wake up

it's okay in the day i'm staying busy
tied up enough so i don't have to wonder where is he
got so sick of crying
so just lately
when i catch myself i do a 180
i stay up clean the house
at least i'm not drinking
run around just so i don't have to think about thinking
that silent sense of content
that everyone gets
just disappears soon as the sun sets

this face in my dreams seizes my guts
he floods me with dread
soaked in soul
he swims in my eyes by the bed
pour myself over him
moon spilling in
and i wake up alone

if i was my heart
i'd rather be restless
the second i stop the sleep catches up and i'm breathless
this ache in my chest
as my day is done now
the dark covers me and i cannot run now
my blood running cold
i stand before him

it's all i can do to assure him
when he comes to me
i drip for him tonight
drowning in me we bathe under blue light

his face in my dreams seizes my guts
he floods me with dread
soaked in soul
he swims in my eyes by the bed
pour myself over him
moon spilling in
and i wake up alone
and i wake up alone
and i wake up alone
and i wake up alone

how to save a life

step one you say we need to talk
he walks you say sit down it's just a talk
he smiles politely back at you
you stare politely right on through
some sort of window to your right
as he goes left and you stay right
between the lines of fear and blame
you begin to wonder why you came

where did i go wrong, i lost a friend
somewhere along in the bitterness
and i would have stayed up with you all night
had i known how to save a life

let him know that you know best
cause after all you do know best
try to slip past his defense
without granting innocence
lay down a list of what is wrong
the things you've told him all along
and pray to god he hears you
and pray to god he hears you

where did i go wrong, i lost a friend
somewhere along in the bitterness
and i would have stayed up with you all night
had i known how to save a life

as he begins to raise his voice
you lower yours and grant him one last choice
drive until you lose the road
or break with the ones you've followed
he will do one of two things
he will admit to everything
or he'll say he's just not the same
and you'll begin to wonder why you came

where did i go wrong, i lost a friend
somewhere along in the bitterness
and i would have stayed up with you all night
had i known how to save a life.

can i save my own?

falling up

hilarious avalanche of metaphor aside, and no chicken little looking skyward and saying otherwise, the floors are falling. and weaving. and undullating. he mentioned it in our 1st meeting and showed some of the damage wrought in our 2nd. cracked plaster; massive crown moulding growing ever more independent from the ceiling; banquettes divorcing from the walls; the floor in the bar caving centerwise; drawers and doors refusing to stay shut. more often than not i realize my toes are higher than my heels while standing still. or i'm navigating soft gullies and hills on the formerly gorgeous teak floors. numerous cracked pipes have been leaking hot water for years and the foundation is a complete wreck. we'll close in a few weeks, lift the place up and build a new stronger base.

ironic, eh?

no longer can i sleep past 7:00. 8:00 seems a long-gone fantasy of indolence. if i were a dilbertessa and home in front of american idol, it would be one thing, but somewhere along the corporate cultural curve 55+ hours became the norm for people like me. why do so many of the other managers in the company have trouble meeting this standard? i MAKE myself go home, knowing how early the alarm is set. however, i now steadfastly refuse to work from home. i'd rather go in 2 hours before anybody else gets to the restaurant or office to work in solitude. and clock my damn time.

part of my restlessness comes from having to train my superiors and assistants. accustomed to doing all the ins-and-outs of admin myself, i sometimes have assumed these people would *know* information i need, or should have retained for me. well, we know where that ass-word has led me. 2 steps forward and 1 step back. ayuh. the owner has compassionately said i don't need to climb everest in a day, and he's pleased with my output. fine. but the myopic snail's pace of certain developments makes me nutty. i sent pages to be typed and sent to all the stores. it took 6 days, were not the in form i approved, had typos and went out anyway. why can't i do it myself, right the 1st time, in a few minutes? arrrgh.

i'm on a learning curve too. these incidents have shown me everything, no matter how seemingly small, needs to be articulated. write it down. keep the e-mails. hard copies of edits and approved drafts. be 10 days ahead of where i'd like to be. p-r-i-o-r-i-t-i-z-e.

