yesterday i spilled coffee on my lovely ergonomic keyboard (a little black monkey named berkley had something to do with it)... i can't seem to find my old keyboard. it took me this long to realize, duh!, this is a laptop!

i leave for seattle in a couple of days. taking this baby with me.

time to go clean this sty. more if i get enough accomplished........................

thanks brandon!

do not lose heart.

keep fighting, pushing for change, for progress.

don't succumb to the urge to flee to canada, to mexico, to somplace Other. get involved. be the change our country needs.

today i am thrilled to be the cliche of the proud american.

--------------------
Justice Kennedy, on overturning the Texas Fourteenth District Court of Appeal's decision on sodomy:

"This, as a general rule, should counsel against attempts by the State, or a court, to define the meaning of the relationship or to set its boundaries absent injury to a person or abuse of an institution the law protects. It suffices for us to acknowledge that adults may choose to enter upon this relationship in the confines of their homes and their own private lives and still retain their dignity as free persons. When sexuality finds overt expression in intimate conduct with another person, the conduct can be but one element in a personal bond that is more enduring. The liberty protected by the Constitution allows homosexual persons the right to make this choice ... "


" The case does involve two adults who, with full and mutual consent from each other, engaged in sexual practices common to a homosexual lifestyle. The petitioners are entitled to respect for their private lives. The State cannot demean their existence or control their destiny by making their private sexual conduct a crime. Their right to liberty under the Due Process Clause gives them the full right to engage in their conduct without intervention of the government. The Texas statute furthers no legitimate state interest which can justify its intrusion into the personal and private life of the individual. "

"Had those who drew and ratified the Due Process Clauses of the Fifth Amendment or the Fourteenth Amendment known the components of liberty in its manifold possibilities, they might have been more specific. They did not presume to have this insight. They knew times can blind us to certain truths and later generations can see that laws once thought necessary and proper in fact serve only to oppress. As the Constitution endures, persons in every generation can invoke its principles in their own search for greater freedom. "

thursday morning coming down:

what is she doing up right now? the clock says

5:53 AM

i just emailed bryan.

okay, so here's the deal. i'm still freaking sick. the only medicine i have (save the vitamin C a caring friend bestowed upon me) is dayquil gelcaps (which, strangely enough, i believe i blogged on diaryland some time ago, a few sicknessess back, when i discovered that (gasp!) gelcaps contain gelatin. horse hoof.) and so i sacrificed my ethics yestereve and am paying with early stupid alertness. i think those fuckers contain caffeine.

it's raining. the cats are restless. i'm sweaty again, and the AC is whirring and i'm starting to get cold. lord, what a whinebucket i am this AM!

the christmas dishrag rebellion of 2001 wasn't enough.

i wish there really was a god of the judeo-xian tradition, just so he could do some hard core smiting of the person my family calls "that devil woman" or "dookie."

had a great adventure dream this morning, set in the buffyverse. and no, this one did not involve spike.

i was almost late for work because i didn't want to leave the grandiose and video-game-like fight i was having with an evil large woman who could jump really high and far. i kept throwing vases at her. we were fighting on this amazing huge staircase and balcony....

------

wow, i'm really out of it. such an important week work-wise, going to try to stick out the rest of the day. but i really want to take some dan-prescribed medicine and go back to bed.

okay. back to quicken. i entered everything in wrong this morning, must go fix my mistakes. i shouldn't be allowed to do bookkeeping when sick!

meet the friedmans looks like it is only showing through thursday. must... make... time to see.

check out the captain's thoughts on both this and "winged migration" (also showing at the angelika.)

a good morning greeting i received this morning:

yes, here i am, awake and typing.
not asleep.

i'm sick. that stinks. but i will sleep soon, and overdose on vitamin c tomorrow -- hopefully that will help kick this.

hello mel. hello bran. hello mb gucci. hello bethy "i'm starting a new job" keeler. i'm thinking of you right now.

berkley got ahold of the malas brandon gave me, and was about to do some destructive kittie meditation before i rescued them.

bran, your books should be on their way soon. please don't forget:



goodnight all.

