Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
2006 in and as hindsight
10.08-09.11
I was completely overwhelmed. I panicked, then I lamented, then I went into total denial, then just plain rage and at about then I howled at any and every available surrounding moon I could find.
I’m sorry.
As always, I hope you and yours are happy, healthy and well adjusted.
I suppose I could have titled this “2006 in 20/20 vision” except I can’t. I can however quote as once again I have an uber good memory for narrative based information. I’m not quoting to quote I’m quoting to illustrate a point, a few. Not in accusation but as a lens through which to see the whole or RTN 2 As always and STOP at the.
“You said it was windsurfers!” a voice barked accusingly over the phone.
True, I did say it was two windsurfers because in terms of the information I had at the time that was my best estimation, shorthand.
I suppose I could have said “there were two guys with weird curved sails and boards,” for the sail type and boards were a combination I had never seen before. I suppose too I could have said, as I toyed with in a rough draft over a very long poem “humpback shaped sails”. Or I could have said “sails like Catamarans use but up in the air - not secured on a mast“. But I didn’t say any of that- I said windsurfers.
I could have said a lot of things to try and describe something I had never heard of or encountered before, a vocabulary word which up until that summer had not been in my personal dictionary:
Kiteboarding.
(you won’t see it once this is posted but there’s a little red squiggly line underneath that word because my Microsoft works word processing program and/or 2006 computer dictionary did not have that word in its lexicon either, so it was, so it is.)
I know. “Simple vocabulary - how could she not know what kiteboarders were!?”
I didn’t.
Never encountered them before, had never heard the word and only figured whatever the sail, whatever those two guys in wet suits were dressed for had to have been an evolution of windsurfing.
What I couldn’t figure was why harp on windsurfer/kiteboarder- why get all actually angry about that? I mean who would lie about something like that?
Truth: A significant portion of the population and that I suppose is a difference between now and then. I still didn’t know that yet. I really didn’t know how much, how often and regularly people just outright lie.
I’d pretty much gone through life believing that most everyone tried to tell the truth as best they knew it, and therefore could, the majority of the time.
I was wrong.
Really wrong.
I didn’t realize how much people just plain act, as in perform an emotion as if they were actually experiencing it whilst contriving- actually just plain gaming. How much of the population just games each other most of the time. It’s like a disease.
There’s a whole history I could enumerate and elaborate on the how and the why such a ‘state’ or ‘condition’ of denial came into being on my part which I could go into but I won’t.
“why are you so focused on the crime?”
I was scared, really scared- terrified actually, as well as dumbfounded, horrorstruck and completely overwhelmed.
“I don’t think you can control destiny”
Man that got under my skin. Because
A)I don’t even believe in control. Control is an illusion. Influence? Yes. Control- no.
Control is not possible, not that there isn’t ever some individual or body trying to exert, obtain or have it. All they have in the end is the illusion of control, the illusion of mastery over another but overtime the results wind up revealing to quote Crichton (&/or) Spielberg “you never had control”; only the illusion of it, the want of it. A want I don‘t understand, don’t want to and am glad of both.
B) As for destiny…like I said, that phrase got under my skin and that’s all I have to say on the subject.
In closing: I didn’t lie about what was going on then. However, at the same time I have to concede I don’t know that I will ever know what exactly and precisely occurred in 2006- it was and remains beyond me.
As I have a tendency to bury my leads what was once my close became my opening and it can be both as it bears repeating:
I was completely overwhelmed. I panicked, then I lamented, then I went into total denial, then just plain rage and after that I howled at any and every available surrounding moon I could find.
I’m sorry.
As always, I hope you and yours are happy, healthy, well adjusted and safe.
I was completely overwhelmed. I panicked, then I lamented, then I went into total denial, then just plain rage and at about then I howled at any and every available surrounding moon I could find.
I’m sorry.
As always, I hope you and yours are happy, healthy and well adjusted.
I suppose I could have titled this “2006 in 20/20 vision” except I can’t. I can however quote as once again I have an uber good memory for narrative based information. I’m not quoting to quote I’m quoting to illustrate a point, a few. Not in accusation but as a lens through which to see the whole or RTN 2 As always and STOP at the.
“You said it was windsurfers!” a voice barked accusingly over the phone.
True, I did say it was two windsurfers because in terms of the information I had at the time that was my best estimation, shorthand.
I suppose I could have said “there were two guys with weird curved sails and boards,” for the sail type and boards were a combination I had never seen before. I suppose too I could have said, as I toyed with in a rough draft over a very long poem “humpback shaped sails”. Or I could have said “sails like Catamarans use but up in the air - not secured on a mast“. But I didn’t say any of that- I said windsurfers.
I could have said a lot of things to try and describe something I had never heard of or encountered before, a vocabulary word which up until that summer had not been in my personal dictionary:
Kiteboarding.
