Month: July 2015

Drifting off

I am not always smart about my physical limitations, and I worked on Mike last night past my ability.  So I have a very sore right shoulder which I am being gingerly with, and also recognizing I’m coming up on two years for breaking my right shoulder in the first place…. and I’ll be throwing somatic fart bombs at myself to remind that on this day a bad thing happened, cause that’s how humans who understand a calendar roll.  Stuff that’s on the surface gets stuffed under, like the motion of Kelvin-Helmholtz waves in that first mutual encounter with shear.

 

I want you to read it here first. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong with a big smile on my face.  But I’m tellin’ you, the features on Pluto are not physical.  They are clouds.  The atmosphere is so cold that weather systems can form hexagons, and they are nose to tailing across the atmosphere like a dragon.  I bet you also that the hexagons play crack the whip, and sometimes one of the hexagons will break off the end and die. The different colours of the surface are from the  large scale weather systems picking up tholins off the ground where they’ve been deposited and mixing them with other compounds that change the albedo of the top of the atmosphere.  It just LOOKS like physical features. Closer to the ground, pretty much everything is reddish orange.  There are also scars from collisions and impacts but I think the picture we’re getting from Pluto is weather, almost all of it.

I’m taking myself off line for writing for the rest of the day.  I’m in a very strange mental state and I just want to sit and try to process.

Last night Mike played Poems Prayers and Promises for me, by John Denver (I thought that it was a Denver tune before he told me, so I’m glad my ability to see another artist is not completely verkockt) and it was amazing.

Then he practiced the guitar portions of a bunch of classic Simon and Garfunkel, and that’s what I fell asleep to.    Sometimes the simplest magic is the most powerful.

I’m feeding Ayesha, so I need to figure out when I’m heading over there this afternoon.  I am SO HAPPY it started to rain.  We all need it, physically, environmentally, emotionally.

 

Words today, words yesterday

325 today so far, about 300 yesterday.  I am slowing down again and I hate it.

Perhaps the prospect of a meal out will assist. Mike will cruise by around supper time.  Sounds like he’s had a gharstly week.

Spoke to Chipper today – and she was.  Things are looking up, and that is wonderful.

Sent along some pics from Paul to mOm, who is grateful to have a recent picture of Phyllis and Alex.

brO has been very very helpful today with computer stuff and I’m grateful and pleased.

Practiced this morning for almost an hour.  Tried to write a song but noodled instead.

 

As promised (it’s a 50’s musical patter song) 5 of 50

 

I’m retired

Go around me

I’m retired

I don’t care (spoken like Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive)

You seem so troubled

By my slowness

In your anxiety to get from here to there

 

You won’t take my advice

but driving slow is nice

I get to see the swans and geese and deer

Always there are more o’ ya

In the City of Victoria

What prompted you to move from there to here?

Oh, you moved cause you hate snow?

And I hear you fine although

Somebody should have warned you that the pace of life is slow

I’m retired, go around me

Get off my bumper, please don’t pound me

Of all the drivers, yes, you found me!

I’m retired, go around me.

 

Our family understands

That we are now the grands

Who taxi the grandchildren when they’re here

spoken overtop (and the great grandchildren…)

And driving slow is great

And we are never late

Your hurry's no concern of mine I fear.

We stop for farm fresh eggs

so kids can stretch their legs

And gramma wants to buy more crap to put in garden sheds

I’m retired, go around me

Get off my bumper, please don’t pound me

Of all the drivers, yes, you found me!

I’m retired, go around me.

 

 

On Jeb Bush telling Americans to work longer hours

Were I an American, I might say something like We- ordinary Americans -are converting to solar and building robots as fast as we can; relocalizing agriculture, working on some long overdue anti-racism, taking back the right to grow hemp for food, drug and fibre, moving away from places that will be floating in 20 years, and this limb of Satan wants us to work longer hours at a Walmart in a flood plain. Long be the years he has to go **** himself in, and may none of them be while his prejudices and mean-spiritedness are under a Presidential seal. But I’m Canadian, so I’ll wring my hands instead.

