i still remember how this song fit so perfectly with the tail end of the reagan years. almost a decade of "trickle down" bullshit. and so many years later, i'm having a difficult time accepting that so many idiots still exist...that john "i was a p.o.w. for 5 1/2 years" mccain has enough support to be at 44% in the polls. unbelievable to me that after 8 years of assholes in office, with a depression coming, countless foreclosures, collapsing banks, everyone i know 1 paycheck away from financial disaster...unbelievable that even one person would vote for mccain, and not for obama.
i know barack obama is not a magician, that there will be no way to fix the damage done by bush in just 4 years...fuck, maybe not even in 8 years...but, it would at least be a start. and if, GOD FORBID, mccain wins...i think we, the intelligent voters who don't vote due to some kind of bullshit "value vote", who don't vote just because we think god tells us abortion is baby-killing...we, the true values voters, ought to revolt, and then give a few states (i'm thinking the dakotas) to the morons who want to be ruled by the super-rich, who want to believe their conservative leaders give a shit about them...let them go start their own theocracy somewhere else. and then, years from now, when the money from up top still hasn't trickled down to them, when they realize their idiocy...maybe, just maybe, we'll be kind hearted enough to let them back into the true united states of america.
i love this song, i have always loved this song, even when i was absolutely sure i believed in this thing we call god. but, life turned into something painful, at times tragic beyond comprehension. and where in the fuck was god? seems any time i questioned a christian about this god guy, and how he never seems to give a flying fuck about the people he created in his image, their response usually amounted to: 'you must not have enough faith', 'you have to really believe', 'you have to live a more christian life'. really? so, god created us, god is watching and some fucked up horrible shit goes down in our lives, and he'll only give a helping hand if i've somehow been able to abide by every single little rule he made? even though the very same bible says that no human can successfully live by his rules?
and i probably would never have end up so angry at this god, probably would have accepted that, "yeah, i guess i am a pretty shitty person sometimes, so i probably don't deserve any special help with my problems from god.", except for god also wasn't there for my mom. my mom believed in her god more than anyone i've ever known. she followed his crazy rules as well as a mere human, who is already set up by god to fail, can. and when she was dying from liver cancer, when she and i sat on her bed while she sobbed, and she asked me why this was happening to her, begged me not to let her die, begged me for some comfort for her fear of dying young - WHERE THE FUCK WAS HER GOD? i'd really, really like to know his answer, like to know why he couldn't even so much as comfort her. fuck, it wasn't like my family and i were praying for a miracle. we gave up on that antiquated notion when she was diagnosed with liver cancer. all we wanted was for god to make her pain, and her fear, a little less. just a fucking little less. and he didn't. didn't even comfort a woman who had worshipped him for 20 some years. just what kind of god is that?
i know how it feels to go hungry. i know despair. i know the pain & terror of unexpected death. i know the slow spreading loss and sickness of watching the drawn out death of a terminally ill loved one. i know how it feels to have a hole in my heart, my heart is full of holes, likely never to be filled. i know how it feels to lead a pointless life. i know how it is to be homeless. i know how it feels to be untrusted. i know the horror of withdrawal. i know the joy of a good high. i know loneliness. i know how it feels to hate the person you are sometimes. i know the hell of commitment. i know the mistake of bridges burned. i know the death of childhood dreams. i know addiction. i know the darkness of a serious injury. i know self-loathing; it's almost all i know. i know how it feels to not be known. i know what it is to miss what will never be, and what never really was. i know the embarrassment of a missing front tooth - hillbilly fashion. i know abandonment. i know getting no credit for the good, and all the blame for the unwitting bad. i know being misunderstood. i know how to mistreat, even when it's the last thing i'd ever want to do. i know leaving all i knew far behind, for nothing. i know how to be a wallflower. i knowhow to make fun of you behind your back. i know how to be unsatisfied. i know happiness at times. i know daydreams, scenarios, unfulfilled desires. i know you don't really know me. i know how to pretend, play-act; completely unreal i am; i know.
what you tryin’ to do, ese? don’t you know i’m loco?
