Category Archives: Uncategorized

My Best Ally

My last blog was about hate, this one is about love. And I’m well-endowed on the love front as well. I want you all to meet my best friend and the best ally ever, Stan. We share our life, our home, and our values. (And, boy, is it ever great to have a Marine combat engineer on your side!) Having support at home in resisting Trump is a gift. Especially in the one you love.

OK, so, yes there are some incredibly practical aspects to having someone like Stan when you live in a house that’s 130 years old with land. I know he’ll also keep me safe, and always be there for me, but it’s his goodness and humor that truly shines through to me.

Here’s a guy who served his country during wartime, and has never viewed himself as “political,” but suddenly he’s become the Bruce Lee of social justice. As he says, “I’m white and male and a Marine. I’m going to let my freak flag fly!” And he has.

Since the election, he has been exercising his status for good. He got laughs and applause at a local convenience store when he said to the old white woman screaming “Go back to your own country!” at an young hispanic lady, “Well, you must be the whitest Native American ever.”  Because, seriously, people standing in line the Friday before Christmas, waiting to pay for gas and cigarettes really just want to get out without being screamed at or hearing a crazy person screaming! So score one for team decency.

On Inauguration Day, which I can hardly believe is only last Friday — seems like a million years! — he stopped by the grocery store that sells beer (that’s a big deal in PA), and he noticed an older black woman actually sitting on the curb in the parking lot, in the rain, crying. So he stopped and sat with her for a bit, and let her talk out her fears and sadness. Even though they both acknowledged the weirdness of a white dude giving this woman, who despaired of a lifetime of struggle with both black and women’s rights, some human comfort.

Firstly, I cannot believe that we have come to this point as a nation — here in the US — where people are openly weeping in public over their fears of the election of that alternative-fact, Alt-Right, Russian supported, greedy, pussy-grabbing, Manchurian Candidate Trump. But I am heartened by the millions who marched in the Women’s Marches and Sister Marches ALL OVER THE WORLD, and the zillion anti-Trump and commiseration groups on Facebook, right there with that woman on the curb, and myself. Never have so many suffered so much for so few. And it’s good to know there are some who should, in theory, be on the other side, out there performing random acts of decency.

We all need to know we have each others’ back! No matter what. Whether in the marches, in the groups, or simply in a grown up Boy Scout who happens by. He even challenged a guy talking about “fat chicks” in the marches just yesterday. In a way it’s odd, but it’s really about Allies and support. And it makes all the sense in the world. There are plenty of white males out there who hate Trump, and I’m glad they are using their privilege to help oppose him. It’s a lonely world, and we all need to be each other’s support. Intersectionality is Unity is Power.

So, I’ll keep ‘splaining the issues, and keeping my voice strong, practicing my action lists,  but I’m beyond grateful to have my best ally right here with me. I know a lot of women don’t have that in their other, and I acknowledge that I’m fortunate. He gives me hope and strength and laughter. And that matters as much on the personal level of daily interactions with real people as all the Facebook groups ever.  Everyone should have a Stan. Who is yours?

Thanks Stan. You’re a mensch. (And you’re my mensch!) 💖

 

Check out my Instagram! There are pictures of things I like and hate! 😊

While you’re there: check out my BFF’s Instagram and share some love.

Got a comment? Click below! I love the feedback. If you like what you’ve read, tap Like and Share! Click here to follow on Twitter.

 

 

 

 

 


#currentmood #inauguration #fuck

And on that day of Friday, January 20th, 2017, Donald Trump is sworn in as the 45th President of the United States. Fruitless the search of my soul for rays of hope. Pitiless the news. Unrelenting the trolls. And all of my friends were busy lying on their carpet face down in utter resignation. So, I scoured the internet for a ray of light. Surely somewhere there was hope.

In Middle Earth, the mood was grim.

what-the-fuck-gandalf

Gandalf had been lost in Moria since the before the election, so Pippin told him.

gandalf-cant-even

Now he can’t even get off this rock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

bilbo-nope

Bilbo finally broke open the Old Winyard laid down by his father.

arwen-fuck

Arwen stopped trying to use her millennia of Elven wisdom in internet exchanges and now simply  intones profanity

 

 

 

 

 

aragorn-aint-having-anyi

Aragorn just beheaded Kellyanne Conway.

 

In the Zombie Apocalypse, the Walking Dead group shared their reactions to the Trumpocalypse as well.

twd-this-aint-a-democracy

Rick has been watching a lot of Olbermann.

 

twd-carol-with-knife

Carol prepares for the legions of the Pussy-Grabber-in-Chief. “Look at the flowers boys!”