the shut-down of this location will bring me some mercy, and allow me to focus on beverage more than i've been able. not enough rungs on the hat-rack lately. it will also give my spine a chance to straighten the hell back up, since it's like treading jello all day and night.

however, i can thank the crushing clock for pushing away the indulgence of introspection and my wont of pulling everything inwards. the sadness, the frustration, the uncertainty and the pretend-it-just-ain't-so of all that led to some very unpleasant manifestations. in the months between march and may i crashed badly. so much was out of my control, i let go of even the few things i could. productivity, a more positive outlook, physical activity (finally), schedules and again being part of the fabric of work and society are bringing me back around. there are certain ways i want to see myself. sooner, rather than later.

fútbol en la medianoche

mostly, it's been incredibly early mornings. he lives just a short drive by lexus from where he's got me based. although not many miles, clearly by "t" it takes me many more minutes.

this was my first late night out there and i was frantic about catching the last (better still, 2nd to last) train. i did. i cannot miss it; it will be 90 million dollars. or something. the equivalent really, since every cent now is ledgered and promised.

until i switched lines, it was empty and quiet. soooooo late and now sharing the destination of my neighbors: big hands, swollen, gnarled and bleached, pruney and sore; forearms scarred from sautee pans, hot fry grease, knives and tatts. men. brown men. bleary-eyed and smelling of cleanser, oil and too much cologne. loud. noisy. chatter. guys who work ridiculously hard, blowing off a bit of steam. i'll get used to it.

my stop. fresh air.
the last fields are nearly finished, the turf laid. goalposts and fences not quite.

handful of guys kicking around a ball. in the dark. extra dark. it's a dawn to dusk kinda thing. all sorts of inflammatory nonsense on the building message board. gates, locks, constables. ack. i was glad those guys were there. it meant i wasn't wandering alone too late at night. i kept thinking another sort of person would have called the cops.

i hope they enjoy the summer nights too. the park and playing fields aren't just for us. ya know?

where we find ourselves

from fretting about t-fare to 14-hour days, my schedule has gone from zero to 80 in a blink. yesterday at last entirely free, i refused to heed to the hounding calls of projects and salespeople. bah. it can all wait. at least a day.

*******************

in spike heels and a power suit, obviously pressed for time, she scolded and pulled. he twisted in his collar and backpedaled fiercely. one more painful yank and he finally surrendered. he tried to show her he wasn't ready to come home, so he had to now plop, plop, plop three big turds on the marble floor. she cooed and comforted. a magnificent husky, his evacuation mid-stride would have been admirable if he'd been at his proper latitude, leashed to a moving sled team, but was hardly acceptable in an urban lobby. her actions and reactions were so backward and bad, i wanted to kidnap the dog then and there. why did she have the quintessential team/work dog who must spend all day alone, cooped up and purposeless? hasn't she read or watched anything about training him? he couldn't choose in whose home he wound up, but shouldn't she have ethically considered a dog more suited for her lifestyle? or perhaps no dog at all?

*******************

a walk in the sun and then an australian movie based on a carver story. quietly intense performances burned with the author's familiar theme of love, its absence burdening lives and marriages and the consequent eroding of self and identity. a person who suddenly realizes him- or herself in a thoroughly unsuitable situation or companionship -- unfit as mother, wife, workaday dad, small-town neighbor. how sudden tragedy affects change, but not really. people and place remain the same at their centers. yes. they do. the puzzle pieces do not always fit. no matter how much we thought they would and wish it so.

******************

when the movie broke, i needed room to breathe. the sun was clear and friendly, the air bright, the river shiny. i meandered along the charles and let the same breeze that powered all those sails carry me home at last. i'm a piece of just one. always?

phew

what a relief. yesterday progressed, smoothly and pleasantly, and i gradually realized the source of my ambivalence. it had been niggling and growing to the point where i could barely drag myself out of bed yesterday. the lack of sleep during the night and my financial issues had me tossing and turning, but there was something akin to dread brooding inside me. i feared hating it instantly -- an instant replay of my last job -- the place, the people, the food, everything. instead, everyone was nice, i was introduced all day as the company's new wine expert lol, all the plates looked good and my lunch was delicious. however it was the general spirit about the place that was most heartening. upbeat, happy people doing their jobs with just standard minor amounts of waitron bitching.