Falling and dying (in Dark Souls II) 4 of 50

Falling and dying x 3
In Dark Souls II

I've only ever kibitzed
when my brother played this game
The NPCs pee on his leg
and call it gentle rain
And soon enough the gravity
will trigger this refrain

Falling and dying x 3
In Dark Souls II

He stepped into a box one day
and he emerged a girl
He thought he'd give the mincing walk
they gave her a short whirl
But really he would rather be
an armoured flying squirrel!

Falling and dying x 3
In Dark Souls II

bridge:
Typos in the weapons descriptions
No way to pause it to pee
Boss fights that come out of nowhere
You'd better be ready to be...

Falling and dying x 3
In Dark Souls II

As fickle as the weather 
in Vancouver and as nice
Merchants you need badly who
will only show up twice
They overseason everything 
but only use one spice

Falling and dying x 3
In Dark Souls II

Spoken... Man I'm sure glad I'm not the one who has to keep the torches lit in that place...

Blerg

I am reading Patton Oswalt’s Silver Screen Fiend and IT’S OUTSTANDING.  Borrow it or buy it and read it.  Won’t say more, don’t have to.

And I have Caitlin Moran and the Encyclopedia of Goddesses and Heroines to look forward to after this.

I can feel the well of my writing soul going dry, and there’s nothing to do but fill the cup at someone else’s spring.

Or have some more Great Blue Heron coffee. Yeah.

I have a couple of potential songs in the queue and since I’m ahead of schedule I’ll pause.  I practiced a good long time yesterday, it was very pleasant.

Paul and Keith are off to the Island this weekend.  Yay for family visits!

Today is Keith’s nth birthday, and glad I am I gave birth to him n years ago, about three hours from now.  I am more glad that we live in the same town/time zone, because he continues to be a good soul who takes no shit from me, and that is a good thing.

Back to Mr. Oswalt, who in his book is lodged firmly in the midnineties catching up on classic cinema.

Phew

Made my 500 words, now going downstairs to write a song.

 

Keith and Paul are apparently coming over soon to take me for a walk.  I’m still sore from yesterday…. but always getting better, symphisis is much happier now.

later

Sore from walking on concrete, happy to have cadged a meal off Paul (Keith paid for his own) and scored a couple of interesting books at the NW Library.  I told Paul I couldn’t walk home and took the bus, for which he kindly supplied the fare, and then I fed him home made limeade and went to watch the first episode of Dark Matter and the most recent episode of the Brink.

836 words for the day, most of it off to mOm.

Isn’t it the strangest thing?

So there was a fooferaw in the press after the service for Rev Clementa Pinckney at which Barack Obama sang a few staves of Amazing Grace.

I don’t give a shit about what the white conservative pressgong said; they all lick rich naughty bits for baubles and won’t leave a lasting mark on human affairs.  I was much more interested in what the black & activist voices said on my twitter feed, being spoken in what are individual and human voices.

A lot of them were mildly approving, but a bunch of them said, “It should have been “Lift every voice and sing” instead of pandering to sensitive whites with Amazing Grace”, which as a song, in memetic terms, has long ago gone beyond parody and flown up its own semiotically charged ass.

Now, being a Unitarian… Marcy I hope you’re reading this, because it should give you a chuckle…the first thing I do, ten days later, but I did follow up, is go to the internet and check the U*U hymnal and make sure the damned song is in there.  O committee of U*U musicians, what hath thou wrought???? yup, it’s there, and my easily clenched shamey bits relax somewhat. Good work folks!

Then I go unto the internet, o weary ones, and read the lyrics.  Because that’s how we DO.

Then I go to youtube and randomly pick a rendition with lyrics.

It wasn’t until the second time through on the lyrics that I realized that the words native land appear in the last verse.

SETTLER COLONIALISM enshrined in a black hymn.

Yar.  Arg har.  Bleeble bleeble.

