Tomorrow.

I want to try to express what's going through my mind right now. I've been unemployed for over a month and tomorrow will be my first day back to work. I had some serious health issues, but I'm fairly stable, at the moment. I was laid off for reasons I STILL don't understand. My boss said his lawyer advised him to lay me off, because I was an insurance risk. But, then he made it sound as if he was looking out for me by allowing me time to convalesce. What he didn't seem to get was that I was totally stressed out because I had no money coming in. All of my friends said I should get a lawyer, but my boss kept reassuring me that I could come back and that nothing would change.
Of the potential problems I'm concerned about, one is a guy who worked under me. Having had a business of his own, he was dying to be in charge. He's a real alpha male type, gung ho and overflowing with testosterone. I'm sure he used this opportunity to let the boss know that I was unnecessary. You know, in subtle ways. The thing is, he has only been in this business for a year. I've been doing this for 18 years and I taught him what he knows. He'll fall all over himself tomorrow trying to seem as if he is glad to see me. I wish I could just fire him...
I'm going to have to play this cool. I'm going to try to be calm, go with the flow and not over react. At the same time, I know there's going to be tons of things I'll have to straighten out. I have to reassert myself and I need to know that my boss has my back, and not just in a patronizing way. I say this because, over the years, I've seen him in action, in other situations. I know how he deals with these kinds of things.
Being out of work has allowed me some distance from my situation and I've begun to consider that maybe it's time I got out of the golf business.
Oh well, whatever happens tomorrow, happens.

Man with Two Snakes.

I found this photo on the floor when I was working in the mail room at our local paper, many years ago. Feel free to attach any symbolism you deem appropriate.

 

Better in my day.

I noticed a couple of teenagers - a guy and a girl - walking down the street, yesterday. They were both talking on cell phones. I assumed, maybe incorrectly, that they weren't conversing with each other. I immediately thought of myself being a teenager, in the 70s, walking down the street with a friend or girlfriend. We would be talking to each other, the person we were with. The person we were sharing an experience with. We would be in our own little world where we could ponder god, the universe, the meaning of life - or what kind of bug is that? Look at that car, dog, bird, cloud. We didn't have the technology we have today, we had each other.
Thinking about all of that made me realize something: It has finally happened. I'm old. There are certain inevitabilities about being old (even though you think it will NEVER happen to you), like believing that things were better in your day. And, guess what, whether erroneously or not, I believe that.
I had carved out a niche for myself as a guy who knew a lot of little facts - trivia, if you will. I had knowledge of these things because I sought them out. I had to make an effort to know. I would often know about books or music years before anyone else I knew knew. Growing up in a small town, that was both hard and easy. Today, we are bombarded with information. Everyone knows a little about everything - without even having to work for it. It's handed to you. No, it's shoved down your throat as soon as you turn on a computer, TV, or whatever electronic gadget you possess. Try springing some trivia on someone today. They read about it online, yesterday. And yet, with all of this common knowledge, we're alienated.
Can there be such a thing as too much information (or TMI)? That brings to mind Pandora's box and the Tree of Knowledge - variations, as I see it, on a fascinating concept. When Eve offered the apple to Adam, though, he didn't have to text "OMG."

FIRE!

Fire is so cool!
I separated all of the burnable stuff from the junk I removed from my garage and set fire to it. It always amazes me how a big pile of wood will just disappear. Where does it go? The fire consumes it.

 

Messianic Complex?

Early 80s. Local historic site.

 

Sad fact.

Every now and then it hits me: I'm going to die alone.

It's 4:55 am and I'm writing emails and blogging.

My dog woke me up early (per usual), so I decided to check my emails.
(It started raining. Boom! Just like that.)
I got a rather odd, cryptic message from my friend Jan, whom I haven't seen in nearly 20 years. She said she was undercover, listening to Joy Division, and then went on about not owning a car. Then she wrote: HIT PARADE....
I think she may have had a cocktail.
It seems rather apropos to the weird mood I'm in, that I got an email from her. Just yesterday, I sent a letter to Houston, Texas, using a 20 year old address, to Jan's doppelganger, and one of my many exes, Bennie. I don't have much hope of him receiving it. Jan has lost contact with him, over the years, but the last she heard, he was HIV positive. This makes me sad.
As I mentioned in the last post, I've been cleaning. And, going through all of my junk, I've found many rare and valuable things: Pictures, concert tickets, my baby bracelet (50 years old) and letters. Letters from people long gone from my life. And yet, not.
I guess I should try to go back to sleep. Boy, that rain was right on cue.

"Who wants a clean house?!"