my last two experiences have both had the morale of supermax prisons. miserable negative staffs that hated coming to work, and truly, deservedly so. why they stayed was out of my purview, but was incredibly soul-sucking. constantly exhausted by trying to buck people up and build spirit, while getting so little back is a thing i cannot do again. it looks like i won't have to here.

when i left yesterday it was sunny and bright outside still. people and dogs in the commons tossing frisbees and enjoying the day. proud grads and parents milling about. for a change, i felt happy too.

the owner has already given me a huge *perception* project and people seem very pleased to have me on board. my training is being fast-tracked, condensed from 4 weeks to 2, to get me up and running in my niche more quickly. yippee.

other than having to schedule a measles vaccination, lol, i feel so much better.

phew indeed.

bright and early

no new lunchbox, no new shoes or jumper. i will splurge on a new notebook.

i don't know what's wrong with me. why don't i feel more excited? because my last job was such a horror? because i'm hired to affect significant change under an owner who is notoriously resistant to it? (hello? original operating systems from 16 years ago? lawdy. ) everybody says he's fair but difficult. as long as he's not psycho, i don't care. he's a businessman, not a chef, so i'm hoping that will make him slightly more sensible.

i am pleased that i seem to have turned a corner regarding undue emotional investment in these positions. i know it's all stuff i can do in my sleep, and by all accounts he leaves his managers alone to do their jobs. perfect. no cokehead breathing down my neck and going berserk on regular benders. if only i could get hired as a fixer. temporary contracts to get everything in order then move on to the next place before i hate it. owners are too loathe to open their books. i've considered it, but my situation is too precarious right now.

at last though i'll be back to a routine and it is actually significantly more responsibility than i've had. so yeah, finally a step up, rather than sideways. 3 stores, not one. 3 very busy stores. the position did not exist prior to me, so i'm hoping to shape it.

it doesn't help that these coming weeks the purse-strings will be cinched even tighter. god only knows when i'll get my first paycheck, and i've got this black hole of debt yawning at my toes. the financial mess will take so long to sort.

i'll boil, and hit the pillow early. i'll wear my positive mask and nice shoes. put my head down and finally have at it. i hope. at least i can stop buying groceries.

one down

the meeting this morning was easy. he knew he wanted me. i knew i had to take it. he only lowballed a little, so maybe i'm at last getting better at that.

traipsing home in the downpour i felt like i'd just completed walking the length of the commonwealth. on one leg. i feel relieved, but weirdly too exhausted to be happy. the connectivity of everyone and everything that holds my future has been crushing me to a husk. one missed stroke and everything went kaplooey. i never learned the physics of bowling. how to knock down just the one pin. or how to knock 'em all down when that's your aim. plus i hate the shoes.first a nap. i can't keep my eyes open. then some phone calls. it will all be fixed, duckpins mostly in a row. perhaps tonight i'll dream of no longer dancing on the edge of the knife.

monday i start again. again.

too many

balls in the air.

my home,

my future,

my career.

i can save the one,

secure the next,

and renew the last.

all soon.

tell me yes.

i miss a shoulder.

a friend used to joke that my romantic life was the equivalent of juggling a bowling ball, an ax and an egg, yet she saw me do it with ease. this is far more dangerous, and not at all easy.

in the light

"all i wanted was to paint sunshine on the sides of houses." so he did. over and over. i've always equated edward hopper with isolation, alienation, the fading away of the old. however, this exhibit was the first time i'd seen so many of his paintings in one place. alas too much focus (imo) on his cape ann and cape cod landscapes and the strange omission of his paris series.

he truly was a genius of light. that particular slant of it early or late in the day. through a window it lit up a woman in shadow who was looking through still another window. in not one painting did her solitude seem peaceful, only sad. she was always still. not at rest, but in longing. even when there were two or more figures in scene, they remained disconnected. the painter's perspective made me feel so invasive--more like a watcher. seeing such moments of pained solitude and unreconciled intimacy made me feel like a shamed guilty voyeur.i know the aloneness of hopper's women. i know their sadness and their pain. i will no longer allow myself to remain motionless within it.