Top twelve things to do: (in no particular order)
stay up too late at my computer
sing (in car, with guitar, etc.)
listen to good music (in car, via headphones, etc.)
converse over dinner w/ intelligent "other"
read
fuck
write
pick up purring kitties when i first get home
drive
drink iced tea
talk to loved ones
yoga

love you too bran.

so so exhausted. i don't remember being this wiped out (excluding netmug experiences, of course)

i keep almost seeing things.

annika kept waking up, which meant i kept having to lie down with her. sleep threatened to take me each moment, and i had to resist. i have a feeling once i let go there'll be no waking me for a good few hours.

but between the laundry and lying down stints w/ annika i had the fortune of starting a new book: Nick Fowler's A Thing (or Two) About Curtis and Camilla. Very cool-ly typeset. I want to write a book like this someday. I feel like Fowler is me. Or that the book is me. There I am, in the kerning and leading of the text. There I am, in the dialogue and irony and well-named chapters.

"...I think we know we're grownups when we stop resisting the urge to become a cliche." it says. Among many other things.

i've only read about five pages. it's already made it to my top ten favorite books list (wonder what it knocked down a notch?). i need to make some lists.

some favorite novels: (ones that come to mind when thinking of a top ten list)
house of leaves
the princess bride
a thing (or two) about curtis and camilla
breakfast of champions
carter beats the devil
hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
the little prince
the star-bellied sneetches
the great gatsby
jitterbug wine
gun, with occasional music
shame
run with the hunted
white noise
amnesia moon
kiln people
desolation angels

top ten "top ten" lists:
favorite authors
favorite musicians
dinners i can cook
restaurants
moments as experienced by ~s
things to do
things to do (in the city where i currently live)
everyday items (for mb no. 1 is paper towels; for me right now it's my trash can)
(come up with some more later, maybe.)


----------------------------------

i'm about to lie on the bed beneath the steady whirr of ceiling fan blade
i'm about to let go of consciousness
a gentle whoosh

and it's another story, not one for right now because it's sunshiny outside and i gotta go soak me some of that goodness in,

but i slept outside last night, in tall grass with kitties and good company beneath a tree that was near-worshipped. i played guitar and listened to two folks play both of my guitars, the synergy of the shan-instruments and it'll come soon, this story will be shared soon

after sun. after babysitting. after i take the saturday afternoon somewhere...............

i ate lunch at my desk yesterday so that i could take care of some personal business; pay some bills, change my phone service, talk to mom about the latest family trauma.

i was feeling quite down, consumed with the worry and helplessness mama had transferred through the analog line when i turned NPR on. glenn mitchell was interviewing ian moore at the dallas public library.

i clicked the radio on and the sounds of ian singing a new song (caroline) filled the over-ac'd section of my office. it soothed me to a semblance of peace.

i called brandon, urging him to find a live stream of the interview.

and decided it was about time shan went to a show by herself again.

----------------

so last night i hit the ATM, handed over 15 bucks at the gypsy tea room (which i parked right in front of for free!) and stood in a corner of the bar, mildly lusting after two bearded guys with masses of curly hair and hip western shirts with snaps, my body slightly crunched against the brick wall as i sucked down a shiner and waited for the opening act.

conversation swirled around me, inane-isms spilling from the mouths of dallas girls in tube tops and high heeled shoes and their button-down-shirted boyfriends. dallas ian moore fans are so strange. the women tend to sway through the show, eyes closed, humming and moving and feeling sexy as their boyfriends pour alcohol down them and rock to the music with the girl encased in a circle of arms.

and they always demand that ian play songs from his first album (that came out like fucking ten years ago or something), and i hate it when they do that, and i hope that they won't do that tonight

i think as i wonder if i should purchase another carbfest of texas beer.

but then, an inward sigh of "it figures" because the bearded hotties are getting onstage, they're the opening act and of course they're frucking musicians.