los angeles in the springtime, you couldn't ask for weather so beautiful. it was just before sunset, about 74 degrees outside, a mild breeze, no smog that i could discern. i was sitting on the back patio of my neighborhood coffee shop/hangout. i'd just checked out 8 books from the library, pleased that after 3 years of having my library record say i had a stolen book, i finally had a clear library record. now i was going to read a small excerpt from each book, and decide which to read first in its entirety. the only other person on the back patio, which is surrounded by a locked gate and sits on part of a creepy back alley, was a guy strumming his guitar. my friends, nate and brandon, had just arrived. i noticed 3 kids, all guys, all wearing hoodies, walking down the alley, but didn't think much of it. a lot of tagging goes on back there, but i'm not really into policing the back alley. about a half minute after they'd walked by, i heard a car roll slowly through the alley, but didn't look at it, barely registered it'd gone past. then i heard, "ese, ese, i want to talk to you." i looked behind me, the car had stopped and some guys were getting out of it and approaching the kids who'd passed first on foot. they were two buildings down from the back patio. then i heard 2 gunshots. i got up and walked over to the door leading into the coffee shop, just in case it wasn't over yet. nate and brandon were still sitting at the table, guy playing guitar hadn't even stopped strumming. then there were about 8 more shots. that's when brandon and nate came over by the back door. a few more shots were fired, and guy with guitar got up and we all came inside. we waited about half a minute, heard nothing else, and went back outside. the car was gone, as well as the kids on foot. then one of the kids came from between the buildings. he had blood on the side of his face, but not a lot, turns out he'd gotten punched right before the shots were fired. he asked me if i could please let him into the back patio 'cos he didn't know where his homies had run to, and he didn't know where the guys who shot at him went to. we let him on the patio, gave him some ice for his eye, he used the phone to find out where his homies ran to, stuck around, nervous, for about half an hour making sure the car wasn't coming back, and then he left. about 15 minutes after this a cop car rolled up and asked us if we'd heard gun shots, they left and that was that. another gorgeous spring day in los angeles. and so it goes...
just recently i've started looking into the effects of living near an oil refinery. i grew up, and lived for 23 years, about 10 city blocks from the sun oil refinery (think its called sunoco, or possibly even b.p. these days, as b.p. it bought years ago). when i was a kid, we didn't question, or even really think about the fact that we lived in the shadow of one of the largest refineries in the u.s. only when it set on fire did we think of it. though, "think" isn't quite the correct word. when it set on fire, we instantly became painfully aware of the possible consequences of living near an oil refinery. luckily, it only happened a few times a year, or so. you knew it'd set on fire from a sudden tremor, a minor earthquake caused by something, i think tanks of oil or gasoline or some waste product from turning one from the other. this happened when a small fire couldn't be contained, and it grew and eventually spread to a highly flammable part of the refinery. only once do i remember a time it was so out of control, they were telling us on local t.v. to get ready to evacuate the neighborhood. it was after midnight, the earthquake had woken me, my sisters, and my mom. my dad was still at work. she got us dressed. the refinery was rumbling, a terrifying sound, so loud it was a growl from some predatory animal. i can still recall the calm fear. i don't know why, but even though we were all under 10 years old, we remained calm. we sat on the couch with our mom, watching for the news to tell us to leave. but, when the rumbling was joined by a roar (which is a sound we knew from normal day to day refinery sounds, and the fire must've spread to that part - where they burn off the waste.) my mom decided to evacuate us regardless of what the news was saying. we were going to go to aunt shirley's house over on the north side. but, my dad got home from work, said he didn't feel like driving to the north side after being gone at work for 2 weeks, and that he'd never heard of any damned refinery ever blowing up. so, we had to go back to bed. i had a view of the refinery from my bedroom window. i couldn't see any flames, instead the refinery was just glowing, a hot red glow, it was actually very pretty. i didn't fall asleep that night, until the sun came up. obviously, they did put the fire out before any major explosion, or i wouldn't being writing this blog. and i realized today how funny it is; i spent 23 years of my life being exposed to god knows what chemicals (well, i know one horrible one for sure - benzene), and where do i end up living? los angeles. ha. ah well, so it goes...