outside the museum was midday sun. no shadows cast. warmth on my face and forward motion. of the day and for me.

may day

through the years, it has been a day to fend off the evils of witchcraft. celebrate saints, virgins and workers. dance round the maypole and bring in the hawthorne. recognize the arrival of spring and its verdant promise of fecundity.

this year it rose sunny and fair. i traveled outside my usual orbit to possibility, to a place where the yards are large and a little wild. i saw a peacock. (while pregnant, dante's mother dreamt her son ate the berries from a laurel and as a grown man was transformed into that brilliant shimmering bird.) the meeting felt easy. different words, same page became the consensus. good. hope prevails, not anxiety. have i finally learned to avoid becoming unnecessarily committed to something not yet within my grasp? we shall see over these next days.

i strolled in the brightness. i took in the magnolias, the cherry blossoms, the forsythia, daffs and tulips, and the cheer those kinds of days bring to this city. fickle weather and lagging seasons bring impatience. but a day like that and all seems right.

i was avoiding coming home.

the memory of last may day still sears. it brought a hurricane of sudden discovery. honesty. hurt. hate. humiliation. loss. the day the roof was ripped off all our safe havens. so much damage remains unrepaired.

night fell. i came home.

a wisp of wind brought papers from the west. channels of which we are unaware, information disseminated in the wrong order. horrible realization i remain unsecured. once again, i do not have a haven.

mayday is a distress signal too. from the french "m'aider", "help me". what could be more plaintive? what could be sadder than sending the call to the unhearing emptiness beyond?

looking for a little sunshine...

although it's mostly glass, the outside wall has had precious little natural light to let in these last days. it's downright dark in here, which has made painting impossible. grr. i gave it a shot and there are bare spots and crazy-crookedness in too many places. foiled by nature.the lack of sun is wearying, since i'm trying to gear up to hopefulness. the interview tomorrow looks promising. just the thing, it would seem. i was referred by someone who likes me very much, and i think i really want this. yet the disappointments, the bait-and-switches and the dickheads still loom so large.

gosh, i really have had a lot of interviews. i've been over-qualified, or the job is a step backwards and they wanted me for marquee value, as little more than a baby-sitter. why work someplace i would never eat in a million years? where they offer nothing i have interest in pursuing? where i already know i hate the customers? where everybody knows it's a hell-hole to work? where my personal life will get devoured by 5 or 6 nights of closes? could i live on what they offer? it really has been stoopid. months ago, i made up my mind to not talk myself into something i knew i'd regret. i had enough reservations about the last place and they were well-founded. in 30 months those foul demons have turned and burned 12 managers. ridiculous. yet i'm stuck in a place of knowing far more places i won't work, than places i might.

as for tomorrow... he's creating a new position. will it be perfect? hahaha, uh, no. however of all else, this truly looks like what i wanted to do *next*. we shall see if it really is.

i am at the end of my rope for poverty. i am tired of deciding whether or not to spend money on the "t" or to stay home again for god's sake. it's impossible for me to consider getting a car at this time, so that other avenue of employ remains closed. last fall, i really thought i'd be all squared away by now and up to snuff financially. instead the hole gets deeper monthly. ack.

ok, research and numbers to wow the entrepreneur bright and early. they're predicting sun for tomorrow. let's hope so, eh?

the bible told me so

two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. for if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help. again, if two lie together, they keep warm; but how can one keep warm alone?

~~ecclesiastes



we left the restaurant and it was raining quite heavily. he opened up his giant umbrella, pulled me close and we walked home, entwined. he drifts off embracing me. during those gray early moments of not-yet-morning he reaches for me and though asleep, takes me in. that tender contact is so comforting in its genuineness.

it's so easy to accept it in that context. yet i have so much trouble with it elsewhere. and still i feel alone. i don't *feel* like a couple. or part of one. or part of this one.

ack.