(you won’t see it once this is posted but there’s a little red squiggly line underneath that word because my Microsoft works word processing program and/or 2006 computer dictionary did not have that word in its lexicon either, so it was, so it is.)
I know. “Simple vocabulary - how could she not know what kiteboarders were!?”
I didn’t.
Never encountered them before, had never heard the word and only figured whatever the sail, whatever those two guys in wet suits were dressed for had to have been an evolution of windsurfing.
What I couldn’t figure was why harp on windsurfer/kiteboarder- why get all actually angry about that? I mean who would lie about something like that?
Truth: A significant portion of the population and that I suppose is a difference between now and then. I still didn’t know that yet. I really didn’t know how much, how often and regularly people just outright lie.
I’d pretty much gone through life believing that most everyone tried to tell the truth as best they knew it, and therefore could, the majority of the time.
I was wrong.
Really wrong.
I didn’t realize how much people just plain act, as in perform an emotion as if they were actually experiencing it whilst contriving- actually just plain gaming. How much of the population just games each other most of the time. It’s like a disease.
There’s a whole history I could enumerate and elaborate on the how and the why such a ‘state’ or ‘condition’ of denial came into being on my part which I could go into but I won’t.
“why are you so focused on the crime?”
I was scared, really scared- terrified actually, as well as dumbfounded, horrorstruck and completely overwhelmed.
“I don’t think you can control destiny”
Man that got under my skin. Because
A)I don’t even believe in control. Control is an illusion. Influence? Yes. Control- no.
Control is not possible, not that there isn’t ever some individual or body trying to exert, obtain or have it. All they have in the end is the illusion of control, the illusion of mastery over another but overtime the results wind up revealing to quote Crichton (&/or) Spielberg “you never had control”; only the illusion of it, the want of it. A want I don‘t understand, don’t want to and am glad of both.
B) As for destiny…like I said, that phrase got under my skin and that’s all I have to say on the subject.
In closing: I didn’t lie about what was going on then. However, at the same time I have to concede I don’t know that I will ever know what exactly and precisely occurred in 2006- it was and remains beyond me.
As I have a tendency to bury my leads what was once my close became my opening and it can be both as it bears repeating:
I was completely overwhelmed. I panicked, then I lamented, then I went into total denial, then just plain rage and after that I howled at any and every available surrounding moon I could find.
I’m sorry.
As always, I hope you and yours are happy, healthy, well adjusted and safe.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Final Entry
As to pulling this site: I resolved to, promised to and that should be the end of it but for this: I noticed on a search that a beholdtherelish that is not I showed up on the net.
Coincidence? Probably.
But the fact is if I pull this site sixty days later someone, anyone, for any set of purposes or agendas could act ‘as if‘.
Likely?
No, probably not.
Possible? Yes. So the site stays up and dormant/asleep/at rest/etc/etc.
Coincidence? Probably.
But the fact is if I pull this site sixty days later someone, anyone, for any set of purposes or agendas could act ‘as if‘.
Likely?
No, probably not.
Possible? Yes. So the site stays up and dormant/asleep/at rest/etc/etc.
Monday, January 3, 2011
winding up straight?
Possible? Probably not but I did get that bit about my father, tuition and Bama in and maybe I can get this in as well?
FYI: The rift between my sister and I had and has nothing to do with you. We weren’t on speaking terms before the suicide; if not for the suicide things would have stayed that way and for good reason.
That Charleston single house on Cannon Street, I had a bad feeling about it and allowed myself to be bullied on end and guilted into it on another . It had been near everyone’s wish and request after our mother’s suicide: reunite with your sister. That fear was the first emotion I felt upon seeing my sister for the first time in years- well I was raised to ignore fear- so I did and did so until I couldn‘t anymore.
The reason Kari and I don’t speak is because when she became aware on 47 Cannon Street that I had carbon monoxide poisoning -what that meant in the world of my sister was: spend no time at the house, get lots of insurance on Maren, additional insurance on the house and wait.
Did I react with steady grace and a host other positive adjectives during that time?
Nope.
And too at that time there was the sideshow of you. There was a moment a few weeks right before or after Kari and I signed the papers on the house, late fall or early winter. I was standing on King Street and saw a figure on ten speed riding from the direction of The Market. “I think I just saw John Mayo,” I said to my sister.
Kari’s reply was “you’re crazy just like Mom”. Yet at that time for nearly the year that followed you two knew all the same people, worked on the same block and yet any time I told Kari I thought I’d seen you around town or heard your voice from a carriage her reply was always the same “You’re crazy just like Mom”. Though the phrase I heard most often after we signed on the dotted line was “Maren - you’re so naïve”.
But don’t let those last two paragraphs confuse you. The point is: the rift between she and is not your fault and however she gamed the situation of knowing just who you were and what meant to me: also not your fault.