 

twd-zombie-shane

Zombie Shane is still pissed about Bernie.

 

twd-morgan-seees-red

And Orange, Morgan!

twd-darryl-is-zen

Yes, Daryl. But it just pisses people off more!

 

Folks in the future also reflected on the barbarism of 21st Century humanity before First Contact.

the-dark-ages

Yes, Bones, it is.

kirk-slap

We presume this is performance as social commentary from Kirk.

riker-cant

Riker is overwhelmed.

 

spock-crying

Spock breaks down in shame over his human heritage.

worf-cant-even

Worf goes with the classic facepalm.

picard-that-is-enoug-qoiu-1

Captain Picard is working up to speech just riddled with Shakespeare.

data-out

Data leaves the Enterprise to join Lore in destroying humanity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But that’s not all!

Folks from all time periods, both real and imagined, are weighing in on the hopelessly flawed American Electoral System and on how genuinely fucked we all truly are.

hesisenburg-fuck

Heisenberg for one has his murder face on.

sherlock-fuck

Sherlock is not pleased.

scarlett-ohara-fuck-it

Scarlett O’Hara has taken to binge-eating in a corset.

trailer-trash-fuck

This Canadian trailer trash is gobsmacked.

 

 

 

 

sam-gots-fuck-my-life

Definitely not Samwise the Brave on GoTs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then there’s all these people…

And:

fuck-off-kathy-lee

This lady from TV.

fuck-it

This guy from the internet.

drew-b-fuck

And this scream we all have bottled in our souls.

 

So, I looked, with childlike eyes, to the man and leader I have loved and trusted to safeguard our lives and liberties for so long:

President Barack Obamaobama-fuck-it

We’re doomed.

 

Check out my Instagram! There are pictures of things I like and hate! 😊

Got a comment? Click below! I love the feedback. If you like what you’ve read, tap Like and Share! Click here to follow on Twitter.


A Pause in the Dark

the-long-dark-of-moria

The long dark.

I know too many shattered people right now. After the initial anger of the Election passed into frantic holidays, the hangover of a New Year, and now through the long dark of winter, there don’t seem many reasons left to get out of bed. Unless the compulsion of work or family drives forced actions performed without joy. Helplessness, fear and exhaustion reign as the emotions of the moment. Locked inside from the cold and weather, the natural cycles of day and night cease. Just a gruesome slog through the dark.

And this is OK. These are precisely the emotions you should be feeling right now. Our feelings do have purpose.That is why we have them. And while we’ve been raised to deny our hearts’ cries for attention, don’t. Feel it. Feel all of it. Just let it wash over you, and then stop.

I don’t mean stop feeling how you feel. I mean PAUSE. The world will last without you for a moment. So pause. Don’t think. Don’t reflect. Don’t judge. Just be still enough for whatever amount of time you can gift to yourself. Shut out everything else.Your mind, heart, soul and body ARE EXHAUSTED. Aren’t they? So pause. Develop a sudden and terrible illness. Text the world your grandmother is on fire. Make your status “Dropped phone in toilet.” Then do it for real. You cut people breaks, time to carve one out for yourself by whatever means necessary.

If you can achieve “pause” for five minutes or five days: take it. You absolutely, without doubt or question or self-recrimination need to. Right now. And this is why: across the yawning abyss you see before you now, there is life. Your single, precious life. And all of the signal and unique lives of those you love and who truly love you. Everything you still love and hate and fear are there as well. But you can’t face any of it until you can cross that chasm in your heart.

You have lost something. Your guide, your bearings, your sense of the world, your comfort, your joy and righteous anger, your laughter, your silliness, your sense of your own strength and voice. You’ll find them again. But you’ll never be the same. You’ll be stronger, sharper, and bear with you forever the hard and unblinking brightness that you have earned. Your secret, sacred  fire will blaze forth from your eyes and heart, your words and deeds will kindle the fire of fellow travellers through the long dark; warm the comfortless, and sear your foes with its wroth.

But, just now, pause. Let the darkness wash over you. It will pass. The days grow longer by seconds that become hours. And on one of those days, you may stay in your clothes longer than your pj’s. Maybe not on the first day. Don’t force it to happen. It just will. You know it will. Just allow yourself this time to process all that has passed. Only then will you be able to face what is come. Pause.

If any women are interested in this post or my previous, please consider joining a new Facebook Group: Women’s Community for Psychological Strength and Support. This is a closed group, so please contact me via Messenger to be added. 

Check out my Instagram! There are pictures of things I like and hate! 😊

Got a comment? Click below! I love the feedback. If you like what you’ve read, tap Like and Share! Click here to follow on Twitter.