hits and misses

i am the editor's first masochist. he has played at the ol' slap and tickle and a little faux bondage, but i am a whole new world of hurt. he is constantly amazed at how aroused it makes him. a selfish and joyful relief for me, because i have had others merely go through the motions and that quickly turned hollow on both ends of the belt. at first i feared being still too entwined in the emotional connections of the past. certain positions and endeavors i attached solely to the g.c. and i simply could not / would not go there, but the editor has grown more confident and i am unbundling. it remains impossible to articulate the savagery to which i'd grown not only accustomed, but attached. how can i explain the affirmation i feel from it? i confessed being beaten so thoroughly, on more than one occasion, that i could not stand. it was scary to tell him, and disconcerting watching him trying to process it. yet each time, he does go further. each time i assure him he could have gone further still.

when he finishes hitting me, he needs to hold me. or is it to be held? it is a strange segue for me and i still don't like it. i don't like the pause, i don't like the downshift. it pulls me too quickly out of my headspace of objectification -- a place i've missed and where he's only recently begun sending me. the tenderness is important to him though, so again, i need to stop being so self-centered and appreciate that. can i overcome the supremely effective conditioning of all those years though? do i want to? is it unfair to him if i don't? either the doing or the wanting? he doesn't know, so i can work it out on my own, i suppose.

if i could respond to it as an act of dominance, perhaps it could be more easily done. however he has been very forthright in not wanting to engage in a d/s dynamic. maybe this is more the root of my trouble here. the conditioning from the g.c. was all relevant to his absolute dominance. him. him. him. his. i remain very uncomfortable and very unsure of any bit of *me*. perhaps even a bit moreso since the editor threw the "l" word on the table.

last night he said he could see us together for a very long time. it felt like a slap in the face rather than reassurance. i'm really not right in the head. no. i am right in the head. i'm just stupidly still in love with someone else.

carpe diem

the editor gets up early. really early. he's a rise and shine kinda guy, all chipper and mentally mobile. i might be vertical and making his bed, but it takes my motor a bit longer to get moving.

i'm thankful though cuz he's really helping to set my clock and my days are so much longer! by 9:30 this morning, i'd traveled home from harvard square. saw the pretty slant of the sun's first rays lighting the rowers on the charles. felt the brisk spring air as i walked home. banking and shopping. small talk with the cutest clerk about her daughter wanting a sweet 16 party. the store is deserted at that time of day. who knew?

bills paid, house clean and back to painting. all before lunch.

et voila

salle de bains est finis. a demain -- le monde!

ok, not really, but the foyer, lol. in all my moves and myriad living spaces, i've painted dozens of rooms. in the past, i've battled ancient wallpaper, often many layers of it; shallow plaster that collapsed upon touch; walls that had been punched in by previous tenants (even a hole from bobcat goldthwaite's head); walls left unpainted for decades which sucked up paint like a sponge; and foolishly braved the removal of lead paint and ancient shellac. each one a special circle of home improvement hell.

this place is my first with new walls. they're like buttah ! once the tedious prep was complete, the job was so quick. it's heartening for the rest of the loft.

super speedy re-do and some promising job leads mean this will be a good week. yippee.

p.s. i don't hate painting here!

better

just a week ago we were being snowed upon, frozen and besieged by record-breaking rain. today i'm digging out flip-flops. magnolias and cherry blossoms are blooming and the sox/yankees series ended in a most satisfying home-team sweep.

the warmth and sun are on my side now, so i've finally picked up the paint. it's the palest yellow and yet making such a happy difference. the g.c. indeed would be surprised by the subtle shade, lol.

the carpenters, plumbers and electricians really banged the hell out of all the walls, plus cut so many extra holes! no longer subject to the carelessness of others, i can lavish the care and attention to detail i'm finally ready to give. i confess i loathe the process and playing twister with benjamin moore. i used to like painting. my t-shirt wears the evidence of at least 6 apartments and 1 house. ah well. the improvement from just the first few strokes was so gratifying!

this will be a good week. :)

still...

i've heard it said
that the thrill of romance
can be like a heavenly dream

i go to bed with a prayer
that you'll make love to me
strange as it seems

someday we'll meet
and you'll dry all my tears
then whisper sweet
little things in my ear
hugging and a-kissing
oh, what I've been missing
lover man, oh, where can you be?

