like Batman had more limitations than the Joker, such as Batman's obsessive compulsive tendencies/disorder. Moreover in comparison, the Joker to me seemed to be much more human, if not beyond such, due to his ability to negotiate his feelings and understanding of such better than Batman. Often Batman used of his anger as a tool to get what he wanted, and to me is a degree of emotional negligence. He uses his insecurities as a way to exact vengeance, and because he is unable to forgive, he in a major sense, is never just in his behavior; therefore, glorification of him is almost as repugnant as thanking Ted Bundy for raising awareness of rape-murder. Unlike the Joker, Batman will never be satisfied with anything. But these are fictional characters and unrealistic, except for Ted Bundy. Do not confuse with Al Bundy.
Backtracking to House, who in my opinion instead of isolating himself with work alone, isolates people from himself, and not himself from people. Yet sometimes he does both at the same time, and I believe it is to prevent him from being bored. Nothing shuts off in his mind, there is no break time. In fact, having a break in itself is tedious, and this is why alcohol is extremely important to detectives, including House and drug usage. It's not that the mind is going to be shut off, although it could be with enough alcohol, it is that they must slow down their train of thought so that they can only think of a limited number of tasks at one time. It's like putting a computer in safe-mode. Yes you can use it, but mainly for the really important things. The detectives who do not drink, in my opinion, have serious control issues. The mind will run and should, but the essence of that detective's character will constantly be will him. It is like one's own shadow, but with highlighted and accented features.
Different types of detectives
Most importantly, detectives do not sleep well, or rather would not. And the things they want to talk about, or think about, most would consider tedious, and this isolates everyone, although usually it's the "detective" character. "Detectives" whether professional, private, or in thought are lonely people, whether they are Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver, Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon, to Morgan Freeman in Se7en. The last of which I have seen numerous times. I have found detective movies to be movies- duh, but - in movies. Instead of just watching for the plot the way the characters experience it, I have found following a single character and focusing on his or her behavior throughout the film provides a different kind of revelation. It works well with detective films, and no so much with films like TheLand Before Time or Debbie Does Dallas. And that's why I brought up detectives in today's post. These are lonely, isolated, and thoughtful people. I'm still not talking about Debbie Does Dallas... Usually the detectives in these movies are good at what they do, even though at times, they do not win and nothing changes with the truth. Sure Batman is one of them, but he usually is never without anger. When he was told his behavior is questionable by someone he loves, he is shocked and says nothing, somewhat knowing that nothing changes with the truth, and with that truth, it is neither a victory nor a loss. The film in which I indirectly elude to is Mask of the Phantasm, and I recommend it, although not for the ending theme. Mark Hamill does a wonderful job with the Joker.
The saddest part about detectives is that they are just picking up the pieces of lives, more often than not, they are trying picking up pieces that they lost or by picking up another's to avoid their own. In reality they are extremely broken and flawed. Even if detectives come in different shapes and sizes, either at the zenith of human physique or unable to run, only gimping around - which I empathize with, see PVNS, - these characters still share the prior statements (I have made) as the basis for their being as an individual and character (be it real or otherwise). And this is why they are good at what they do. This is also why their isolation will never make them happy, and they will never be such. Just as Robert De Niro says in Taxi Driver,
"Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man... June 8th. My life has taken another turn again. The days can go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain."
Detectives are about half of the reason why I like writing an "Is-it-fiction?" section on this blog.
And it's also why looking at tags (LABELS) is important when trying to identify the theme or vague meanings of a post. Otherwise you'd think I'm writing about real life.
Drinking for yesterday seems to be a common occurrence with humans, be it to forget or to remember. Yet the future is often reserved for ritual happiness. Such arbitrary standards. None of which are wrong, right, or without morals, dilemma or otherwise. As choice exists, and yet with such the potential for sin.
