Oh and...

Watch this space tomorrow, as I'll be liveblogging the youtube debate.

Frost Killed the Nightshade

But my life's filled with belladonna enough already, both literal and figurative. Translated and not. Poisonous all, but fine nonetheless. And one of them is newly named...Aliza Three-ovaries. Happy bindle, neighbor.

Like the Illiad

Here's to absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists. And let each and every one of us always give the devil his due.

Fucking epic, was my Dia de Las Gracias. I'd tell you, but it would only make you sad.

Scoop of Chocolate, Scoop of Vanilla, Don't Waste My Time

I've been up since 3AM, seen the sunrise and jockeyed with traffic. Been to the mall, Wal-Mart, WINCO (Washington, Idaho, Nevada, California, and Oregon. You're welcome), Capella, and all points in between. Seen terrible, ugly, corpulent people and wished them all dead in a swell of nuclear fire. Cursed and sang and been strung out...I missed being strung out. Cradled a frankenbird baby in my arms and cooed. Manwhispered both professionally and as a talented amateur. I've cooked and cleaned and discovered...things. And I'm back. Really.

Day of the Walking Bird

It's coming up, so I may be head down for the next week or so. I'm having orphans for Thanksgiving-feeding them, not eating them. Though, to be fair, the three birds that will have constituted my turducken were raised in a factory-camp (a nice one though, more Manzanar than Dachau) and their parents, I imagine, slaughtered for the same reason they were...well, the turducken's probably made of orphans too.

Planned dishes include...
Turducken
Stuffing
Huckleberry Pie
Mashed Potatoes, Sweet and Not
Winter Squash
Homemade Bread
Cranberry Relish, courtesy of NPR
Homemade Eggnog
and whatever people plan on bringing themselves.

Problems with vicodin

Oh there are so many, not the least of which is this apparent inability to talk about anything else. I do have other interests, I swear. Just that this novel addiction has moved into my day-to-day like my lower bowel cozied up in my scrotum-both useless roommates camped out on the couch, taking up space and contributing nothing*.

More than anything else, though, is this odd living in the now that comes with being constantly stoned...not that that's that new (I love that I just wrote "that" thrice, and still made sense. That's post-grad writing there, yes it is). Every moment, and every day is new, with less of the previous weighing it down and little of the future looming on the horizon...I don't think of the latter, and can't freaking remember the former, so I'm just doing my two-step here in the moment. This isn't necessarily unpleasant, but is, I think, likely to have some larger consequences down the road. Even now, I think I've had at least three or four conversations that I can't remember, other than to know they were very odd for the other person. Well, what are you gonna do?

But day-to-day, still, day-to-day is not so good. I'm kind of moody to begin with, and when those moods have no relationship to each other through the fog of my fugue, well, lets just say I'm all over the fucking place. I'm losing perspective, which is one of the few things I have going for me at this point.

*This is a purely abstract reference, and should in no way be construed as referring to anyone living or dead...or undead.

Taking Benedictation

Blunch today, and what a blunch it was. I went all out-pies, both sweet potato and huckleberry; eggnog, homemade; apple crisp; and eggs benedict, with homemade hollandaise and English Muffins. Damn, but I can cook. So many fine people, new and old. Thanks to those that came, and sympathy for those that missed both the food and the company. Your lives are diminished by your absence. But then, so are ours.

So that's fine, good to be excellent from time to time. Took a meeting in produce, pressed some flesh and reacquainted myself. The sun shines, and I rode my bike. A good day. Would that you all have days as fine as mine.

I love airports

I do-they're wonderful, bustling public spaces, all light and air and magical flying phalluses. Really, when confronted by the naked eye, passenger planes look fantastical. "No, of course that big metal cylinder isn't going to fly...wait, there it goes! Huh."

Good times with old friends in pretty places yesterday. Even close and comfortable with my opinions of most of you, it has never ceased to amaze me how my heart sings when confronted with one of you I haven't seen in a while. Thanks again, Michael and Melissa, and give my love to Aiden, who we missed.
Angst down, then up up up! Grand. I think I've got it nailed down though, and I'm working it through. Also, fucking grand. One more thing on my plate. I imagine myself (in my own self-absorbed way) as different from the rest of you in that I spend so much time exhaustively analyzing my life's moral dimensions. It's like a fucking hobby, at this point. And while the sentence before the last troubles me, I feel comforted that at least my solipsism encompasses the rest of you. Wish me luck.

Atmosphere

Living in the same place for a long period of time means noticing the little things, the seasonal things. The air is different here in my neighborhood, the temperature, the smells and the weather. At night, when it's cold enough, even if the rest of Eugene is clear, the residual heat in the river leftover from the daylight makes fog. Great massive clouds of it that can swell to cover the whole Whit, or that hang only just above the river itself. Some nights, I'll be riding back from Capella, and every little neighborhood will be a few degrees warmer, the air will start to be more damp. And when I round 3rd and I'm almost home, I'll be greeted by a great wall of cloud on the near horizon. The river unbound by the strange physics of it, unbound and taken to the air.

Moebius Turing Test

I've had any number of people tell me I should try internet dating...I feel bad, but I can't help but hear "I think you should try and attract someone in a setting that doesn't involve them having to look at you." That's not fair, but to deny it would be entirely about protecting one of the very few holes in my self-esteem. Can't go being forthcoming about everything except one's vulnerabilities.

And to be honest, having dipped my toe ever-so-slightly, I find the process sort of gruesome. I'm all for being forthcoming, and for using the New Media as a vehicle for making myself known to the rest of you...here we are, aren't we? But the colors and the fonts and the half-witted, half-assed questions designed be revealing of one's personality...1/3 questions about sex, 1/3 about marriage, and the remainder split between drugs, religion, pop culture and sex again. Meh. All the charm of MySpace mixed with all the dignity and class of the Eugene Weekly's personal section...and you should all know what I think of the Weekly.

AND...since we haven't had this conversation before (and folks, I'm high enough on vicodin, pot, lack of food and sleep, ellipses, and self-satisfaction to think of this as a conversation, rather than a monologue. Ask me about my auditory hallucinations.) I should point out that much of dating, internet or otherwise, counts against my own peculiar, perpendicular sense of morality. Flirting and politesse and chivalry and artifice and care and tradition and inertia and sexism and and and and.

...

My fondest and finest friend told me yesterday (or the day before, one can't really remember) that I was obscure. This is not the first time he's said this. And that's fucked, bad, not good. Because, my friends, that's the exact opposite of what I'm doing. With everything. Really. I set out at the onset of my newly-acquired adulthood in the belief that if I'm not saying something, if I'm lying, if I'm trying to conceal or control or manipulate the image I project to the outside world-then that's bad. It's a barrier to my happiness, an obstacle to knowing and being known and trusting and being trusted by...other people. And folks, I've long since decided that it's you motherfucking other people that are the only really worthwhile things out there. And the engines of all my stress and unhappiness too. Christ, but don't I hate symmetry.

So you can see my dilemma, though I've gone straight through on a tangent to get here. Set out to be serious, look you in the eye. No lies, of commission or omission. No polishing myself up or trying to be anything but true to the rest of you. Not because it's "good" or "right" or because you deserve it (who am I to decide what anyone else deserves?) and not because I want to be liked...even if I do. Not acting out of wanting, not trying to create the consequences of a given conversation or certain circumstance. I just want to stand here, and burn bright and clear enough to see. And apparently...it's not working. Still cryptic, still obscure. That's where I'm at, folks, right now in the last few hours before the sabbath. I think I'll post this before I sober up enough to realize that it's a bad idea.