~~billie holiday

kindness and hope

"there’s only one rule that i know of, babies — god damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

this was in my last post, and with the mayhem early this week at virginia tech much on my mind.

an optimist, but also a pragmatist, arthur schlesinger diagnosed the ills of the current bush administration as "delusions of omnipotence and omniscience," and something likely to lead to the death of the american idea unless treated with the "antidote" of history. children unfamiliar with the world eventually become easy prey for fascist politicos and religious quackmeisters. a warmly golden state of amnesia cannot support the hope of individual liberty or the practice of democratic self-government.

the department of education estimates there are 30 million illiterate americans.

the teaching of history in lower grades has been sharply reduced because new "no child left behind" tests focus on reading and math. no politically correct compromise seems attainable by all interested parties, parents, teachers, school boards, town councils, dept. of homeland security, ad nauseum. so rather than teach kids about context and the framework of time and place, let's just not teach history at all.

recently i watched "jesus camp", about a camp somewhere in the boonies founded and attended by evangelicals.

25% of americans identify as evangelicals.
75% of american children who are home-schooled are members of evangelical families.

as the film progressed my fists grew more clenched, my eyes widened in horror and my stomach grew sick with sadness. 11-year-olds spontaneously proselytizing at a bowling alley; kindergartners writhing on the floor in fits of religious ecstasy, howling in tongues; 12-year-olds preaching against homosexuality; parents teaching their kids that evolution is blasphemous fallacy and global climate change is a liberal god-haters' propaganda.

most disturbing was the anti-abortion speaker. (a tie really with the homo-hater, but he didn't have visual aids.) much shouting about dead babies. the evil women who kill their babies, but they will burn in hell. children as young as 4 were at this meeting. it didn't take long for many children to be sobbing. when they were sufficiently frenzied, he opened up a little red box which contained tiny baby dolls, representing the progressive size of a fetus. children became hysterical. counselors and parents looked on in approval. how in the fucking world could they think this is appropriate material for children this young?

why are they teaching their kids fear and hate? what happened to the christian value of "love thy neighbor"? this not to go all pollyana. i do recall when the religious right started to twist their poisoned fingers in the political pie. their first full-frontal assault failed, so they quickly devised much more effective and insidious ways of achieving ends. bob evans university continues to churn out graduates and there are 150 of them in the current white house. many young people accepted for admin positions in iraq got the job simply because they believe in god. no wonder the damn lights are out all day over there.

does pat roberston want to make the world a better place? no. he wants what all other megalomaniacs want: power. preying on the small shuttered minds of the sheepishly faithful is one of the oldest snake-oil cons in the book.

bush cloaks his pathology in god and country. if this is his demonstration of christianity, i am an atheist. i question both his method and madness, so must be a traitor.

glimmer of hope?

our recently elected governor refused to play dirty pool with his opponent. she was an extremely weak candidate out of the gate and went immediately for muck. he didn't play. he stumped on optimism and change. change from within and goodness from the same place. reminiscent of smart hopeful men from the 60s. he won.

leaving aside hillary, (whom i really like but just has too much damned-if-ya-do-damned-if-ya-don't baggage) obama and edwards are not yet hate-mongering. we shall see what happens when the swift-boat crew et. al get up and gunning for a more clear target, but maybe americans really are ready for a change. the dishonesty, corruption and insanity of the bushies must be obvious to all but the most oblivious by now. they (mccain too, wtf?) insist on holding fast to a policy a huge majority at last decries. he is no longer representing the people. (was he ever?) only his cronies. you can have your god all over your house and car, but please keep him to yourself, and out of my face.

however sincere were last week's outcries against hate speech remains to be seen. that there was debate at all brings me hope for the future of civil discourse.

i live in a blue state with friends who share my views. maybe it is just spring fever and rose-colored glasses. maybe they're being mailed out to all the idjits who vote for "american idol" and "dancing with the stars". dunno. i know more people vote on those shows than actually do at their civil polls. however the margin of fear's victory over sense's last time was only a few points. it wouldn't take a mass movement off the couch. just a little one. really.

sun is out. at least for today.

hate

my own rickshaw crash of racism aside, this has been quite a week.

long ago, i gave up on the shallowness of tv news and the pundits who'd become shouting heads. "shut up -- you're stupid!" sounds like 6-year-olds on the playground, not highly paid media analysts. however without the tv, i sometimes miss when stories blow up.