After business was handled I got back on the road concluding my thoughts of the day. Slick as high-hell from the rain, I cautiously stayed in the empty right lane of the road, moving from the empty left. The air was misty from the wet heat on the ground, and slicing through the overcast was a crooked-looking moon, well lit with a nice bleached eggshell color. The crisp air, almost like a salted cracker, smelled like burnt wood on a dry winter night.
I thought about the business of the week, I thought about the feelings of forever, and the memories of tomorrow. What did it take for a man to want to fight God for love? I knew what it took, and yet it troubled me that I was reminded of this feeling. Not that it was my own feeling, but the declaration of another's feelings. I knew what was being said. And while he didn't know, I did. You gotta' stop thinking about this. I pulled over for some coffee to distract myself from these questions, and I began to mull over a separate case I had been neglecting.
"How could anyone else come close to these feelings?"
"Excus- Are you talking to me?"
I saw the confused woman looking at me, as if I was insane for saying such so openly. Waving her off with my I feigned stupidity, as I walked out with coffee in hand. The woman went back to her laptop ignoring me just as quickly as I broke her silence. I really have to stop talking to myself out-loud. Yet how could I? I couldn't help but think more and more about those deep feelings. The feelings that no one would ever understand, unless they felt the same exact way. I couldn't help but want to alienate and distance myself from such. It was too painful for me to think about my own issues let alone another's empathetically. And that's why you have the job you have.
On the way back, I saw a shadowy dog figure run in front of the car. I came to a stop. The figure stopped along side of the road. I grabbed the flashlight from the center console and shone it on creature. To my surprise it was a coyote. A big one too. With the light on him, he took off over a berm. I tracked him with the powerful light when he reappeared. He stopped again and looked back at me, then ran further away into the dark industrial area. I put the flash light away and continued on.
Did the coyote stop in fear? Curiosity? It doesn't matter as it still ran away. I doubted that the coyote would ever love enough to negate hate or to fight God, knowing it would lose. That's because it's an animal. Deep down I knew the world I lived in was full of such animals. Many of whom are clients. I was not happy as I got back to the office, and like most evenings when such happened, I looked at the oldest crow I knew. Amorally the bottle waited for me. Morally I knew I had a choice, and I did not care one bit as I sinned my way towards an escape. Before passing out in the chair I made a point to take my shoes off and place them near the office door.
I was going to write something clever about how I had a good experience meeting complete strangers by accident and agreeing to meet them again the following week: two chicks at the same time man. No, seriously it was two chicks at the same time. I've got the numbers. And they called me first.
More filth ahead, never safe for work or anything.
I keep writing non-stop. In fact, most of the time I notice I'm several days ahead in posts, but I'm trying to keep it to a daily basis only, posting what I experience that day, but I notice more and more I have more things I would like to address or talk about, or avoid all together. Some how it's not working, so I'm going to double up when I deem appropriate.
I can't dare say how my classes are going since I missed one due to a religious experience, or holiday rather. Or both. Plus some of my classes were cancelled because of it! Man these Jews are crazy. I can say that somehow the constant demand of work, school, school's work, has more or less alienated me from thinking, but somehow even my feelings and thoughts take over in my dreams, and I see people I may or may not should be seeing. Like Chuck Norris. It must be a sign that I may die within the next month?
While it's reversed to avoid copy-wrong protection laws, it still points out how most of my instructors deal with goyim. And it's funny.
The one thing I like about Jews is that they're all disagreeable, they hate each other as much as they love each other, or at least they realize that both are mutually necessary, since they (love and hate) affirm and negate both at the same time. And in reverse, like the video. One does not love without hate, and one can't hate without love existing at some point (including potential). It's an interesting dialectic, whereas the Japanese would rather avoid the issue until they're 40 years old, retired, and/or dead. Neither is good or bad, it is what it is, like smegma being eaten by a Japanese lady to pay for Louis Vuitton handbags. Priorities right?