Okay, so first off I’m giving Barry a hall pass, the ****er’s unsingable, so he picked Amazing Grace as being a sound compromise in an emotionally and politically volatile public event.  I got no problem with that.

Second I’m thinking wow I’m going to filk that.  A better tune is coming, but the lyrics, except for the last verse which is where the song makes a right turn from social justice into God this and God that and God on every line, are OUTSTANDING.  I mean it.  Read the lyrics and tell me what you think.

It is now two in the morning.  It’s possible I’m cool enough to sleep.

 

side note, ever see that using U*U as a short form for Unitarian Universalism makes our symbol look like you’re mooning someone and showing your asshole?  I couldn’t love Unitarianism more now if I tried.

661 words today – Song #3 of 50 Gabriola Camping Trip

I need to make up the deficit from yesterday, but at least that’s only 339 words.  I used the trick of going downstairs and working on the 60 inch screen.  There’s something about seeing my words on the tv screen that I find very amusing and heartening.

Mike took me and Keith to the Union Jack yesterday (I always eat the same thing, and it involves Yorkshire Pudding).

Keith demonstrated great strength of character yesterday.  And he left his hat here again. He walked home from the pub. (It is delightfully close; I can contemplate walking there without horror.)

Then Mike came back here and I assembled the massage table and beat him up for a while.  Then, declaring that I wasn’t happy with the outcome, I beat him up again.  (He was trashed from a yoga retreat with a hike in the middle, and his hamstrings were a nightmare).

There is so much smoke in the air that it’s horrifying.  Yesterday the air quality was so bad I turned off the airconditioner.

So 661 words AND another song.  It’s a call and response, as any fool can plainly see. (The correct response is: I can plainly see it.)

Gabriola Camping Trip – in meter it’s like a Marine Corps running song

I’m not nearly high enough

Chorus
Who say, who say
We’re not nearly high enough
and so say all of us

I’m not nearly drunk enough

Who say, who say
We’re not nearly drunk enough
and so say all of us

Think I’ll take a naked swim

Who say, who say
Can’t get out if you don’t jump in
and so say all of us

Think I’ll piss in the ocean now

Who say, who say
Someone better show you how

on account of

you are drunk
and so say all of us

Wind came up and the tents blew down

Who say, who say
We’re not sleeping anyhow
and so say all of us

Monday morning comes too quick

Who say, who say
Half of us are puking sick
and so say all of us

 

I am a Toddler – 2 of 50

Glitter and dirt
Hugs and destruction
Tears that will dry as I laugh
Booboos that hurt
Squeals of affection
I am a toddler
I’m here to learn
And if you can’t help get off my path.

I am a toddler and I like my boots
But I will not like them tomorrow
Guessing at meanings and playing with words
that cause my folks wonder and sorrow

Parents:

“Will she say F*ck I love it in front of the grands?
Or that the big wind will breathe her away?
Will he curse at his boots and make silly demands
Returning relentlessly every day
To eating non-stop and most int’resting play
And only a fever puts toddlers away
and not even then if they’re stubborn today
and they’re stubborn ‘most every day.”

Glitter and dirt
Hugs and destruction
Tears that will dry as I laugh
Booboos that hurt
Squeals of affection
I am a toddler
I’m here to learn
And if you can’t help get off my path.

 

I don’t think I’m headed to church today.  There’s so much smoke – I could see it coming in last night and tinting the moon – that it’s not a good idea to be outside and apparently the service is to be held outdoors. 

 

New Horizons went into Safe Mode last night.  I’m not feeling good about this.

 

520 words yesterday.

and it was 950 words yesterday / JULY 4 SONG – 1

I’m to write 50 songs in 90 days.

Here is the first. Short enough that I won’t get killed if someone decides to take offence.

O People of America

You must now understand

The Constitution isn’t yours

It belongs to everyone

And since it first was issued

From the mighty pens of men

How many hopes have risen

and been dashed by it again.

 

There’s little in the words that I take issue with,

but when I see what boughten courts have done

I’d like to have a chat with Thomas Jefferson

And ask him if he’s proud now freedom’s gone.