when i was a very little girl, don imus was a d.j. in nyc, on am radio. he played top 40 hits and made fart jokes. i was 5 or 6. i had a transistor radio and danced around in my room. he was funny. i lost track of him.

eventually, i had an uncomfortable awareness of howard stern, rush limbaugh and the resurgent imus; hannity and colmes and bill o'reilly. just reading their words made my skin crawl.

at the same time, shows like "def comedy jam" started on cable. "damn, niggah" 20 times in a 2-minute skit ain't funny. well, not to me. rap opened up the vernacular of bitches, hos and niggahs; poppin' caps in pigs. i hated it.

all these words i was raised to believe as hateful were suddenly pouring out of boom boxes, call-in radio and late night tv. i'd hear kids on the streets and the t calling each other nigger. it made me flinch even though i knew they embraced the word. how messed up was it to hear white kids using it with each other? yeah, tupac might be in your walkman, but kid, you are not black.

this was not lenny bruce or richard pryor holding up a mirror to themselves as well as to us. this was lazy vulgarity, not insightful smarts. indolent shock, and it seemingly led to numbed indifference.

where then is the line of decency? where does shock end and hate begin?

every now and again, a shock-jock would get a slap on the wrist. i'm sure they laughed about it on-air the next day. as revolting as it seemed to me, these guys got paid to be offensive, so i always thought the fines or reprimands were absurd. oh! he said something insulting! um, that's his job. shouldn't he get a raise, not a fine?

as this hate speech seemed to expand, i just became confused. why was it ok? why was it accepted, expected and then thought funny for some fat-ass 60-year-old millionaire to drench the airwaves with words my parents never said out loud?

it seeped further. inflammatory whores like ann coulter and rosie o'donnell, dozens of local radio personalities, began routinely using this kind of language. oh, let's add "faggot" to the mix -- an especial favorite of cunter's.

then: "nappy headed ho's."

without the internet, it never would have been a story. everybody gnashed their teeth and pretended this was *outrageous*!! jackson, sharpton, the usual suspects. on npr, i heard a black female professor defending hate speech in hip-hop as contextual. i wanted to smack her.

imus admits he said something stoopid and apologized sincerely to the girls and the public numerous times. he's fired. i smell scapegoat.

a.j. liebling said, "freedom of the press is guaranteed only to those who own one." imus was an employee. we all know he'll turn up elsewhere soon enough, anyway. so what's changed? what's different? the genie does not go back into the bottle. ever. people feel *the right* to talk this way. try taking it back.

i believe in free speech. can the dissemination of *hate speech* be stopped in the mainstream media? if it's only hate speech when whities say it, what happens then? you put a 10-second delay on live radio? you fire all those guys? you prohibit anne coulter from giving public speeches? none of that is right either.

the whole thing just makes me want to take a very hot bath.

in opposite land, the charges against all the duke lacrosse players were dismissed. talk about a ho. she falsely accused 3 men of raping her. she had the semen of at least 3 men in her, none of whom were the accused. why did she cry wolf? obscene karmic pay-back for all the black men falsely accused in the past? 15 sordid minutes of fame? she's a mother, ffs. what will she eventually tell her kids about this? why did the d.a. go all rabid, in a bizarro attempt to not seem racist or classist? a year later, she walks away, and these boys and their coach try to pick up the pieces.

the day of imus' slur was the anniversary of the killing of martin luther king jr.

today is the anniversary of jackie robinson's debut in the major leagues.

tomorrow is patriot's day. arguably one of the most provocative defenses of personal liberty and freedom from tyranny in history.

kurt vonnegut died this week. "there’s only one rule that i know of, babies — god damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” much like faludy, malamud and orwell (plus so many others), he despised man's most base impulses -- hatred, stupidity, cruelty and prejudice. ironic they all should be on such high peacock display when he passed.

the hateful hypocrisy of the christian right will be saved for another day. as will the astonishing corruption of the administration by its assumption of absolute power.

i have struggled with this post. it's too long. i'm too angry, and too confused. sufficient parallel to the situation, i suppose.

don ho also died this week. tiny bubbles? i don't think so.