Good Grief

image

Admiral Molly loving life

 

Friday morning, Molly, my dog of thirteen years, died in my arms. Then I just sat there next to her, drank my coffee, and read about Orlando and guns on the interwebz for an hour. A dissociative episode: shock.

I knew it was coming, her death. In the last few weeks I’ve inhabited that inbetween world of weird: the frantic care, fatigue, constant foreboding, and desire to be strong that being with the terminally ill brings. Down to Molly’s doped up desires to do odd things in the middle of the night, it was flashback to the final weeks of my father’s cancer.

I’ve seen enough death to know how odd it is. One moment a living being is before you, and then they’re a stiff, cold shell that needs to be washed and cleaned up so other people can look on the dead and say “oh they look so peaceful.” And as the dead lie there, appearing to sleep, you do stuff like excuse yourself in the way you would talk to a department store mannequin you bumped into. It’s just off. They’re there, but not.

When I worked for a funeral home, I used to have to walk past Mr. or Mrs. So-and-So everyday to get coffee. I learned grief speak like a sick Monty Python parody: passed on, deceased, shuffled off this mortal coil, gone to meet their maker, joined the bleeding choir invisible.

Truth is, no one remembers those first few days after a death. People in grief are halfway to the other side themselves.  Hence all the couched terms and euphemisms. So fragile. The grieving have one foot on the other side. They want to follow the dead into the grave.

It’s not until they realize that life trundles heedlessly on that the depression and anger sets in. How dare people go about their lives as though nothing happened?! Don’t they know what I’ve lost?! Don’t you see I just can’t!?

I had Molly for 13 years. I was checking out her rather plain smooth coat JRT brothers, when this ball of white and ginger fluff tumbled down the stairs. Molly! She Bogarted herself into my heart, like the true independent and stubborn alpha gal she was.

She was my total bestie, excercise partner, fishing cheerleader, vermin killing, begging, spoiled, loving buddy who never let me down once. And this house has never been so empty. The park never so unappealing. The sun never so harsh. My favorite fishing and camping spots…all haunted by the spirit of Molly, unconquerable in death as in life.

I know it’s normal. Malaise and sadness, nausea and emptiness, anger and wroth that would make Achilles blush. All changing places, shuffling, resurfacing. The careless moment in which you call the deceased’s name. Looking for someone who you’ll never again see with mortal eyes.

My advice to folks who know others that are suffering the trauma of grief is “Chill.” Let them have their space. Don’t tell them what to think, believe, or feel. Let them come back to life in their own time, in their own way. Just remind them that you are there. There’s no substitute for being there.

And that’s very much what I tell myself and others who are grieving. Give yourself time to feel the whole mess. Don’t feel as though there is a way you should feel. Own your feelings as they are right now. You may never feel as though the pain will go away, and you may not want it to. And when it does, you will feel guilty. Feel it. Feel all of that. This is life at the marrow of the bone. Recognize it. Name it. Accept it with compassion for yourself, a poor mortal. In time, you’ll be OK with the fact that the pain will dull. But you’re nowhere near that now. Don’t push it. Just be.

It occurs to me that the entire nation has been plunged into a great momento mori yet again. We won’t always be here. But we are here now. Say Yes to all that is good and right to feel and do now. Be mad, be rash, smoke and explode, sell all your clothes… Just remember to hold your loved ones a little dearer, and most importantly, hold onto yourself. I hope, for all of us who are or have or will love and lose (i.e. all of us), that as deep as your pain goes now, that’s as high as your joy will soar…hopefully, again, someday…just not today. Today, just chill. Today, let it be.

In memoriam: Molly, 2003 – 2016

Thank you for teaching me to love all of life even a fraction as much as you did.

-JL


We All Shine On (Still)

wp-1465873054189.jpg

Man killed by gunman believes in peace.

Hope is not for the faint of heart.

I still believe that “Yes” is the answer. I still believe in Peace, Love, Rock n Roll, Star Trek and Star Wars.

I still believe in Beatles. I still believe in Lennon. I still believe in you. And me. And that we all shine on. And on.

Instant Karma’s gonna get you
Gonna knock you right on the head
You better get yourself together
Pretty soon you’re gonna be dead
What in the world you thinking of
Laughing in the face of love
What on earth you tryin’ to do
It’s up to you, yeah you

Instant Karma’s gonna get you
Gonna look you right in the face
Better get yourself together darlin’
Join the human race
How in the world you gonna see
Laughin’ at fools like me
Who in the hell d’you think you are
A super star
Well, right you are

Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Well we all shine on
Ev’ryone come on

Instant Karma’s gonna get you
Gonna knock you off your feet
Better recognize your brothers
Ev’ryone you meet
Why in the world are we here
Surely not to live in pain and fear
Why on earth are you there
When you’re ev’rywhere
Come and get your share

Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Yeah we all shine on
Come on and on and on on on
Yeah yeah, alright, uh huh, ah

Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Yeah we all shine on
On and on and on on and on

Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Yeah we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun

Instant Karma! (We All Shine On),
John Lennon, 1970

Listen.

