someone else’s radio oracle
Friday September 26th 2003, 9:41 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Oracle Tags:

Wasn’t mine, this time, but apparently the last two times I’ve rung a friend, Sympathy for the Devil has been on. An interesting commentary on the state of my crazy life. Speaking of my crazy life, it’s been crazy. Tide changes? Not sure, yet, but the winds are blowin’ powerful strong. Back to work, I suppose.

deja vu or apres vu
Monday September 22nd 2003, 5:53 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Creative Tags:

A little something, written in response to a deep depression (sound familiar) in May. Trying to see The Other Side. Prescient? All too familiar, somehow.

Radio Oracle
Monday September 22nd 2003, 5:45 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Oracle Tags:

New category, folks, of Things the Radio Told Me. The radio today said All Apologies. Dunno about the geek side; these will probably be on the Library pages as well….

(s)he’s lost control
Monday September 22nd 2003, 9:18 am
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

A friend once pointed out that I’m lousy at transitions. I think, amusingly, this might be true in my writing, as well as in my life. From quitting smoking, I seem to have entered this spiraling cycle – of poison, of anger, even hate, it seems. But am I raising all this shit up in order to fight with her, with them, to ease the smoking-loss? Or is it a series of rather suspect, but nonetheless perhaps accurate truths, coming to the surface as I unfog my mind.

Obviously, cigarettes are a mind-altering substance, a mood-altering substance. But how much? Is this the meaning of life, found stoned, and forgotten whilst looking for a pencil? That warm and fuzzy ‘it’s all connected, man’? Or, in this case, ‘Fuck off you psycho bitch; people don’t live this way; I can’t live this way anymore’.

Perhaps those of you who know what the fuck I’m talking about, and don’t smoke, might volunteer a few thoughts on the matter….

Sunday September 21st 2003, 8:40 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

My tongue is filled with poison, injected in to this world around me. But the poison, I believe, doesn’t just come from the sudden absence of poisons in my lungs. There are places this poison comes from, reasons that the people at whom it’s directed, however poorly handled, are caught in the streams of shit rolling off my tongue.

My muscles still hurt from training – solo – rather maniacally on Friday evening. And there is the whole added question of my training to work in the Paint department of Home Despot. Slave labour, again. Yet if I’m so smart, how come I don’t own the company. Second largest retailer in the States (Revenues of some 60 billion, a distant second to Walmart’s 250 billion, but hey, who’s counting?). Surrounded by people for whom Cashier College could well prove challenging; for whom reading, speaking, recognising patterns was sometimes a stretch. All of which, I’ll be the first to admit, doesn’t reveal my most attractive side. And some of them were very nice people, no questions. But is this the best I can do?

Remember I said feel lucky you’re only getting the labours lost kvetching, rather than the love’s-labours-lost? You should continue to feel lucky. It’s getting uglier. And perhaps I should go back to smoking. The poison is a little more localised….

Ashcroft’s Expired Library Card
Friday September 19th 2003, 5:04 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Links Tags:

Geeks and fags
Friday September 19th 2003, 2:34 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Work Tags:

Well, the ‘Library’ entries have been taken off the front page. If you actually care to see a list of two (2) books, complete with geek-slick graphics, go ahead and check it out. But I might be sneaking some entries in there, too, and you will have NO way of knowing. Bummer, huh?

Ramble babble blather. Sorry. So much not going on that I’ve lost the words to say: to kvetch, to complain, or even to rant. Also, I decided, rather summarily, to quit smoking this afternoon. You can imagine my headache. It’s only been 2 hours, admittedly, but trust me, it resembles the heart-attack people suffer when jumping off of buildings without parachutes: my brain knows I have no intention of having a cigarette, and therefore the addictive part is, rather than enjoying a serene suicide jump from a high place, err, umm. Analogy breakdown.

geek pretentiousness
Monday September 15th 2003, 11:47 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Work Tags:

A bit of time, a bit of tinkering with the site. Check out The Library, and see the geeky book feed at the beginning. I’ll try and play with it some more – and keep a steady stream of books flying by, although it’s highly unlikely I’ll play ‘fair’ and actually be reading them now. I’ll probably pull the library entries off of this front section, too, if only to force people to click around. Why? Because I can. Hmm. Nevermind. If you give fuck, look; if not….what do I care? Vanitas vanitatum. Ars longa vita brevis. yadda yadda yadda.

elngsih laugnage
Monday September 15th 2003, 10:07 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Links Tags:

whatever you can carry
Friday September 12th 2003, 11:01 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

My whisky arrived today – thanks, Tone. I didn’t get the Stanford job today: ‘The search committee met yesterday and decided to further pursue two of the
four candidates we interviewed. I regret to say that you were not one of
these two’. And I taught, today. And after I taught, a young man from Salinas – lettuce capitol of the world – asked me, ‘how can I follow your path? English isn’t my first language, but I want to be a professor of English’.

He and I talked for about an hour after class, talking about Middle English, multilingualism, academia. We talked about Mexican politics, literature, history, where Beowulf and Don Quixote fit in. We talked about California politics, and translating for his parents at the doctors, for his cousins on the footie field.

I sold a bunch of my CDs, today, CDs I’d resolved not to sell just before leaving England, though I’d originally planned on it, upon purchasing a toy. And now, cutting through the sentimentality that had prevented me before, I ruthlessly pruned some of the more random and obscure items of my collection. Plus a number of common CDs as well: I’ve lived without them for months, now. And the cash, already swiftly reduced, was enough to buy me a pack of fags, and remove the headache that had come on all to strong by midday.

Between the arrival of my long awaited shipment, the rejection from a long-hoped-for-yet-never-believed-in job, the teaching and Jose from Salinas, I must admit, I’m at a bit of a loss. Some friends have recently come through, in a big way, as friends – a reminder that I love some people in this world, and am loved. And a stranger reminded me that respect can be earned suddenly, and reciprocated just as quickly. And a few boxes? They’ve reminded me maxims I used to mouth, about taking it with you, about carrying it. I left others to carry my things this time. In many ways, I suppose. But I’m carrying as much as I can right now, carrying for too many people in too many ways.

And the Japanes proverb, so appositely supplied this evening: get knocked down seven times. Get up eight times.