reading the calendar section of the l.a. times today, i came across a letter to the editor regarding an article from last week. it seems that the actress julie christie (who will forever be "liz" from "billy liar" in my mind - if you haven't seen this brilliant movie, you should) made a joke after accepting some award for a role she recently played. the role was that of a woman with alzheimer's disease; her joke was, after thanking many people, "and if i've forgotten anybody, well, it's just that i'm still in character." well, the california southland chapter of the alheimer's association didn't find this so funny. the chief executive, peter braun, said that alzheimer's is not a laughing matter. and that people don't joke about aids or cancer. i think he's so, so wrong here, and needs to lighten up a little. i don't know how i could've handled my grandpa's illness, if not with a sense of humor. he was my dad, my father, one of my best friends. my biological father couldn't hold a candle to this man. and to watch my grandpa go from the strong, funny, clever, supportive, sweet, kind, wonderful man he was to a child - a child who could barely speak, a child who didn't remember any of his loved ones, a paranoid child who was sure we were all out to get him, and things like hoarding bananas, and turning up the furnace to 80 degrees in the summer while wearing 10 layers of clothes, and despising my brother-in-law who he once loved like a son. see, THAT was a funny story. my grandpa, who'd been pretty much reduced to dementia, paranoia, and prone to violent outbursts for over a year, got up early one morning before my grandma. he tore the house apart until he found where she'd hidden the car keys. when she woke up, he'd been long gone. so, my mom, both my sisters, and both of my brothers-in-law (i lived in cleveland at the time) got in their cars and drove around town looking for him. my brother-in-law, pat, came upon him at a gas station by the woodville mall. he was putting gas in the car. and here's an odd thing about alzheimer's - my grandpa couldn't remember his own name, didn't know when he was hungry, had to wear adult diapers 'cos he didn't recall how to use a toilet, nor did he even know anymore what a full bladder meant, he'd remembered how to pump gas (and apparently drive safe enough to have been driving around for close to two hours). and when pat approached grandpa and said, "john, it's patrick, we have to go home now" and started leading him to pat's car, somewhere in the deep recesses of my grandpa's alzheimer's riddled brain, he was able to remember that pat was a police officer (pat was not wearing his uniform then, either) and he started yelling, "everyone else is pumping gas in their god damned car, why aren't you arresting them!!!????" and then he despised pat, hated him with a deep anger, for about another year. until my other brother-in-law, scott, bought my grandparent's car when my grandma got a new one. and the first sunday scott and renee drove up to their house for the family dinner, my grandpa saw the car, and was convinced scott had stolen it from him. then he hated scott. tried to punch him a few times, too. and we all laughed about this. and yes, it was still horrible and painful, but the laughter was a release valve to let go some of the pressure of this terrible thing happening to grandpa. and as far as people not laughing at aids or cancer, well i only speak from my experience here - and while watching my mom slowly and painfully die from liver cancer was in no way humorous, i do recall many times hearing my mom make jokes. one of her favorites was when she'd have to go in for another round of chemo. one of the chemicals they'd inject in her (and the one that caused the worse and most painful symptoms) had the initials F.U. and when the nurse would start to inject it into the i.v. drip, my mom would say, "well they got that right, it sure is a big F.U. to the patient, eh?" what exactly does this guy from the southland alzheimer's association think humor is reserved for? why would humans have this specific drive in them, and this need to laugh and feel good while laughing - just for a night out with friends when all in life is going great, gee we all know just how often life is perfect. no, i'd have to say one of the greatest gifts god, or the universe, or random evolution, or whatever created us, gave to humankind is a sense of humor. it's a pity not everyone seems to have a great one, though.