it figures.

and every time i go to one of these shows i get a kick of inspiration to write songs. i engage in fantasies of being up there. i wish that brandon lived here, so that we could start a two-man band with our guitars and a mini-drum set that consists of a bass drum and snare.

and the opening band was austin-goodness, all blues mixed with beauty.

then ian went on the stage and i was on beer two and this guy kept hitting on me (i put up with it because i was right up front and if we established some semblance of rapport that would mean that i'd have a spot to return to when i had to tinkle or replenish beverageness)

and i made eye contact with ian a couple of times during the set, me grinning and singing and the whole thing is strangely like church. especially when he sings a particularly slow one, gentle at first and everyone in the bar literally whispers shhhhh! and then the smallish climaxes in the songs, ian singing us to a sort of little death and the people, the guys especially, yell and holler. it's like when the holy ghost hits a small country congregation.

ian is anointed, holy, impure up there. i don't know. it's strange, almost. he's up, elevated on stage, and you look up, and the faces around you are a mix of worship, joy, ecstasy (remember the eyes-closed tube-topped women swaying?)

and i've got on eyeliner
my eyes feel so damn big
it's like i see more than anyone else there

this obnoxious guy next to me gets blitzed, keeps yelling out annoying stuff and singing wrong lyrics really loud loud. he disappears for a couple of songs and reappears

convulsing stumbling drunk

right up front. everyone moves out of his way, and he's got center stage with eyes closed as awkwardly he feels the music, fists pumping this way and that, stomping his foot some and shaking his head with conviction.

everyone laughs at him, shifts uncomfortably but i resist the urge to feel embarassed for him.

cause sometimes this is how music makes me feel, he's acting it out all crazy and stupid drunk wild but it's a genuine moment if one could exist. i smile at it, lock eyes with ian and we smile together, "crazy fucking dallas crowd" we seem to say

the crowd is rocking swaying incoherent drunk at the end. so rude that he doesn't even return for an encore. but that's the choice made by the insta-community, boistrous and shades degrees from getting it.

the lights come up. the guy who was hitting on me before tries to hit on me again, the drunk crazy dancing guy being his topic of conversation. i excuse myself after a couple of minutes of awkwardness,

go sit at the bar and order an ice water -- have to make sure i'm good to get into HAL sitting patiently at the parking meter and drive him the few blocks home.

culture snobs unite!

one day i shall edit the dangling modifiers

ran into tedd holladay last night
he's the vegetarian socialist who used to slip me communist propaganda disguised as history of the spanish civil war

i even wrote a paper on it

JC got offered 40K to be a cinematographer for a San Diego studio. Unfortunately they neglected to mention that they produce adult films until the last minute. Hopes dashed. This means more time spent working for the man, cause once you go porn your film career is over.

In the meantime? The captain deals with post-college woes (rent, food, career, etc.) and entertains the idea of teaching english in s korea -- all while sucking down the thick goodness of boddingtons.

hasta jueves

this moment, so private. and yet the compulsion to put something out there has me typing right here right now.

maybe this is an addiction? hell, it's healthier than cigarettes.

sheesh. just lost my first blogger post. damn.

off to cleburne for potato salad and casseroles galore. hooray for father's day splendor.

tired and feeling old

tomorrow is my least favorite hallmark day (except for maybe flag day)

speaking of, i got a letter from rick this week. a real letter scripted in ballpoint pen on a yellow legal pad and stuffed in a plain white envelope, my last name in the sender and recipient's address.

send me your addresses, all. i'm about to write me some letters (with a rollerball gel pen on whatever paper i can find in the apt), starting with michigan/taos dave who is currently somewhere in africa speaking a language that literally has clicks in it.

leaning into the crack

an older version of shan would say that the skies look like they're getting ready for jesus

i'm utterly in love with the unthinkable surprise of this june weather

brandon, you may not know it but you were just riding in HAL with me, singingscreaming a malkimus song: do not feed the oysters under the ground!