You stupid bitch
Just now someone came into my lab. I'm not even working but I knew the stupid bitch who sat adjacent from me, and she was going to get a lecture. She had coffee or tea in a cup, which she tried to conceal by putting it on the floor next to the table. I recognized her immediately, it was Mayucorn. She had that same cunt-eyed-soulless smile, which she normally activates with total insincerity whenever she says hi to me, but only if I notice her first. I wasn't bothered by that, since most people like her have the same expression almost daily. Including myself when I deactivate feelings. I just reminded myself that I turned them off, just as I turn them on. And I know this. That, in itself, is taxing, and another issue... What bothered me was that I had to tell her that she was in violation of the lab rules and that she had to put her drink in the general, and yet unmarked, designated area. She did such, and less than 10 seconds later she got up and left. Telling her isn't an issue, it's just that I have to explain to her why she is a stupid bitch and can't read or obey the rules.
Good.Get out of here if you don't likeme telling you the rules.
Fuck her, she violated the rules, and you'd be accountable for that if you did nothing.
Yeah no shit.
Even if you're not working, you're still an employee in the work environment, regardless of whether or not you're actually working. You have a moral obligation to say something, otherwise you can remind her of WW2.
I know.
Do I even have to say it?
Yes I do.
And yet, I was a little surprised that during this whole dialog, not once did the attendant acknowledge or notice the dialog at hand, or Mayucorn's behavior as soon as she walked into the lab. I didn't feel like a dick, or if I did it was a flaccid one. She should obey those rules.
Unlike the real world, if she fucks up a computer or makes a spill, she's not accountable, the attendant IS. And that's fucking bullshit, but that's the way it goes. We can't detain her, we can't shoot her - Wait what? Okay, not with guns at least, but because she's Japanese I'm sure we could shoot her with "si me gustó" sauce in one of the bathroom stalls... - we can't just say, "Oh it's just some Asian looking person." Plus, if one doesn't even see it, how can you tell? We don't take people's names, we don't require much, just follow guidelines and rules.
Don't talk on your cellphone in the lab, keep conversations low-quite, and no drinks at or near computers. Pretty fuckin' simple. Apparently not for people or Jap-whores, yes I'm a betting man who thinks Mayucorn has had enough cornhole action to merit the title, who think it's okay to assume entitlement of certain behaviors. If I could have just broken out with, "Bitch, what the fuck is your problem?" maybe things would have been different.
Looking over to my left and notice Ms. I-Think-Running-Is-A-Sport, whom I also work with, and she appears completely oblivious to what's going on. No surprise there, some people get into the zone, or they don't care about their environment. How those people can genuinely be concerned about global warming I have no idea. If you don't even give a fuck about your immediate surroundings it sounds insincere, at least to me, that one could go so far to say they "care" about the Earth. Even though they're fine having things made in the USA, shipping to China, assembled, and then shipped back to their location. iPod anyone? Yes I have one... Yeah, that makes sense. Wait what? You forgot about all that oil necessary shipping? For the plastics?
Yeah. Thanks. Fuck you Baltimore.
Grouchy?
No, just disappointed.
I almost never really feel this way towards anyone who isn't a friend or family member. What I mean is that, I don't really invest an intense amount emotion over who it is, rather than what they are doing.
With family and friends, yes, if I'm bothered or troubled I'm going to be bothered that it is THAT person doing THATone thing I don't like.
Many times I've said shit I wish I never did.
Many times I've made people cry over horrible words, because just like me they associate their feelings with my character and being AND my actions, albeit in reverse. I have yet to find a way to genuinely show remorse towards those whom I have or may have wronged, and cared about. Sure I'm sorry, but I wish I could help them somehow. Sometimes we don't get a choice or don't have opportunities.
Should we make opportunities?
Check the price tag first.
He-brew, She-brew,
We-brew
Although the highlight today, so far, was learning how to write my name in Hebrew, I was told that my name also could be said or used as "Ali." Fuck. Anything that sounds middle-eastern, or rather, anything that implies
"I come from a land,
from a faraway place,
where the caravan camels roam.
Where they cut off your ear
if they don't like your face,
it's barbaric,
but hey, it's home!"
Seriously, it's taken from Aladdin, yes the Disney film.