i was woken up today by my dogs barking as if someone had knocked on the door. i yelled at them to shut up, then remembered that i'd called in my medication refills the day before, and that it might be u.p.s. delivering them. got up, opened the door (after having to tell my dogs three times to sit and be quiet) and it was indeed the u.p.s. man. signed for my drugs, and went back to bed. looked at my cell, and it was a few minutes past noon. i thought to myself, "wow, i'm wide awake, maybe i'll get up and enjoy the sunny day." when i awoke next, it was a few minutes past three. got up, made myself my first cup of coffee of the day, sugar, no half & half as it seems i will never again remember to buy some, and turned on the t.v. i opened my u.p.s. package. i'd received my neurontin, my provigil, and my lunesta. ah, lunesta, my dear friend, how i do love thee. i've never had such a splendid sleeping aid before - deep sleep, yet with vivid dreams, and the ability to awake completely refreshed. only this time, the lunesta was white, not blue. maybe it was a different generic. i poured one into my hand, only to discover that the pharmacy had filled my lunesta bottle with provigil. hmmm, that's never happened before. maybe the lunesta was in the provigil bottle. nope, provigil was also in the provigil bottle. it's a good thing provigil actually has the word provigil printed on each pill. provigil is an anti-fatigue medication, originally marketed for people with narcolepsy. it would've really sucked to take one of those at midnight, then be bouncing off the walls well into the next day. i called the pharmacy, got their voicemail, and left a message that a mistake had been made. a nice message, though, i'm not the type to get annoyed over such a small thing. i made a second cup of coffee, and drank it while i started another book (i finished sleepers last night). this book is called 'six figures' and i'm already sure i'm not too impressed with it. but, i will read the whole thing, as i've already gotten through the first 60 pages. i walked my dogs, took a shower, brushed my teeth, gave my dogs a treat, and walked to kaldi. i got an earl grey tea, 7 raw sugars (yes, 7, i like sugar, o.k. - i like it a lot), whole milk. i also got an ice water, which i've only had a few sips of. for awhile i'd gotten good about drinking a good amount of water per day - but, i've been slipping on that the past week or so. at 7 p.m. i read the paper and saw that some mega-lotto many state lottery had a record breaking jackpot. so, jaime gave me $3 to get him 3 tickets, and i walked across the street to bill's liquor. i planned on only buying 1 lotto myself. had a short conversation with the counter guy about wine, and how the new charles shaw wine is an easy one to get accidently drunk on 'cos it's as good as liquid candy. i asked him if he knew what i meant by getting "accidently drunk". he replied, "do i know? that's like every day of my life." we had a good chuckle at his response. because i was making small talk, i forgot to tell him 1 ticket for the lotto separate from 3 tickets. so, all 4 tickets are on 1. when i got back to kaldi, i told jaime that if either of us wins, we should decide now just to split the pot in half between us, and that i'd make sure to give him and extra $2, since he did buy 2 more tickets than i did. there was recently an article in the paper about 2 former friends and a lottery ticket. one friend had done what i did tonight, went to the store and bought tickets for both of them. he had all the tickets in his possession when the numbers came in, and the jackpot was some crazy amount - over $50,000,000. he claimed the winning ticket was his and his alone, and is now being sued by the other guy. it was agreed that we'd split the pot 50/50 in the event one of the tickets wins. i got another tea - china breakfast this time - and read another chapter. then i spent awhile looking up childhood illnesses/conditions i'd had as a child. i thank god i wasn't fully aware of how disgusting having pinworms is when i had them at the age of 6. the female pinworm comes out at night, out of the anus, and lays eggs there. yeah. i do remember how much my butt itched when i had them. i would've had horrible nightmares if i'd been aware of just why it itched so badly. i also remember how terrible the medicine tasted. it was a biege liquid that tasted like the smell of paint, with just a touch of rotting meat added. i smoked a cigarette with jaime. we talked about childhood traumas, about our childhood illnesses, and about how we found out about sex. i was told about it in the 2nd grade by denise metroff, who told me that her brother had been coming into her room and doing bad things to her. she also told me that he said he'd kill her if she told anyone, and that if i told anyone, she'd kill me. the last i ever heard of denise, she was sent away to a juvenile facility when i was in the 7th grade. i don't remember what she did to get sent there. she and i hadn't exactly moved in the same social circles since grade school. well, i didn't move in any social circle, seeing as how i've always been somewhat of a strange loner. and now i'm going to get pizza for dinner. a thin crust cheese pizza. and i'm going to do a little writing after i walk my dogs, probably watch some t.v., drink some of that charles shaw wine, take my dogs on their long walk, read a little more, hopefully get myself to write a little more, then (without the aid of lunesta) fall asleep at some point early in the morning.
enlightened
forgotten
nostalgic