amy's veggie lasagna turns slowly in the microwave; i can't wait to taste it.

how am i able to joyfully accept this pain in this moment? thus i willed it?

lean into the cracks, melissa. don't you know that you are a crimson alligator?

song:
bjork's it's not up to you
(from vespertine)

"love and desire to reconnect with the world, not
hate and anger, is what radical ecopsychologist Andy Fisher argues
should drive our own activism"

--Fernando Castrillon (from his piece on "The Sheep Look Up" by John Brunner)

that's the thing about knowledge. save some pretty impressive self-delusion, you can't really give it back. "no, i don't think i'll accept this, thanks."

for now, no mas writing and thinking on this. time to dive into this editing project. vampires in space....

the neighbor called me drunk last night, slurring me to knowledge i didn't want

damn it.
in this moment i find myself privileging presence.

branners no esta aqui.

Dating Show Star Let Go By Law Firm

Being the culture snob I am, I avoid shows like For Love Or Money. I've never seen it, but apparently this Dallas-based attorney has to pick a woman in the new-traditional dating game/reality show way. She then must choose between him and a million bucks. Shudder.

Until today this guy worked in my building -- his on-screen shenanigans and hidden past (unearthed by the smoking gun) prompted his firm to fire him.

I wonder if the building will take down the huge placard downstairs that traces the show's progress (each time he cuts a woman from the running they X her face in red magic marker)....

no no
we have no cows
bye bye

But the high court said: "Perusing a standard dictionary convinces us that the term used by church officials to describe Jane Kliebenstein has religious roots but also carries a common and largely unflattering secular meaning. We conclude from these definitions that the phrase 'spirit of Satan' has meaning in a secular as well as sectarian context."

laziness cuts me like fine cutlery

song for right now: pedro the lion's the longer i lay here.

+ + +

personal responsibility and motivation -- these things have come up of late in conversations with friends.

see, my mind has been working along this particular binary: irresponsible vs. responsible

i'm most certainly the former. if there is anything akin to essence or nature, i've got the slacker fuckup irresponsible disorganized inclination. the semblance of order of shnn's current life hasn't come without work.

is it that weird to think that there are two types of people -- those who naturally do what is expected for this construct of adulthood and personal responsibility? and those who don’t?

and all the interesting spaces in between -- the homeless (how many “choose” to be so? how many of them have pasts like by brother, patterns of failure and expectation?). religious folk who adopt a vow of poverty. my friends who graduated sum kinda laude and languish in the halls of the unemployed, despondent and beaten…

i've always had to fight it. i don’t always triumph. thinking back on all the elaborate excuses for late papers and missed classes, bounced check fees, confrontations with professors, the cycles of depression as the responsibilities stacked up and towered over me and i hid in bed, as though the covers could shield me from the consequences of my irresponsibility.

self-loathing crept in, penetrating even my escape sleep.

once you put something off the effort necessary to accomplish it seems to grow exponentially.

brandon suggested that i might have a peculiar form of perfectionism, which i guess kind of makes sense when you think of me struggling for hours at the computer, avoiding writing papers. Because face it, writing is *hard* -- and it’s 3am the night before the thing is due and you’ve already emailed everyone you know and taken those stupid quizzes on emode and studied vegetarianism, and seriously considered making the switch, and you’ve called your cousin in Canada and gone down the hall for a beer with joy, maybe masturbated a couple of times or cleaned your room and showered, and wouldn’t this be a good time for a pedicure! And you’re tired, exhausted from avoiding this task, and god you just want to go to bed. You can turn it in late, though that will make the grade drop and you’ll have to be embarrassed in front of the class and face the professor who you respect sooo much but it’s not enough to get you to face the fear that you may not write this one well, how’s the argument going to come and you hate this the topic and then you start doing the math -- one page per hour, this means you won’t get to sleep at all tonight!

and so you barely start an outline, brush your teeth and wash your face and tuck yourself into bed after setting the clock for early early, telling yourself that you will get up in the morning and write it, it’ll be down to the wire and you’ll be focused and pressured and it will just come out like magic.

and you end up pressing snooze for hours and sleeping through half your classes…. You skulk around campus that afternoon smoking cigarettes and praying that you don’t run into your professor because you haven’t quite formulated your excueses yet……

i still have dreams that it's that last semester in college and i'm not going to graduate. this is the most realistic dream that i have. i wake up and it takes a bit to figure out, wait, hey, i graduated. i made it. Scraped by.