And well I know the answer

That old Tom would give to me

Who is the boughten traitor?

Will you fight for liberty?

I’d say I’m a poor Canadian

How it hurts my heart to see

My neighbour’s house is burning

But I must quiet be

O people of America

Most righteous people find

The Constitution is a gift

To all of humankind

And since it first was issued

From the mighty pens of men

How many hopes have been cast down

and yet they rise again.

 

 

Later – I did manage to get 520 words written.  That and two loads of laundry, I’m a good little doggie.

The list is not the life

I am experiencing existential gloom.  The church is being kind.  When you’re grieving, it’s easier to be among the grieving, as most of them are moving at some analogue of your social speed, being, not very much.  It’s been very kind of Mike and Paul and Keith and Jeff to keep me busy.  I’m going to church on Sunday, but it’s in Coquitlam, so I’ll be checking for rides shortly.

Anita offered me a ride less than a year ago.

My heart is wrenched for John, for whom Anita really was the light of his life, a beautiful person and a worthy partner.  His trials are being met with much grace.

Lists are flippcking dangerous, they really are.

I know as a matter of dispassionate, provable, established fact, that checklists of all kinds are necessary for human beings to accomplish consistent process outcomes in predictable, potentially hazardous and easily worsened situations.

All of life arguably falls into those categories.  Ergo lists are good.  But in the same way that the map is not the territory, and the written word is not speech, or the intelligence that made the speech and thus rendered itself audible to me is not the speech, lists are not life.

Even if they save your life, they aren’t life. I can remember a list saving my life only once; an angel in human form arrived on the wings of the list, and I recovered myself from the three meter sinkhole my life was rapidly becoming with her pragmatic and calmly well-intentioned assistance.  As most people are aware, often the speed with which you accept advice varies with the warmth of its presentation.

When I say lists are dangerous, I mean to me personally.  I never learned to check any lists I made, so making them is hazardous as it removes the mental sting of the necessary task, and then I don’t check my list.  It’s a temporary reprieve from having something bugging me. Only shopping lists are free from this mental lacuna.  Until the lists bite back, I’m going to wander off topic and pile a bunch of stuff that has never been in that order before into a tower of unformatted lists.

Out of it come the juxtapositions that other people find so striking and to me are the way the walls and floor come together.  Oh look! a wall and a floor! Yeah, so. You never made me see the wall and the floor like that before!

They do not come from lists, these moments.

When I was young and impressionable, I learned that Pablo Picasso had rooms piled with art and pottery and candid junk at La Californie, his impossibly wonderful house, and that no one was allowed to touch the piles and stacks except children and animals, and then only by accident.

When there was an accident (which was not frequent as the children were not monsters of destruction) he’d just say, “Que bueno!”

They do tell me I’m a lazy person, my piles of stuff.  But they are also piles of inspiration, and I can’t make a list for that.

 

 

70 words yesterday

SO HOT MELTED YESTERDAY.

Watched movies and the second episode of Mr. Robot.  Made salads.

Buster’s picked up more scratches.

I didn’t rinse out and drain the milk cartons properly for the recycling, so I feel very guilty about Jeff’s cry of disgust as he was dealing with the trash this morning.  I will do better.

Especially since he made coffee.

 

I’m up to 516 words already so you can probably tell that it’s cooler in Vancouver.

Hot like blazes

After the walk yesterday Paul and I repaired to our separate dwellings, and then he and Keith took me to New West Quay.  The plan was to sit it out at the Paddlewheeler, but no go, so we sat at the Yellowtail Kitchen and had front row seats for the very nice (but not as nice as Rosemary AB, the new gold standard for these things) fireworks display for Canada Day.

Then I came home, fell on my ass trying to get into the new hammock and Keith and Paul and I regarded Venus and Jupiter and the Moon through borrowed field glasses.

I’ve never seen the moon so bright.  It was wonderful.  It hung behind the fireworks – an amazing sight.

I think I’m going to take a break from writing today. I’m stuck in a couple of places, and the characters aren’t talking to me.