I don’t know if you ever walked by on any of the many days my sister was sitting outside the Goody House Starbucks. She and I again, were again, and rightfully so- not on speaking terms. But for some reason/s she enjoyed sending her boyfriend Adam in for coffee sitting in front of my job a couple days a week, week after week, month after month until I left the company. My own personal gargoyle.
I had been fortunate on Cannon Street - there was small wall fire one night - a poorly vented gas water heater turned out to be the direct cause but it was the indirect causes that were, are and will always be the meat of the tale. I was fortunate too on Cannon Street because of Sam. As time went on, the worse I felt, the more saturated my blood got with CO- it didn’t matter how bad I felt- I’m loyal my dogs. Which was how I wound up walking her one night as late as 2am; that night in particular it had been over 24 hours and going into 36 hours since I’d walked Sam and I couldn‘t and wouldn’t let that happen. Which is part of how we wound up on your porch that night -or morning depending on your perspective. I really hadn’t expected that to be your porch- but that’s a Sam story.
Anyway so hopefully we’re clear on a few points
1) I’d have gone to Bama- I’d have gone anywhere. I just had the problem of two cruel and somewhat evil parents.
2) What happened between Kari and I was about money, carbon monoxide and history.
3) If Kari turned you into another of one of the many games she was playing at the time: not your fault.
4) Kari and Sam knew how strongly I felt about you-one of them probably turned that into a game but the other one- the better friend and soul of the two -she memorized your scent.
That all having been severely edited but said I aspire to permanently swear off john mayo and/or his beholdthe… Thus now would be as good a time as any for something I’ve been carrying? Has stayed with me for awhile?
I don’t know if truth(the) sold (which has always struck me as a weird thing about your site- that and the “if you have to ask how much it is you can‘t afford it“ thing)
Anyway if truth(the) is still in your possession/unsold- to me it always seemed like it should have had an inner skeleton, the ability to gradually change shape. So certainly mechanized, several shapes to choose from but no controls, no ability to make it go into a specific shape but shapes emerging at random and not necessarily building from the same sequences every time- so you never know just what its fixin‘ tah‘ look like. Thus the audience/owner couldn’t ever be quite sure what shape they’ll come home to, what stage it’ll be in at any particular juncture. And of course the movement would be beyond falon gong slow and perhaps influenced by power source fluctuations?
Yep truth(the) had me wondering and thinking such things as that and: is anyone doing solar panels as power or structural bases for art? (Probably someone somewhere) Wherein the quantity of light influences the pace and progression of the piece achieving its next form. Not much sun- not much change but clear blue skies and look at it go.
I do and always have hoped its nothing but calm seas, bright skies and fortuitous winds for the wings of you and yours.
FYI: The rift between my sister and I had and has nothing to do with you. We weren’t on speaking terms before the suicide; if not for the suicide things would have stayed that way and for good reason.
That Charleston single house on Cannon Street, I had a bad feeling about it and allowed myself to be bullied on end and guilted into it on another . It had been near everyone’s wish and request after our mother’s suicide: reunite with your sister. That fear was the first emotion I felt upon seeing my sister for the first time in years- well I was raised to ignore fear- so I did and did so until I couldn‘t anymore.
The reason Kari and I don’t speak is because when she became aware on 47 Cannon Street that I had carbon monoxide poisoning -what that meant in the world of my sister was: spend no time at the house, get lots of insurance on Maren, additional insurance on the house and wait.
Did I react with steady grace and a host other positive adjectives during that time?
Nope.
And too at that time there was the sideshow of you. There was a moment a few weeks right before or after Kari and I signed the papers on the house, late fall or early winter. I was standing on King Street and saw a figure on ten speed riding from the direction of The Market. “I think I just saw John Mayo,” I said to my sister.
Kari’s reply was “you’re crazy just like Mom”. Yet at that time for nearly the year that followed you two knew all the same people, worked on the same block and yet any time I told Kari I thought I’d seen you around town or heard your voice from a carriage her reply was always the same “You’re crazy just like Mom”. Though the phrase I heard most often after we signed on the dotted line was “Maren - you’re so naïve”.
But don’t let those last two paragraphs confuse you. The point is: the rift between she and is not your fault and however she gamed the situation of knowing just who you were and what meant to me: also not your fault.
I don’t know if you ever walked by on any of the many days my sister was sitting outside the Goody House Starbucks. She and I again, were again, and rightfully so- not on speaking terms. But for some reason/s she enjoyed sending her boyfriend Adam in for coffee sitting in front of my job a couple days a week, week after week, month after month until I left the company. My own personal gargoyle.
