Conversation with a mentaly derranged woman when asked what was the thing that pushed her-
I had a friend who talked to much....it drove me nuts.

So, it happens.

Talked to an old timer the other day about how incredibly intense a good countdown once was. He talked about the space program coming of age in the sixties, how excited everyone was. How you didn't know if astronauts would come back with their big cheif tablets and slide rules. They thought that they'd go blind in space without gravity pulling the blood up into your eye sockets. The best part about it all- was that voice '10....9...8...7...6...' He said the best countdown ever back in '63 was quite simply 'God-speed John-Glen-10....9...8...7...'
I got chills just hearing about it.

I like countdowns too, and dread them at the same time.

The advent calendars with little chocolates that restrict virtuous 8 year old catholic school girls from eating the prize baby jesus until the very last. (Then your bubba snatches him away around the 11th or 12th, bites his baby head and slips his baby swadled body back into the window undiscovered until...the horror!!!)

The white egg timers that gauge for cakes or when children and moms are released from a much needed time out.

cv

Name: JoJO
Date/Time: 7/26/2003 12:13:12 PM
City: Brooklyn
State: New York
Grievance: You GTE people should be shitting your brains out, If you think
the police are really going to protect you when we mobile picket you, your
nuts. Sure they may protect from physical harm, but how are you going to
feel when your up on a cross box, surrounded by 30-40 union people screaming
at you. Remember Police are union too, and have looked the other way during
previous strikes.SCABS will PAY!!
It would be nice is SARS hits TEXAS, I HATE YOU FUCKING GTE scabs I can't
wait to bring out my BAT and start swinging at your faces.!!!!
your friend
THE TEXAS HATER!!!

but this is a little comforting...

Name: Anonymous
Date/Time: 7/26/2003 9:18:20 PM
City: NY
State: New York
Grievance: The company has hired additional security. In New York City they
are paying off duty police $300 per day to follow scabs with video cameras.
They hired police cause they are expert witnesses and if you are caught
assaulting scabs the company will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the
law. Now before you start badmouthing me, I want the union to beat this
greedy company. I got some inside info and want to pass it along to the
union members. Personally I would like to see all the scabs beat down as
they are scumbags but you can get out of being caught on video and to have a
cop as the cameraman/witness you will be finished,job/record/jail. Be
careful guys,you can win on the merits.

See-everythings going to be just fine.
Perfectly safe.
Right?
Hello?
Anybody there?

HONRARY YANKEE
Perking up a bit. Eyes shining now. Just got off the phone with NY. Can my managers hire a temp to backfill me? I said. That's up to your manager's discretion they said. ...and what are your skills? I can work the call center I said. Do you still need people? Are you kidding? they said. 500,000 people they said. I'll be nice here, they said. Where do you want to be? Very kind I said. NY I said. How about Pearl Street he said. There's a call center there. Great I said. I'll talk to Maria then he said. Let me know when you have clearance he said. I'll let you know by this afternoon I said.

Call in a string of temps to interview my boss said. I'll talk to Rodney this afternoon Cindy said.
Sounds hopeful.
I've got the holy spirit running all through me.
I'm alive again.
cv

I'm despondent. I won't clean out my coffee cup, put the sheets on my bed, or throw away the take-away cartons. I'm a significant partner in creating a hostile work environment, and bursting with narcotics, I'm the first one to walk out on meetings and conference calls without a formal dismisal. I return...hmmmm about half my voicemails. It has occured to me that when people take the time and effort to call up and leave a voicemail, it deserves the courtesey of a call back, but I don't care. I'd rather go home and crawl up into a fetal position or shoot puppies with bb guns and eat raw beef.
I wait. All of our vacation time is frozen.

It is not nice to be a scab
Pray for me my brothers and sisters, so that I might have somthing besides the copy to room to remember...in this day and age of war and social unrest. I wanna be a scab. Take my vacation days. Take my family my friends, my home, my hometown. I wanna be a scab.

Glory in Being a Scab
1. All expense paid time east with the understanding that I don't have to get stuck there.
2. MONEY
3. Respect amongst fellow co-workers. Like the military, they think you're going so they don't have to.
4. Experience in the field means the old timers here finally think I'm cool and know what I'm talking about.
5. The potential to use my tae kwon do skills to fight off mean yankee strikers. Deflect bricks. Dodge rocks. Hide in dark alleys when they follow me home. As Jack London says, I'll be fighting terrorism. How cool is that?