“Make love, not war, I know you’ve heard it before.” – John Lennon, Mind Games


Let’s Pretend

I lived.

I lived.

Let’s play pretend. OK. Let’s say this is who you are: You’re male. Mother died at say age seven, father soon after, perhaps ten. You were shipped off to a boy’s school with all the neglect, abuse and buggery that entails. You got on other boys’ good-side by doing their work for them. They all got A’s, but you neglected your own work. You attached yourself to a more forward boy. First in class, with your help. He’s a dick, but he protects you. Or at least he leaves you enough space to exist without the need to assert yourself too much. You can tolerate him, let’s say.

You graduate, you’re a professional. You and your school “friend” go off to finish your studies together. You pick up a strong habit of general laziness, debauchery and letting your buddy direct your life. He starts a business, you follow him into it. You’re his grunt, and his secret. He’s got the ego to push himself forward, you’ve got the brain to work out his professional problems for him. And you don’t care about credit. You get to continue your anonymous life, drifting. He gets to use you. You let yourself be used. You have no sense of deserving anything else. Anything better.

You stay up all night. You drink. You keep bad company. By your late twenties, you’re a person of wasted talent with no idea of how to turn the life that repulses your soul around. And if you did know how, you don’t even know if it’s worth the effort. You’re life is already a waste, to you, a “might have been.”

So let’s say something turns you around. Of course, it’s a girl. A perfect girl. A female so far above you, so ideal in your mind that you’ve turned her into a “goddess” that you worship, but of whom you’d never be worthy. So you hang out in her presence, around her among others. You don’t speak to her too much. But you’re there.

So, obviously, a woman so perfect would get a lot of attention right? And there HE is. And fuck him, but he’s so perfect. He’s just got to be for her. Not you, right? So why not make sure? You finally go to her and speak to her. You tell her you love her. All the words rush out in a torrent. But she doesn’t stop you. She’s even encouraging. And then, you do what you have to, you spell every microscopic, disgusting detail of yourself. You lay a perfect picture before her eyes of the ruin you would make of her life if she chose to be with you. Surprise! She agrees. But she’ll never betray your trust in opening up to her, and wants to save you (you of all people!).  So you simply promise that she will save, just by letting you do anything for her or the people she loves.

So, having spent a few minutes with this guy, what do you think? How do you feel about him? What sort of person is he? What sort of future does a man like this have? What sort of future does he see himself as having?

Most importantly, what if he actually got his chance. What if he (you) did have the opportunity to save her and her loved ones by making one great sacrifice — this life you hate. And what if that sacrifice not only completely failed, she died in the process. Everyone died but you. You lived — were, in fact, saved…what would you do? How would you feel?

Thoughts? Feelings? Please play with me?


Nobody Told Me

ethan_russell_john_lennon_2048x2048

“Time wounds all Heals.” JL

 

There’d be days like these. Also, nobody told me that adults could get mono. I’ve slept for a week straight. A sleep of oblivion. I am the sleeping dead.

This is that Lenten time of year when we are forced to reflect upon ourselves, but how does one reflect through fever-sweat dreams? My Time is my most precious commodity. But what can I do with Time when I’ve lost why that is so precious? My mental capacity. I cannot think. If I cannot think, I am not…I am not myself at any rate.

All of this upsets me more because of the momentum I had built up in my writing. Gone. I have flashes of thoughts that disappear into a drugged fog. People talk at me, I can’t form a response. I can’t even watch movies.

All I can do is sit here with the soundtrack to Barry Lyndon, watch the snow and rain. There’s a cat on my lap. My dog sleeps. And but for a flute, all is silent.


What a Loverly Daze

morrissey_bona drag

And if I seem a little strange, that’s because I am.

What a daze. What a loverly daze. Another snow today. Not the blizzard angry Thor thunder-snow sort, just a stay in and drink tea in jammies with books day. And, if you’re like me, you couldn’t resist some Smiths and writing in your journal. And if you are like me, well, where have you been? And if you’re not, that’s OK too.

Man, is there anything important or useful that can be done on a day such as this? I can’t imagine what or why you’d want to. I was impressed that I cleaned a bit and wrote a bit. Showered.