I had been fortunate on Cannon Street - there was small wall fire one night - a poorly vented gas water heater turned out to be the direct cause but it was the indirect causes that were, are and will always be the meat of the tale. I was fortunate too on Cannon Street because of Sam. As time went on, the worse I felt, the more saturated my blood got with CO- it didn’t matter how bad I felt- I’m loyal my dogs. Which was how I wound up walking her one night as late as 2am; that night in particular it had been over 24 hours and going into 36 hours since I’d walked Sam and I couldn‘t and wouldn’t let that happen. Which is part of how we wound up on your porch that night -or morning depending on your perspective. I really hadn’t expected that to be your porch- but that’s a Sam story.
Anyway so hopefully we’re clear on a few points
1) I’d have gone to Bama- I’d have gone anywhere. I just had the problem of two cruel and somewhat evil parents.
2) What happened between Kari and I was about money, carbon monoxide and history.
3) If Kari turned you into another of one of the many games she was playing at the time: not your fault.
4) Kari and Sam knew how strongly I felt about you-one of them probably turned that into a game but the other one- the better friend and soul of the two -she memorized your scent.
That all having been severely edited but said I aspire to permanently swear off john mayo and/or his beholdthe… Thus now would be as good a time as any for something I’ve been carrying? Has stayed with me for awhile?
I don’t know if truth(the) sold (which has always struck me as a weird thing about your site- that and the “if you have to ask how much it is you can‘t afford it“ thing)
Anyway if truth(the) is still in your possession/unsold- to me it always seemed like it should have had an inner skeleton, the ability to gradually change shape. So certainly mechanized, several shapes to choose from but no controls, no ability to make it go into a specific shape but shapes emerging at random and not necessarily building from the same sequences every time- so you never know just what its fixin‘ tah‘ look like. Thus the audience/owner couldn’t ever be quite sure what shape they’ll come home to, what stage it’ll be in at any particular juncture. And of course the movement would be beyond falon gong slow and perhaps influenced by power source fluctuations?
Yep truth(the) had me wondering and thinking such things as that and: is anyone doing solar panels as power or structural bases for art? (Probably someone somewhere) Wherein the quantity of light influences the pace and progression of the piece achieving its next form. Not much sun- not much change but clear blue skies and look at it go.
I do and always have hoped its nothing but calm seas, bright skies and fortuitous winds for the wings of you and yours.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
A Gestalt Rose (In progress/process)
Let's say for argument or illustration's sake that someone grew up in country with whips and roses everywhere. Whips and roses exist the world over so this wouldn't be at all strange except for those rows and rows of - now that's where the story gets odd. In this one country - for reasons no one really knows- these two words were turned around and upside down. A whip was a flower grown for both beauty scent, soft petals and wonderously all were nearly thornless. Roses were feared as many citizens were flayed themselves or saw others flayed open by rose lashings. Rose's were made of strips of hide, they whispered in the air and would crack like a rocket - everyone feared the roses until one day? one year? in a succession of moments all the inhabitants? or perhaps just one resident of Gestalt island found the outside world? a parallel universe - whose to say. Everything from one world matched the other the colors of everything, the force, the season, the language, the food - absolutely everything but two words. In this new world a rose was a flower!?
and a weapon was a whip!?....
It really should have gone without saying and if I'd been being my own girlfriend at the time I'd have pointed out the obvious: Don't date a man with the same name as your father.
The inverse of course being true as well: Don't date a woman with the same name as your mother. Common sense really and as, believe it or not, I was nicknamed the shrink by middle school... Maybe I was a a shrink in another life, peddling Freud's "it's all in your head- that never happened in your childhood bed". ...So this life I get a course in extreme gestalt.
It's kind of amazing when I think back on it all my entire emotional inclination is: poor Henry and feel nothing but badly for him. I edit the name to John and there is a hardening within me as if every artery and vein had instant arteriole sclerosis and I am angry, unforgiving and "I don't care if I hurt you and not so very deep down I'm glad I did".
I flip simply the name like a coin from John to Henderson (Henry for short) and it is an entirely different landscape, an entirely alike except for that single strand, that one string in theory of me.
and a weapon was a whip!?....
It really should have gone without saying and if I'd been being my own girlfriend at the time I'd have pointed out the obvious: Don't date a man with the same name as your father.
The inverse of course being true as well: Don't date a woman with the same name as your mother. Common sense really and as, believe it or not, I was nicknamed the shrink by middle school... Maybe I was a a shrink in another life, peddling Freud's "it's all in your head- that never happened in your childhood bed". ...So this life I get a course in extreme gestalt.
It's kind of amazing when I think back on it all my entire emotional inclination is: poor Henry and feel nothing but badly for him. I edit the name to John and there is a hardening within me as if every artery and vein had instant arteriole sclerosis and I am angry, unforgiving and "I don't care if I hurt you and not so very deep down I'm glad I did".
I flip simply the name like a coin from John to Henderson (Henry for short) and it is an entirely different landscape, an entirely alike except for that single strand, that one string in theory of me.
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