even morleans

wow.

so, pixie is house/dog-sitting for a couple she knows. their dog is a beautiful akita, and their house is an eco-sustainable mansion. seriously. on the one hand, you have solar panels and water cisterns. on the other hand, you have a private, heated pool in the backyard, antique furniture and incredible paintings, most of which are painted by pixie's friend (almost each one i look at becomes my favourite). don't even get me started on the bathtub. we all know that would descend into drooling.

so we're feeling a little spoiled. of course, being loyal hankists, we go sleep in hank every night. but we come back here for showers and cooking in the large, handy kitchen. the nicest thing about the place is that it manages to be comfortable. how they manage to make me, little me, comfortable in this house where each item is more expensive than all my items put together, is amazing. it isn't a museum, it's a home.

speaking of making me comfortable, the gnostic mass did that too! normally ritualized spaces trigger me (i don't belong to any, i fear doing the wrong thing, i get flustered and feel like i don't belong, and i don't generally get anything out of the rituals). for example, the vodou ritual triggered me, even though it was really casual (there was a kid of about ten going around trying to actively disrupt things because he was bored and his mom was leading the choir. anything i could have accidentally done wouldn't do as much to mess up the vibe as this kid accomplished. i was glad to have him there). but the gnostic mass we went to the next night felt really warm and inviting, even though we came in the wrong way and there were participatory things we messed up on, and i usually hate participatory things anyway. but i felt really good about being there. my impression was perhaps it was this particular chapter that created the inviting, accepting feeling. still, i wish there was gnostic mass in edmonton i could go to. vancouver or toronto are currently my canadian options.

the mass was gorgeous. i enjoyed participating, i enjoyed saying "there is no part of me that is not of the gods" and "love is the law. love under will."i appreciated how they spoke of it as a mythology, and how there was an info bit in the missal that explained you didn't have to renounce or participate in any belief system to be a part of the mass. the symbolism used in the mass resonated nicely for the most part (still a bit heavy on the white man, but hey, aleister crowley was white and male; what are you gonna do).

today pixie was modeling, so the queen and i went to a park nearby, so he could do some running and i could lazily wander around and photograph the many birds. later, we made stuffed peppers, and tonight we're going for sushi, after which i might swim in the pool. it's a rough life, as a friend of mine likes to say.

have i mentioned how nice it is not to be driving?

two things about new orleans: there's an offence called "driving while black" in which you are pulled over because you are black, even if there is no visible infraction you are performing; also, i noticed today at the "whole foods" grocery store that most of the shoppers are white, and most of the staff is black. that's not cultural integration, folks. a brown friend of mine in edmonton says she is tired of having to explain to "nice white people" how they should work on their racism. they come to her, wanting to be re-educated. but it is not her responsability to educate white people out of our racism. that is our own responsability. we do not get a bone for simply wanting to try.

bookworm scarfs novels whole

up all night. reading. in the last two days, finished "the heaven-makers" by frank herbert and "the secret life of bees" by sue monk kidd. "bees" is a contemporary fiction, which i read less often (i hear the faint sound of mooing every time i read something immensely popular, especially if it falls remotely near the genre of chick-lit). it was good. i was charmed. the bees, the black madonna, and i admit i'm a sucker for coming-of-age stories.

which reminds me! last week, i read "gifts" by ursula k leguin, and was finally inspired to type her out a letter and mail it off to oregon. i've been meaning to write her for years; i feel glad i got over myself and completed the joyous task. hopefully it will lift her day. she still does all her own correspondence. "gifts" is glorious; i love how coming-of-age stories show us how to accept the parts of ourselves that are stronger, and thus more awkward, especially when we're only just realising these are parts of us. these gifts and this strength is inside of us, even if it doesn't always feel like they are of us (perhaps we are of them?).

oh yes, the herbert novel; four ratty old pocketbooks came through the store a few weeks back, with other herberts i loved and already had (since we're on the subject of teens discovering their gifts, may i recommend "soulcatcher", though not for the squeamish pre-teen) and i've been pouring through them the last ten days or so, stealing brief moments away from obligations and love. "heaven-makers" is the third, i've only "eyes of heisenberg" to go before i have to look around for other intelligent pulp. i enjoy how easy it is to tell old sci-fi that was originally published in serial form. "heaven-makers" is decent, with herbert's usual spin on morality: should we get involved? if we do, because we often cannot help ourselves, how can we interact with others in a way that serves us both and brings the least damage? what can we learn from those we think of as so different from us?

since this is suck a booky entry, may i also brag about reading weather books (just started, i think i skipped this week in science because i find physics easier to understand. but i am learning!) and literary smut put out by these fine folks (almost done, good but the norman mailer interview is kind of boring).

in other news, because i suppose there is other news, i am preparing for a long haul at work (nine days straight) and then a music festival. the caribou show was fantastic! there is something like a cross between a boxing match and church when you witness two great drummers playing onstage, facing and feeding off each other... the opening act, toro y moi, was quite good as well, and i hadn't heard of him. the queen was disappointed in the sound, but i think he is pickier than i, seeing as he has that skill in his repertoire (once as we were jamming, he came over and fiddled with a knob, and i told him it was the absence of this ability that i felt failed me as a musician. he told me kindly that it was actually the skill of a roadie, not a musician. since then i have begun to view the musician as some kind of idiot savant). not that the sound was great; i agree with him, but just adjusted my ear and didn't think of it again.

things with the queen are floating down from cloud nine as we try vainly to adjust to not seeing each other. being royalty is hard work; i don't know if i've already complained about it, but he works ten- to twelve-hour days, six days a week (thus earning his three months off). i am torn between wanting to let him sleep and see his friends, and wanting to suck every minute of his time. i settle for feeding him and occasionally getting so drunk i cry. compromises work in mysterious ways, yes they do.

still, i find myself glorying in this connection, this stroke of brilliance. and in one of the very few redeeming portions of the norman mailer interview i didn't like (it was reprinted from an old sex mag called puritan) he talked about how love is a reward, not our due. he described people suffering for years, and finally the godhead tosses them a bone; lets them meet each other, take some solace in each other's company, warmed by love. an interesting image.

and now i am off to work, my first all-nighter in a while. we'll see how things turn out.

i'm going to go read a math book now

amazing break up video: wow. ah, four tet. ah, caribou. the video well reflects the inadvertant grace we are so capable of.

the more i tap into joy, the more sadness rolls out. how could i ever be only one half of the emotional sphere anyway? half a sphere would just lie flat on the empty side.

meaning, past and present

when i was younger, i was drunk with meaning. purpose was epic, epiphanic, and it extended out of my heart and into everything i did. i closed my eyes and saw rainbows of colour. i opened them and saw beauty. even the sadness of loss was beautiful.

i grew older. i saw how commonplace and preventable a lot of tragedy seems. i saw how the ignorance grows back, even after the most amazing of events. i saw how humans backslide, how we would rather be comfortable than give up what we have so that others may have. i saw how easily we disconnect our savings at giganta-mart with the persecution of entire nation communities. i saw how greed and fear whisper in our ear and how we listen. how we get tired. i got tired.

THEY AGE, AND WRINKLE
even though i kept on practicing kindness, i learned to defend myself against people wrecking judgment on themselves, using me as a scapegoat. even though i shopped local and fairtrade, i forgot to feel the difference i was making. even though i recycle, i donate, i still feel like part of the problem. and i lost sight of the epic solution my young brain had proposed, found fault; how difficult it was to get off the grid completely, how easy it was to think i knew what i was doing, how many people had tried and failed before me. i realise i give up too easily, i don't want to keep fighting what's all around me - i cut a deal with myself to settle.

part of this settling was a greyer realisation that even the solutions are part of the problem. we solve the wrong problems - we teach nike how to give money back, we teach our children to be kind because they want something, we justify society's change as a result of how angry we are, how we 'aren't going to take it anymore'. and what else can we do, when we're still half-broken ourselves? when development agencies just pave the way for industrialization? how is this ever good for anyone other than those in power anyway? even when the actions are good, the results are the same. as michael franti says, "they handin' us the bible while they walkin' off with all the gold."

and i came to the conclusion that it was far better to doubt one's own beliefs than to try vehemently to solve or save anything. terrible things happen at the hands of people who've had epiphanies. the word means that a god has appeared to you. it's a dangerous word.

CUE ATHEISM
so i became a fan of science. because at least science doesn't tell you it's okay to kill someone else (and don't tell me that science is bad because it teaches you how - EVERYTHING teaches us how to kill). at least science can agree that light can be both wave and particle, that both sides can be right. at least science doesn't try and convince your ego that you're special.

except that again, this decision of mine, aside from inviting my life into a permanent grey area, didn't change my nature. it may harm more slowly, but it still harms, because second-guessing oneself is what the silent, complicit minds do, to pass the time. never picking a side, so i'm never wrong. i never make a mistake. oh wait, mistakes are made through inaction as well as action. fuck.

so. to summarize: living with fervent meaning is dangerous. living without meaning is dangerous.

THE INEVITABLE BOOK REFERENCE
reading kim stanley robinson's eco-sci-fi-thriller, forty signs of rain, allowed me the realization that i am suffering from an excess of reason. people who know me might giggle at this, because they know i use my intuition on a fairly regular basis, even when i have a host of data to support my decision.

i think many of us are suffering from the yearning to explain things and the reluctance to accept that we might never know, but that we need to keep on keeping on. how many suicides are brought on not because the person logically deduces they should die, but because they can't find another way that hurts less? we must continue to make decisions on inadequate knowledge, but bear 100% of the consequences.

sorry for all the italics, but it is, to me, a subject deserving of drama. we want to be all-knowing because our egos like the idea, but we also really want to know so that we can stop with all the pain. because we walk into the pain all the time. we flounder like a drowning person, making it worse. some of it may be inevitable, but this much?

and the brief epiphanies are not enough. brief flashes of lightning on the recurring, inevitable, generations-long dark and stormy night. but they're all we seem to get.

this was actually designed to be a really light and wonderful entry, but i needed to slog through ten years of pain i've held in my everyday actions first.

the years of doubt, of trying someone else's plans, the excitement of "this time, we'll make a difference!" and me thinking "and that's the point? okay, i'm in!" they sound so sure of themselves. and except when i am angrily denouncing a sexist bastard, i do not feel sure of myself (later, when i realize he was sexually abused as a child or some other equally horrendous thing, i wonder if there might have been a better way than just taking my turn at wielding the paddle).

SO HERE IS THE CHEESY
and i am ready to not defend myself.

it feels the best when i can just sit in the light and be love. but always, i am pulled out into the dark world of action. and shamed when this is not where i want to be. because i should be grateful for my legs and use them for my country, for my religion, for the kind of change i want to see in the world. blah blah fucking blah.

i am meant to sit. and to love. sorry if that's not in your plans. suck it up. it's in my plans now.

winter solstice poetry

holy. just holy. not even spiritual or ritualized. well, maybe ritualized, in the way you toast yourself while drinking alone.

round and round, every day, year, lifetime; we wonder, forget, fall and catch ourselves (and each other). the pain hurts like pain has never hurt before. our own minds and bodies confuse each other (and ourselves). the new thing changing our entire lifetime with one breath. and again, but different this time, we swear.

rolling through the moods: embarrassed, grieving, shocked, bored, joyful.

losing, finding, never knowing, only thinking and being 'sure of ourselves'. the fallacy of memory, of pride, of infatuation and obsession. knowing we will 'never forget this'.

again and again. when we think we're done, we laugh at the end. and i don't mean at the end we laugh.

who's to say this isn't the best? not i. it is for i to forget again.

and there it goes again

i blended all the newest additions to my itunes library into one playlist and put it on shuffle. chunks of hip hop whirling past classical and folk. menage à trois, thou art contentious.

the amateur guru recommends pouring all the expression out until fresher stuff can see enough to flow its way to the surface. great. finish creative things and then put/give them away. that goal/vision board is kind of grating on me. although apparently my imagination is a very valuable asset. i'm imagining floating above this right now.

today was an adventure
came out differently than expected
floated out
took a lazy turn at mercury

still an adventure
changing again
an elusive sculpture

briefly, buttons dance
tease me with futures
creating dreams with their
shiny hold

- restless hold
slight and cold -

then onward drift
up rivers i can't see in
front of me