The journal writing was good. I can be even more personal, random and meaningless there than anywhere. And yet, that’s where I come from. As far as writing is concerned. My first journal was a Tinkerbell notebook from the 1st grade. I always wanted to write. I always wanted and kept a journal. Look in my Mom’s basement. Look in my wooden chest. A whole life in little bound books.  (*Get those back from Mom.)

And it’s not that my journals are going to rival Samuel Pepys’ or Thoreau’s. But they represent an actual thing I have accomplished. But more importantly, that’s where my voice comes from. I can wriggle through every crease in my mind, process it all, write through the thousands of voices I take in and come out sounding something like myself. And that’s gotta be something. For a writer.

Honestly, voice is key. If you can nail you, you can nail anyone. What more is my voice than a grand amalgam of every voice and influence I’ve ever taken in since I was born? That’s a lot of voices. All of those people, characters, movies, books, the poems and songs, the interwebs.  All condensed and focused through the lens of me.

And while, yes, I might fall into your “journal keeping” stereotype. It’s a thing I’d suggest all writers do. It’s the easiest, least pressure way to just write a little, every day every day every day. And journals don’t all have to be the mole-skin or Red Book of Westmarch type of journal. Go to the dollar store. Use a legal pad. Start a new notebook on your computer, on your phone. Just write. It’s not precious or for posterity. It’s for you.

Have a cup of tea. Play your favorite music. Scribble lines in the margins. Keep your favorite quotes in the pages. Write down something you just heard in a movie or on that TV show. Just put some writing on some paper or pixels. You’ll feel better I swear. Even if better means you just want to wallow. Wallow away. No one’s there to judge.

And if you are like me, then remember, I may wear black on the outside ’cause black is how I feel on the inside, but I have a heck of a time doing it. You know, just being me. Go be you, and choose any color you like.

 

 

 

 

 


I Don’t Want to Go Out

david_bowie-Modern Love

Never gonna fall

I want to stay in…get things done.

Bowie understands. As usual. And people who love winter can go do their lumberjack and I’m OK thing. Just leave me be. I don’t want to go out. I’m sick and things aren’t getting done that I want to do. I’ve figured out a few things though.

Firstly, my goal of writing an outline in a week was not attainable. I realized this the other day. Someone asked me what was the best way to refine their writing project. So I gave them the old schpiel. Find a few words that describe the basic themes. Words like Love, Revenge, Ambition, Betrayal, Wonder, Coming of Age — the basic stuff we all get: sex, death and all the stuff in between. Fix a genre with one or two sub-categories (sci-fi action/drama). And explain the plot in one or two sentences (A college-kid must decide whether his Uncle killed his father, and struggles with how to react to that knowledge, while tearing the lives around him apart). It’s Jaws meets Terminator. What have you. Basic stuff.

And then it hit me, that I needed a dose of my own medicine on the writing front. I’ve been looking too carefully at the individual parts and the esoteric stuff that I’d lost perspective on my own story, and I need to go back and do this to my tale again.

So, that’s my new focus for this week. Would i’twere so simple. I just can’t seem to feel well. People want me to do stuff and go outside. And as usual, I’m convinced I have walking pneumonia, and I’m slowly dying. But aside from my hypochondria and feeling less sociable than usual (which is never particularly social), I’m becoming less than pleased.

Last year, I put too much on hold because of “life”– not even my own. That made me feel like a good human being for tic. But when my own health took revenge in a bout of bronchitis, I figured I’d outdid the “others” thing. Then there was the holiday we do not mention. And now I’ve gotten back to work, people still want to do stuff like that’s normal in February because they’re insane and my body is in revolt again.

I think the best thing for me to do is stay in my pajamas until April. Going outside makes me sick. Activity gives me asthma attacks. My sinuses don’t like the dry air. So I’m staying in, getting better and getting some things done for me. I just don’t care about going outside. I don’t care about much that isn’t in my sphere of interests on a good day. So, I’m not over-extending what little brain power I have left. Just let me write and play Battlefront and color and leave me be. Also there’s my violin. Jeez, I have a lot to do. How am I’m supposed to take care of outside stuff. I feed myself and my animals. I walk my dog. What else do you want from me world?!

When the spring comes, I will feel better. Although that’s another bad time for the allergies, but I don’t mind it because it’s nice out. I’ll still find ways to ignore people and stuff. But this is what I’m rocking for now. Don’t believe in modern love or winter.

 


Walter White: Last of the Famous International Playboys

My video tribute honoring the best of the worst exploits of Walter White –  the last of the famous international playboys.

Violence has its own sex appeal.

Hey! Did you know I have a YouTube channel  Go take a look!.


%d bloggers like this: