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last---past---next---now



SITES I SEE A LOT
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Harry Chapin Lyrics
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OLD AND NEW READS
(WISH I HAD MORE TIME
TO READ and EXPLORE)

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utne reader
common dreams
the progressive
mediate
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ragged trousered philosopher
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landover baptist
evil bible


COMMERCIAL CRAP (AND PRON)

(Note: pron is porn worth a look for amusement much more than passion, so if you see a (p) next to a link, be aware naked people may appear if you click it, m'ok?)

beautiful agony (p)
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real doll (p)
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PROMPTS
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Unconscious Mutterings
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(make it real)

PO BOX 780398
Orlando, FL 32878

send me some music
your favorite music
old or new
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let your message come through
and I will love you forever



last---past---next---now
�2006 Candor Communications


2005-04-24 - 12:22 p.m.

save the shred!


we went to see the high school production of Carousel last night... it was ok for a high school production... it would have been better if the nepotism at the high school was not so blatent... the star of the last few years has been the son of the person in charge of everything... she had the unmitigated gaul to say, as the whole cast was taking final bows for the final performance, that next year may be a bad year because her son will be gone and her neice doesn't get to the school until the year after... pitiful leadership... is this everywhere?...

favoratism and hypocrisy... so goes the human race...

sheesh, too much awareness could be quite depressing here on this planet... so many years here among humanity... what if it's all a waste?... yes, I could get very down about that... luckily I don't mind gambling away a few hundred years of eternity on what might be a failed experiment... or at least a foot-dragging head-in-sand good ol' time...

irreverence saves (religiously)... and dang if I don't require relatively constant saving... don't you?...

and then I wonder if I am not just like the church people who believe their way is the only right way and pity the fools who don't... I feel pity for human beings... for the choices made in the name of normal... for the sacrifices made in the name of conformity... for the denials, for the hypocrisies, for the unnecessary limits and harmful fears so many choose to live by...

and then I went to say this:

I have been pondering just how to start a SAVE THE Z0TL campaign (first, lower case, I suppose) in the hope that your irreverent sense of humor is not completely dead, but just mostly or very nearly dead... you will, no doubt, have me taking time off from work to through a serious pity party (that hopefully ends in catharsis) over in the lands of the mostlydead (you know there are two now?... one here at DLand and the older one at Live Journal)... it's been a while since I found time to have a good cry... and I am still alone, so I need to figure out if I have died (given up hope and just zombie through life) or if there's some shred of real hope still left... shivers... I'm going to continue this in my diary since it's getting a little long for a note... work tonight, dang it, so I'll get lost in some Asimov rather than in myself... maybe that's for the best, for the moment... rage against the black hole...

to z0tl and writing the words stirred the sleeping deadness (and whatever other stuff) that lives in the lands of the mostlydead (which is all very distracting from the falling in love again (or whatever the heck I was doing before the waves started up again), but I always knew that the journey would wind it's way back through the darkness before I return fully to the light as long as I remain alone (for maybe it is the lingering darkness that keeps me alone or perhaps it's the aloness that keeps the darkness strong, or at bay, or something like that)...

that shred of hope...

that's where I was feeling in the note... it is the hope found in the darkness (I have yet to fail to find it there, which is why I do not fear going back whenever necessary to explore the depths of the pain and sorrow and self-pity... and comes again the memories of Gavin Friday singing the pity part on his two CDs If I Die, I Die and Another Blow On The Bruise... I must track down copies of both someday... the best suicide funeral music I've found so far, though there must be others out there who'd fill in the darkest of my mix CDs when I wake up to the catharsis again...

ever experience the two CDs I mentioned just now?... I mean gavin... now there is some pretty angst... those two CDs tore me several new assholes and other crappy places back in the nineties... and ultimately I found that shred of hope even there... dammit, save the shred...

SAVE THE SHRED!

all this bullarky about CHADs to hell, it's the SHRED that will be our ultimate litmus test... and somewhere in the Monty-Pyton-Robin-Williams-Steven-Wright-Firesign-Theatre-Three-Stooges part of my mind comes the ideas for creating savior stories (losely based on the most famous one) with primary martyr characters known as Chad and Shred... maybe they were brothers... two different stories too... different siblings from different mothers... Shred was a girl?... or Chad?... one was one and the other was the other... but I digress (thankfully, from my perspective)... see what happens when you take me to a real church?...

back to the soundtrack of the sorrow, the loss, the angst, the pain beyond expression, and the shred of hope that can be created out of it all... it all started so innocently with some old BeeGees, Don McLean, Seals & Crofts, Pink Floyd, Cat Stevens, Elton John, and The Moody Blues... and others few have ever heard of...

and then Gavin... and within the death durges (and he definitely wrote serveral drown-in-tears durges) I somehow found my hope to carry on, to continue, to keep breathing even if it was only to sleepwalk and sleepwrite) for as long as it would take (and if it takes forever... what better task could I set for myself?... none I can imagine so far)... maybe I should re-find the Virgin Prunes...

hey, Virgin Olives are well respected...

anyway, back to thoughts of death and offing oneself, that is completing the task of committing suicide, actually dying by all definitions known to science and religion... I would not want to (given the choice) die before reading Heinlein's Time Enough For Love again, at least (and probably Friday and Number of the Beast and... and Bach's Illusions... and Beckett's Waiting For Godot... and I've been meaning to read Asimov's whole Foundation series in the order of the story instead of the order they were written... and of course, on more time through all of Douglas Adams... and so many others...

and then there are the movies... the personal classics I simply must live through at least one more time before I die... and I mean not just watch them between sleep and work, but forget work and sleep (if I'm gonna die, after all, it's time for me) and just lose myself in the creative catharsis (maybe I'll drown in my own tears) and whatever laughter or irreverent amusement might be left in this life I loosely have called mine...

and then music... how can I die when there's still major pieces of music missing from the soundtrack of my life?... the truth is out there... the meaning of everything expressed in song... and I am certain that I have not found it all yet... even if I still need to write it myself...

and the words... so many more words left inside... the meaningless drivel is the stuff of petrie dishes from which the new life (Waterboys, how can I leave out Waterboys) is created... the irreverences lead to profound messages that only I might find... and the catharsis, the death by healing that comes when I lose myself in the creative process, the method to the madness...

references abound, call me back to where I left myself (and yes, I will love where I left myself... amidst the doubts comes clarity)... so many shreds...

as long as there is the slightest shred of hope amongst the shreds and tatters (we can discuss tatters another time) left of my dreams and experiences and heart and mind and whatever is deeper inside (soul, anima, stuff of the stars), there is reason to continue...

so I continue...

and taking me back to where it all started is singing You'll Never Walk Alone...

somehow, I still believe it (and I'll stay just that crazy, thank you, for it's my life to live or waste or goof around irreverently in, after all... and nothing's gonna convince me to give it away... so bring on the pain, the murderous madness, the cachophony {or is that caca?... dodo?... doodoo?... voodoo?... who do?... you do?... me too?... madness ensue!... see the cartoon banners and strange characters marching in ragged lines with goofy smiles and all singing together... save the shred!} of diverse challenges and distractions and careless whispers and carefully plotted destructions and whatever else might damn the life we could live... I shall survive, I Am Shred, if only in words for now, if only in the shred of hope that change happens and any moment now, everything could change for the better)...

live, share, and be...

and save the shred.






. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
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