Can't wait.
Mike, I want the red one we saw last Saturday.
h.

DEAR RIA,
In my little coffee shop. It is Monday. It is live jazz night. All the other regulars shy away from monday nights which means that I can relax exempt from the usual obligatory small talking typically associated with my visits and I can just...ahhhhh... I'm a little aroused by the music and the little style magazine I just flipped through...a little self loathing going on at the same time. It's been an overall hot jazzy sort of day.
Watched some old 1930's stag films last night- a little event staged by one john, an archivist for the city of dallas. Keeper of the vault that contains the precious JFK assasination investigation- our city's sole claim to fame. He's a Dallas historian by matter of default, and after the flicks he told us stories about Jack Ruby and his burlesque night club featuring the beautiful and infamous Candy Barr- a woman of such moxie that it charmed the pardons out of the state for any crime of her choosing. I spent most of the day fixed on the internet- revisiting my weekend friends and their blogs, and digging for more on the illustrious Candy Bar. Her photo depicting her in various poses with her sholders twisted, back curved, tummy pulled inward and little pasties sucking at her nipples. I conclude, the death of the pasty is such a sad sad thing. Let us take a moment of silence, maybe one or two breaths longer than what is usually given in those times of national crisis that often prelude entire shifts in universal conciousness.
___
And again back to these trumpets and saxaphones taking over the world. I'm wondering what it is like to pour over one tangible thing for so many years until you really own it. To reinvent yourself over and over again and to have that thing be part of it...maybe even instigating it. Your friends ask about it before they ask about your mother's health or guess at how old the kids must be by now...because they love you with THAT THING. What is that- to have a thing? Mike pulls Alberto close- and gets on to him about his needing to write 'It's the most important thing'. I snorted a bit at that- and I'm trying to understand why. Jealosy I guess. I fall in and then out of love with too many things- like affairs that become part of my own special collection- so personal and poetic. I can't allow one to grow for worry about what new thing I might not have a chance to absorb. Working on relationships always felt like something was wrong. Love is easy and totally sexy in this style magazine, in the disney movie, and on that vacation to NYC when you spent the night with that hot asian guy from queens in a surfer band- or that next year when you went back and it was the london web designer who stayed up all night with you just to walk you across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise because he couldn't leave you just yet- but then left the next afternoon (his face framed outside the subway car starring- and everyone in the car in the seat in front of you starring too wondering why you're smiling like that, if you're going to start crying, or maybe even try to stop him). Your boyfriend back home none the wiser- only suddenly...less important.
Well, the musicians here have taken a break...only they sit and say nothing- anxious to begin the next set. It's really just for us coffee drinkers (turned martini sippers) resting from the music now..
Goodnight faithful pen pal.
A- Dios.
calluna vulgaris
h.

personal pan costa nostra:'wet and declassified'
The fuzzy weekend head is getting it's water weight back slowly this morning, and a few people in the office have made allussions to the space cadet eyes I'm making. My brother's right, the wine will make me unemployed; homeless. The rot is undeniably there. The presence of absence... that is the rot.