I've been using my last few days before starting work again to get rid of junk. My last ex came from a family of hoarders and I tend to be a bit of a collector myself. I would have to say, though, that a good 70% of the junk that has collected around here was a result of my ex. Of course, I allowed it to happen. It has taken me nearly 4 years to divest myself of most of the things we amassed.
I did a great job today - I worked on my garage, ridding it of enough junk to fill a large truck. It's so freeing! I feel as if I can BREATHE. And I can see the floor, for the first time in years.

Another Franny, a Different Day.

 

C, pouty.

 

Melancholia / Bittersweet.

I've always been somewhat Melancholic. It's something I can't help. It's ingrained. (The age old question: Is it genetic or am I a product of my environment? You tell me.) But, I like to think of myself as being a Positive Melancholic.
As a PM, the Bittersweet experience affects me deeply. It rips me into AND soothes me. Certain songs, chord progressions ("All the Young Dudes," "What is a Youth?," from Franco Zeffirelli's "Romeo and Juliet." Wait, young/youth - is this significant?), keys ("D minor, the saddest of all keys..."). Movies, such as "My Life as a Dog." There's something exceedingly human about that emotion. The notion of smiling through your tears. It's heartbreaking and life affirming at the same time.
I think that great art comes from people's attempts to express Bittersweet-ness.
I'm feeling it tonight. I'll keep you posted if any great art results...

C and me. Jan. '92

 

People used to love me.

Thursday
1:24 am
June 27, 1991

Dearest Jim,
I'm writing you simply because I have a few things to tell you and I can't find the words to tell you face to face. I hope you don't mind, but in any case - here goes!
Jim - lately all I've been able to think about is "us". I find myself wanting to be with you all the time and I want to share all that goes on during my day with you. But, I also find myself wondering - do you have these same feelings and if you don't now could you in the near future - or am I taking a big chance in getting hurt (or hurting you)? Am I pushing you too hard? Should I back off and let you come to me? Or am I your type at all?
I really hate having to ask these questions but I really do have to know before i get in too deep. Please understand! I'm only trying to consider both of our feelings. I mean, if we can't be any more than friends - I need to know.
I hope we can talk soon - maybe after you're feeling better.
I miss you.

Love,
C

PS Let me know when we can get together again - ok?

Blog This!

In case you haven't noticed, the Picasa Blog This! button is BACK, baby!

Jimmi Blue's Glam Rock Annihilation!

It's kinda hard to tell, but I'm wearing makeup, a sparkly gold shirt and a boa in this pic. I also had on an awesome pair of platform shoes. I'm playing my 1966 Fender Mustang - a hand-me-down from my big brother.
I was around 15 when I brought about all of this Rock-n-Roll destruction.

 

From The Book of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks by Bethany Keeley.

Someone has published a book on one of my pet peeves: The superfluous use of quotation marks. I used to drive past a sign, on my way to work every morning, that read: "Ye" Olde Gun Club. That one contained another one of my pet peeves (totalling 3, if you count guns): "Ye Olde" anything.

 

Picasa update.

I've been working on my photo upload problem all day long (on and off). The Blog This! button still doesn't work, but I started a online forum topic and several other people have joined in. It just makes me feel better knowing I'm not alone.
The last time I checked the forum, some Google guy said they were looking into it. So, YAY!

Aaaaarrrrggggghhhhh!!!!

I've been trying all morning (3 hours!) to upload a stupid photo on here, via Picasa. The "Blog This!" option is generally a breeze, but for some reason, it has stopped working. Hopefully this is a glitch that will be magically resolved. I've already tried everything that I can think of.

More than enough.

It takes courage to carry on.
To find your way. To greet the day.
Side stepping the cataclysmic permutations, existentially inherent.
Duck-walking through the miasmatic environs.
Swirled together in this fertile concoction. Vivid and viable. Essentially essential.
Living in the past, via the photographic portal. The ink to paper connection. The Grey Matter Express.
Being in the now, proud and exuberant. Spooky and magnificent.
Why do we seek a higher power? Why do we ponder the indefinite?
Does a future exist? Isn't now more than enough?

Dream (late 80s, early 90s?)