--years ago, when i was in the biggest struggle for responsibility, the semester I dropped over half my classes and subsequently lost my health insurance-- I was trying to communicate the doubt and fear and concern to my type-a friend heather who started her papers early and had a place for everything in her dorm room and she just didn’t understand why i didn’t go to class. why i was sitting there complaining instead of up in my room typing away. and i got so angry and hurt because she dismissed my concerns with a pat on the knee or whatever and said “you’ll get it done.” ***

Some people just don’t get it.

motivation

And god, I wanted to be in school. what of those responsibilities that you can’t find motivation for? those are the ones that plague me right now.

the freedom and space that deconstruction (and reconstruction and choice) give me are helpful. i have to reframe things, situate them in a story so that motivation is written into the action.

this doesn't mean that i've got all my shit together. for instance, i don't have health insurance. not because i can't afford it -- it's because i haven't budgeted for it, haven't privileged it, haven't bothered. it's on that to-do list in my mind that i occasionally write down, along with a list of people i need to contact, along with the responsibilities i've put off so long that it's a chore to try to even think of them.

And so, time to sweep in, shnn her own deux ex machina, and deliver this miracle. I give you the to do list:

Call: Tim Stace Aunt Jac Vacker JC Justin Hopkins
Email: Bryan Savvy’s friends Jill Bell
Get health insurance
Start saving
Plan a goddamn trip to somewhere outside the states
Fix sewing machine, make mel’s blanket (and those durn placemats! There’s $70 of fine linen in my closet waiting, shnn!)
Mop
Get oil changed
Do Something With The Solipsist


***yestereve i was conversing with a friend and he was expressing his frustration with lack of motivation and i pulled a heather on him. i’m not always such a great listener. working on that.

texans could be in for an exotic new disease

the tv says

these really fast loud motorcycles are driving around dallas. they blew past me at what had to top 100 mph as i pointed my car home on 75 around 2 this morning. they just loudly puttered past my apartment on parry, glided up the ramp in a high-pitched revvvvvv and zoomed East on I-30 if my sense of direction and sound is functioning at this moment.

why do these motorcycles sound so loud? will these folks get caught? what's going on in the minds of the drivers? or is the terminology "riding"....

From Lucky Wander Boy, a new novel I started this weekend:

"If Pac-Man and the games that followed in its wake mean anything to us, if they are central switching stations through which thousands of our most important memoires are routed, it is our duty to dig deeper.

To us, the Pac-Man's lives appear short, cheap, and relatively inconsequential once we discover the overwhelming importance of sex and money. But if we perform a thought experiment and try to occupy a Pac-Man's subjectivity, we will realize that these three short spans are not so short to him. We must allow that each dot eaten takes on a meaning for the Pac-Man that we can barely fathom.

I suggest that if we, through force of imagination, were to dilate time to experience it as the Pac-Man does, and increase the resolution to allow us to read as much into each pixel as the Pac-Man must, we would not see the identical dots as identical at all. When the microscopic differences in each pixel are made large, each dot will possess a snowflake's uniqueness, and the acquisition of each -- no, the experience of each -- will bring the Pac-Man a very specific and distinct joy or sorrow...."

right now? right now shnn is reviewing visitation policies

i was nearly an aunt.

how do you mediate disaster?

where is the truth in all the vicious stories?

does anybody out there know of a place for a twenty-something vagabond drunk who can't take care of himself and has anger management problems?

the dark past manifests itself in blacker hues today

pithy

falafel