INTERVIEW WITH A CASKET SALESMAN GOES SOMETHING LIKE THIS:
We were just eating breakfast next door at Cindees and saw the sign open to the public and thought we could look around??? (It's 1:30 in the afternoon...hello! HANGOVER!)
Well okay, we sell caskets to those people who have a need, are you in the market to purchase a casket or.....?
No...no... well, not at this time
Well, we take those people through showroom who have a need or a loved one with a need.
Absolutely, I undersand. I shake my head yes, looking back at him heavily.
I am believing at this point that he is turning us away, denying me the satisfaction of my curiosity. His gaze is solid, the corners of his mouth do not turn up or down, nor will they for the remainder of the interview. In retrospect, he probably believed I was stoned.
Sure, let me show you the back.
Thanks Damn these people in the death business are hard as fuck to read. He leads me into a room filled with caskets. I comment on the gentle lighting- it's just so perfectly soft for crying under.
So, do these seal up airtight?
Not exactly airtight. The seal is there, but of course over time the a rubber seal will deteriorate. Besides that, even though the casket is lowered into a vault, the weight of the dirt will often crush the casket.
I see. What is the vault made out of?
Various materials really. Some higher priced vaults might be made of steel, others concrete. Vaults are cemetary regulated, it's not an adherance to any law.
Oh really. And these pieces right here (a cloth that hangs to separate the closed lit right side from the open left), they are removed for the burial?
Yes and these side flaps fold in.
And is it true that people aren't buried in their shoes.
No, often times they are.
So, do coffins come in different sizes... you know for kids?
Well, I know what you're talking about, but no we don't sell them here. They are all a standard 6'1 size.
And can you do customizations?
Sometimes, someone might take the top to an engraver and have something added that reflects the deceased's interests, but it's very expensive, and we don't do that here. We sell caskets to the public for much cheaper than they would buy them for at a funeral home. Most people don't realize that they can go with a casket from retailer, thinking either that they have to go with the funeral home's selection, or else don't have the energy to shop for discounted rates.
I can imagine that someone grieving would just want to get it over with. Thank you by the way for doing this. I can't imagine walking into a place like this for the first time after dealing with the death of a loved one. So, I see this store open a lot, you must work a lot of hours.
We're open 6 days a week, 10 hours a day, and by appointment as well. When you need a casket, you need one right away.
Sure. So, do people usually come in here with one other person or two...
Well, believe it or not, it's very cultural. Anglo people tend to come in here with maybe one or two other people, but black and hispanic families often come in with their children, and the whole extended family. Often times families have to share the financial burden of the funeral costs, and so everyone is a part of the decisions.
So, do you notice many trends on when people die, by when people come in?
Yes, actually the winter months and the early spring.
The winter because of the holidays?
Perhaps that plays a part, but really because of the weather during those times, there are more accidental deaths.
So you've seen some people come in pretty devestated, I mean a complete wreck. That must be hard.
People grieving, and people making funeral preparations for themselves with their loved ones. People who would like to handle the burden for themselves instead of waiting until after they're gone to have it settled. In such cases as these, we have a storage area where we can hold the casket until there is a need.
And do you deliver the casket to the funeral home then?
Yes, we deliver the caskets free of charge to the funeral home of your choice.
(this is good, because I am imagining at this point a man in a big hat carting a casket down I-75 in the back of his dodge ram pick up truck.)
So how much does a funeral cost?
Well, the lowest end funeral costs could be about 3,000 and all the way up to whatever you want to spend. John Gotti's casket was inlaid with 18 carrat gold and is said to have cost $40,000. (at this point I see that this man is getting a bit excited, but the corners of his mouth STILL do not turn up) I can show you a replica....
Have you ever sold one?
No, not here. (his eyes cool down again)
Really however, the big costs are associated with the plot. Some of those get rather pricey, and some cemetaries are so full and you can no longer get plots in them.

The conversation trails off to a handshake and business card.
The walk through the casket store is pretty much complete, and I've run out of questions. The casket guy and I have to hunt down Mike who's digital camera is snapping away at the dark recesses of casket store corners, and then peel Alberto away from the facinating reading material distinctive to casket store waiting rooms, and everyone left happy.

I don't mean to offend you...but
I'm being told by the office gang that eating so much peanut butter straight from the jar is incredibly dangerous. The green reduced fat banner makes no difference. No difference at all they say.
huh.
I'm growing apathetic to my blog. Neglecting it....locking it in a dark moldy closet with very little food and letting it defecate on itself in the quiet.
I've been obsessing over two things lately. The one I can talk about without my meds close by is on the topic of sincerity. What got me thinking on this was an exchange that I had with my mother. She had baked me a very fine cake for an event, a cake lovingly refered to by friends as "The Cake". A very charming little chocolate delectable made with Dutch processed cocao, guiness, and some other stuff that I don't know about. Anyways, I was thanking my mother for taking the time and trouble for her contribution as it were, and she smirked and said 'uh-okay...???' Not the pat response we've all come to know and expect: 'You're welcome' which said to me that I was not quite acting as myself, but weird somehow. I asked whether she didn't think I seemed sincere in my appreciation, which she replied, 'I don't know'.

So what is sincere? How do I capture it? Recognize? In asking, does it prove my virtue or my void? (It's all about me)
Main Entry: sin·cere
Pronunciation: sin-'sir, s&n-Function: adjective
1 : marked by genuineness : TRUE
---
Still not at all clear...