I"m walking down the street. Everyone thinks it's snowing, but I know it's just someone stuccoing a house. As I pass, the guy, who turns out to be my brother-in-law, sprays my face white.
I go inside a mobile home that's packed with people. I end up in a hallway near the back bedroom. A guy comes up to me and talks. He affectionately puts his head on my shoulder. I go into the back bedroom with him and some other guys. Apparently, they are gay. I'm conscious of my face being painted. Another guy tries to make a move on me, but I don't like him. I go to the bathroom and looking in the mirror, I see that I look like Data, from Star Trek, TNG. I return to the bedroom and everyone's dancing. I dance with an older man who tries to steal my wallet. I catch him and bang his head against a dresser, then pick my wallet up, from the floor, where he dropped it. My wallet has $17.00 in it. The man who tried to steal it leaves the room, but then he yells at me through a window above the door.
I get ready to leave. One of the guys dancing says he would like me to do some video taping with them next week. I say sure.
Next, my sister and brother-in-law are doing some elaborate gardening in their yard. As she waters with a hose, she washes some large bean seeds out of the ground. I show them to my brother-in-law and he picks them up and puts them in a jar. Then, some dogs walk through their garden. They are small, cool dogs.
A lot of people are walking through my yard. Someone is working on a car, or something. One guy has short blonde hair, with very long pieces hanging down.
I have sex with a blonde girl. I knew her in the dream, but now I can't place her. We get out of bed and drive home, in 2 cars. I drive naked.
I go to someone's house and they know Jap and Ricky. They talk about music, saying I should come jam sometime. They live so far down a dirt road that they have to use generators for energy.
I try to rebuild a piece of furniture.
My ex comes over. I tell her that she doesn't know how excited I get when I see her. She says she does know, that she can see it in my eyes. She stays for a while.
I wake up with a song on my lips: "We can escape together from war and fear and ignorance..." It's sung like a black gospel choir.

Welcome to the world of online dating.

This is just an example of what's out there. Unfortunately, it rarely gets much better.

 

Omen?

Ever since I've been on my current medications, I've been having these crazy, involved, vivid dreams - long rambling things with lots of characters. Last night, in one of these dreams, I was sitting at a table with my friend Chuck and an older black couple. They were having us to dinner. The lady pulled a plate of food from the fridge and passed it to her husband, who made a comment about how he liked his food cold. He then proceeded to put black pepper all over his meal. She said "(I can't remember the husband's name) sure loves black pepper!" Then the woman, served me up a BIG plate of pork chops, rice and gravy and pinto beans. I glanced over at Chuck. He had the same thing, even though he's a vegetarian in real life. I remember that, for some reason, I had 2 forks. Someone made a comment and I said, "Yeah, I don't know how I ended up with 2 forks..."
As we were about to eat, the old woman looked at me knowingly and said "I give you about 3 months." I got the implication. She meant I had 3 months left. To live.

Kinda strange.

A weird thing happened to me today. I was reading the new Spin magazine and I was looking at the names of the editor in chief and the publisher. I remembered that Bob Guccione, Jr. used to run Spin. Then I started thinking about Bob, Sr. and his soft photography style. And "Caligula." I hadn't thought of him in years. Later in the day, when I went online, I saw that Bob Guccione, Sr. had died.
R.I.P., Bob.

The beach in October.

Not a bad day today. Last night was a bit rough, but that's another story.
I managed to get a lot of little things done today - details that I could never seem to get around to. And, since it was gorgeous weather (in the 80s), I went to the beach. The beach in the middle of October! It was so relaxing. The waves were small and all of the tourists were gone. There were just a few people, spread out in a civilized manner. A most enjoyable trip.

Henri Matisse.

"When you're out of willpower, you can call on stubbornness."

Saul Bellow.

"Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door."

Lollapalooza 1991.

I recently found my ticket stubs for the first Lollapalooza Festival show, from 1991. Jebus! That was a long time ago! I remember thinking I was getting old then. If only that me could see this me!

The line up was as follows:

Ice T and Body Count
The Henry Rollins Band
The Butthole Surfers
Nine Inch Nails
Living Colour
Siouxsie and the Banshees
Jane's Addiction

Not necessarily in that order (but pretty close).
I feel like I'm forgetting someone. Oh well...

I went with a group of my friends and my new live-in, Christy. Because their car was full, Christy and I went in my car.
Although Jane's Addiction headlined, the band I was most excited about was Siouxsie and the Banshees.
It was a long, hot day in the middle of August, but we had a grand time. On the way home, however, my 1973 Duster's engine blew up. There was a hole the size of my fist in the engine block! We were on I-40, in the middle of nowhere, and it was about 2 o'clock in the morning. Luckily, this nice old dude, in a big car, stopped and offered to give us a ride. He was heading right past our house, on his way to the beach.
God, concerts used to be such adventures...

 

Kraftwerk 2.

This is a hard to find CD that I recently purchased at the only used "record" store left in our town. I've been a Kraftwerk fanatic since the early 70s, so I was excited, to say the least.
This album was released in 1971. Kraftwerk 1, which had a red traffic cone on its cover, has so far eluded me.
Those wacky krauts (is that considered non- PC?) often go a decade in-between releases and , according to a documentary on the band, don't really like each other that much - but I'm still waiting for new material. A new Kraftwerk album is one of the things that makes life worth living.

 

Kraftwerk collage. Late 80s?

 

 

Jim-Jim says: REACT!

 

Jarod Reactor (It Continues.)

...but then, life grabbed Jarod Reactor and broke him in half. Slammed him against the cold steel of his chrome and glass, ultra modern, decadent, nasty as sin, yet somehow anesthetic, lair. Stripped him naked and scarred his body. Reached down his throat and up his ass and twisted his weak, puny, inconsequential - human - organs , and said "Deal with this!" He had anticipated this his whole life, but never really thought it would come. But, it came. It came all over him in a tidal wave of broken dreams and old testament carnage.
"You are nothing!" it screamed.
"You are nothing!" it screamed.
"You are nothing!" it screamed.

And he was nothing.

A whole new reality enveloped him. Took him over. Inundated him. Infused him. He soaked it up like a sponge soaks up dirty water. But, he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know his next move. He had no game plan. He didn't know the rules. Or the name of the game, even. He didn't know jack.

Life will fuck you up, sometimes.

This was no party. This wasn't fun. This was an existence of decay, dust, ashes and dirt. The moon had fallen from the sky and the wolves howled at nothing. They just howled. The stars trembled with uncertainty and that uncertainty shot through him like electricity, searing a four lane highway down his spine.

Burning flesh smells sweet.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Get down on your bloody knees and believe in something, Jarod Reactor!
But, you know our "hero" - he just couldn't.

Tripping, falling, he unsteadily crossed the emotionally apocalyptic landscape, weary and spiritually exhausted, searching in vain for something. Anything.
Afraid to breathe. Afraid to eat. Afraid of sleep. Afraid to be afraid.

Panic is a killer, Jarod. It will finish the job. It will take you out.

The world gave him a wide berth. The doom dogs were nipping at his heels. Anyone could sense it. There was a repulsive stench that heralded his coming, generated by the mechanisms of dying.
Don't drag us down, they telepathically warned him. We won't be dragged down by the likes of you.
His mind was flying apart, his thoughts were flung into space, his whole existence had been turned on its head - and the head had been snapped off.
But, something in him remained rigid and un-giving. Somehow.
Jarod Reactor was one stubborn son of a bitch.
He might break, but he wasn't going to bend!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! He crawled from the wreckage, in the morning, to stare down the sun. He took the ragged breaths that he deemed rightfully his. He assembled the pieces of his broken, misfit of a body (and soul - that pitiful soul) and alone (but with himself), faced the masses. He embraced the role he had been left with.
Screaming "I exist! I am alive!," he bloodied his canvas and made them see it.

I am the one Jarod Reactor. I am the one.
And this is what it is.

The story of my life. (16, clumsy and shy... no, wait - that's a Smiths song...)

I planned my whole day, yesterday, around meeting someone for dinner last night. I went down town, at the agreed time (I was early) and waited at the river front park. I waited for 40 minutes, being bitten by mosquitoes. No date. No call.
It breaks my heart every time I go down town. Everyone is coupled up. Everyone but me.
On the way home, I was so depressed I stopped and got ice cream (very bad). It wasn't that the individual was such a big deal - I've been out with that person before and there were no major sparks - I was just overwhelmed by the feeling that I don't matter to anyone. I'm on the periphery of life. No one sees me. I'm washed out, broken and useless. Or, they DO see me - as someone to be avoided.
I've made a valiant effort, considering everything I've been through in the last few years, to be social. The fault lies with me, I'm sure. It's obviously something I'm doing wrong. But, what is it?

Seasonal.

It seems as if it's back to Autumn today. I can't complain. We've had temperatures in the upper 80s for about a week - in October! I went to the beach! And it's not as if it's freezing - today promises to be a nice sunny day - it's just that this morning, with the chill, I didn't want to get out of bed. I even had to turn the heat on.
I would love to live somewhere where it stays warm all year 'round. But, like I said, it shouldn't be bad today. And it is Fall, after all.
I would LOVE a nice cup of coffee this morning.

Fade Outs and Asides.

The voice in the other room
The murmur seems consoling, the tone, the cadence
Maybe the definitions are irrelevant, maybe the words serve to fill space
Rhythms and heartbeats and colors
Steady, continuous, aural aloe
Stimulation, rejuvenation, validation
The collection, the juxtapositions,
smoke and fog, the faint calls of sirens
Whiffs and flutters, drifting into the infinite
There's magick in those words.