Main Entry: gen·u·ine
Pronunciation: 'jen-y&-w&n, -(")win, ÷-"wIn
1 a : actually having the reputed or apparent qualities or character b : actually produced by or proceeding from the alleged source or author c : sincerely and honestly felt or experienced a deep and genuine love d : ACTUAL, TRUE a genuine improvement2 : free from hypocrisy or pretense : SINCERE

A deep and genuine love huh. This is supposed to add clarification to the definition...how? (Any cynics in the house tonight Ladies and Gentlemen?)
Actual. Matafactual. (Is that a word? No it is not. Where did that come from?)
Pretense-free sounds good.

How can one be absolutely sure one is being sincere...if one was striving to be more so?
Aren't shallow people as sincere as anyone else might be?
Isn't that a tick in their favor?
By trying to be more sincere, doesn't one miss the point?
I'm baffled.
What sort of professional can I waste some good money on to get to the bottom of this shit?
What is their name, where do they sit, and how do I go about finding the very best one?
Some shrunken professor in an east coast university basement office perhaps...quiet...
messing himself.
and playing chess
on the internet
with an older woman who looks like a praying mantis.
A cambodian lady actually;
behind the scenes of a thoughtfully organized human trafficing operation.
with cooperatives in several north Parisian slums.
nigerians are involved mostly.
how will I ever find you
my genius love?
my butter butt,
Merriam Webster means nothing to me.
I'd give the whole thing up for you.
creamy, chunky, allofit.
Promise to forget that slut in Korea or wherever the fuck she is.
Just come home now.
Your little pancake waits-
falling apart without you.
Blink twice if you can hear me.
Blink twice

Fellowship Baptist Creation Science Fair:
2nd Place: "Women Were Designed For Homemaking"

Yes this is for real and I think my brain is going to explode and my eyes are starting to bleed. I am weeping! Weeping at the pretentiousness of this art.

But then if 77 year old ex-nazi concentration guards are living out the rest of their days hiding beneath staircases like his victims had...
(but somehow hiding for fear of deportation just isn't the same.)

Fellowship Kharmic Creation Science Fair Project 983223654XI
by Sweetsweet Jane

Proving that one Jonathan Goode, (grade 7) early massogonist, grows to an adult physique well suited to "carrying groceries and laundry baskets" and making lower wages than normal workers because his work is inferior to other mens. And will always live with his mother. And won't ever get laid. Ever. In his whole life. Except in prison. She reports this from "applied findings from many fields of science to support her conclusion."

May God have mercy on his gene pool...on all of us.

The Echo in the Soil
The handwritten letter I found this morning on top of the standing cabinet in my bathroom was written on a paper napkin that wasn't from inside the house. I sat down, and began to read:

Dear Heather,
There is no hiding it, I am gone. Having served (and loved) my due and fitting time, I've now met my passage for departure...

Distinctly Alberto's writting. Last night, I'd left to bed a bit before midnight. He hadn't seemed melancholy at all. Didn't appear wrecked up- but clear, calm, engaged in the conversation and the cool too-sweet Chardonay. (note to self:Chardonay's suck...never again). What kind of mess begins this day? Poor Dearhearttorturedpoet. God, if he did it in the living room, that's going to be a mess. Yes my heart raced a bit (are you satisfied much then?).

The young man who expidited my transcendance (as it was, my exit, a dance) was an unwilling actor in my final act and after an errant hair. In honesty he knew not whether it belonged to you or him- but in reaching for it he found (as I called) me. The hair now joins the small "good bye" left of me for you.

I look back up at the cabinet, and pulled up my pannies. My lovely blue glass perfume bottle- sits- without a neck. It's crystal head, rests in it's belly- sad, and very dead indeed.

(The hair itself is proud, vain and should likewise be ferried off acknowledgments stage)

Christ, I'm thinking, if my new houseguest continues chasing hairs as if a bull, my little apartment may be reduced to splinters by week's end. I recall a poem dedicated to the man going something like: 'hair hair everywhere on floor and in my chair- it's even in my underwear'

Heather, I shall return to you as all things return, eventually in different shape if still same function. (--->) What's left of me is a promise to return, and when I have, it too may be retired.

The observant (if obsessive) young man will find himself an unwitting agent in my returning you
...provided he can still walk following your reading of my farewell.

Yours,
here-beyond and upon reunion,
lovely blue bottle.

First Katherine and now this. Poof.
All my pretty ones dead.
Even the softest of boys break stuff.
No wonder old ladies buy and cover all things in plastic.
There comes a time, when enough is enough.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Collecting plastic things and cats. I'm well on my way.