Star Child.

KISS fans are like Beatles fans (I'm both): We love them all, but we have a favorite. Paul Stanley has always been my favorite.

 

 

Space Ace.

 

KISS!! (Gene Simmons)

I was the first person in my school who knew about KISS. (I was always years ahead of everyone in the music department.) I was in the 7th grade at the time. I preached the gospel to anyone who would listen ("It's like 4 Alice Coopers in ONE BAND!! The bass player spits FIRE!!"), but people were disinterested. Or puzzled. No one wanted to know.
It was almost 3 years and 4 albums later before people caught on - and when they did, I was angry. After all that time, all of a sudden, they were glomming onto my thing!

These are some pics a guy I knew took at a KISS concert, back in the 90s. I think it was Madison Square Garden.

 

Sailor Ripley from "Wild at Heart."

"From now on, I ain't doin' nuthin' for no good reason."

Spoken by the Conch Shell from Tom Robbins' "Skinny Legs and All."

"Pious dogma, if allowed to flourish, will always drive magic away."

Max Ehrmann.

"Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant;
they, too, have their stories...
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world."

Alan Watts.

"The people we are tempted to call clods and boors are just those who seem to find nothing fascinating in being human; their humanity is incomplete, for it has never astonished them."

From "Thoughts on Various Subjects, Moral and Diverting" by Jonathan Swift. (The foreword to "A Confederacy of Dunces" by John Kennedy Toole.)

"When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him."

Potential band names. (From the 80s.)

Chimera Dreams.
Big Ears and Foreplay.
Blur the Distinction.
Tokay Gecko.
Brainspeak and the Subliminals.
The Right Macros.
Son of the Sun.
Mystic for Moderns.
The Honorable Skeptics.
King's Chamber Vowels.

Written sometime in the 80s. (Probably for Bendeco)

He stands upon his soapbox, holding forth. Some call him opinionated. Some say "bitch." He says, "Supreme Bitch." Me? I'm an asshole. And we're in love.
There are subtle things, things you gradually become aware of. Like aqua - and defence mechanisms, and other things...
But, he's part of me and I'm part of him - and we'll go 'round and 'round and 'round, never letting go. We balance each other. Who could ask for more?

Sometimes I Wonder

I worked for the Western Steer steak house for 6 years, in the late 80s and early 90s. It was an important period in my life, for many reasons. This is drawn on an order ticket. I used to have these lined up across the hood of my huge grill - but with food orders on them...
If I think about those days too much, I may start crying. I miss all of those wonderful, crazy characters I worked (and played) with.

 

Burning Bush (Make that jump)

From 1992. This was drawn on the back of a Western Steer kid's place mat (you know, with the puzzles on it).They called me Jim-Jim in those days. My late friend Big Mac (Mike) sometimes called me Mij-Mij - and we called him Ekim Notnalb. The backward name thing started with me and Gerg Notlimah.

 

Silliness from many years ago.

 

Tommy's poem.

This is a poem my late friend Tommy left on my door, one day, when I wasn't home - back in the mid 70s. I was cleaning out a closet, today, and came across it. It feels like a Dead Sea scroll to me (looks like one, too).
This piece of paper was stapled to my bedroom wall for many years. I think it's evidence of our complex relationship that he wrote this, and that I proudly displayed it. It seems to me that I remember being offended most by the term "lackluster," oddly enough. I wrote him a reply, but I don't think a copy exists. I do recall the first couple of lines: "Tis only two leagues, you say unto me, and yet two thousand it may as well be / preparing myself for the long journey, instead of treading them constantly..."
Or something like that.


'Tis only two leagues
here and back again
no dragons, no ghouls to hurry me on
but still the journey long
with no food nor song
no steed to race the wind and return in a
wink
of the eye?

Methinks thou art a master of deception
and moreover a wizard without description
abstaining from the magic in the weed and
usually the golden mead

It seems you lose your fiery bearing
when it comes to adventure and daring
are you whom you proclaim you are
or merely a lackluster foolish bard?

Time to go now that you've gotten my message
we hope you'll enjoy this
(river?) of thought pouring over and over
(in?) your conniving mind.

D'Arcy


(I love you too, Tommy...)

 

Good news!

I got some good news today: I'm going back to work at the beginning of November!
I talked to my boss and everything is settled. That's about it. I just had to express my relief.

Walking stoically across the desert (ignore house in background...). Free, but facing an uncertain future.

 

Planning his escape.

 

Tied to a tree and tortured.