Distributed Being Blog

I Write like Dan Brown!

2010-07-19T11:11:00.000-07:00

I write like
Dan Brown

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Rest in peace Mike Kemp

2009-02-01T10:40:00.001-08:00

The Fireplace

2009-01-30T19:43:00.001-08:00

My Mom on YouTube

2009-01-19T14:04:00.001-08:00

Scrooge is back!

2008-12-09T11:23:00.000-08:00

It seemed, a couple of years ago, that I might be coming around to embrace the "Christmas Spirit". Then I got a job in retail. Scrooge is back my friends.

I hate Christmas. I have always hated Christmas. Since going into retail sales I passionately deplore Christmas. You couldn't get me into a mall in December if you tied me to a sled drawn by a dozen reindeer led by Rudolf himself.

Ever notice how people drive in December? I'd bet money (if I had any) that statistically December yields more fender-benders in mall parking lots than at any other time of year. Talk about aggressive parking spot acquisition tactics! On the streets and highways there's a palatable aggression too... "Get outta my way I 'cause there's only 10 shopping days left and I got to get to the mall!" I'd stay off the roads completely if I could.

I hate Christmas music even more than Christmas itself. Worst still are when advertisers use Christmas songs with altered lyrics. I don't turn on my TV in December because I know no one is buying me a new TV for Christmas, so I can't afford to smash the one I have.

Sometimes people give me stuff, and then I have to feel bad because I didn't get them anything. But I don't feel too bad because no one gets me anything I really want anyway. It's not just that I have no time to shop and even less money. It's not just that I won't go into a mall. It's not even the fact that I'm actually a thoughtless bastard. It's because the real history of the "Christmas giving tradition" makes me sick! About a hundred years ago the Hallmark Company along with the Coca Cola Company conspired to invent this "holiday tradition" of shameless consumerism and through clever marketing (read Santa Clause) convinced everyone that they should buy gifts and cards for everyone they know. Fuck that. My holiday tradition is to thank God I survived another year, plan on how to survive the next, and most importantly to spend some quality time with my family and friends, because ya never know, and this could be my last Christmas on Earth. One hour with a loved one is worth more than all the Whos in Whoville, and certainly worth more than anything anyone could buy at the mall.

My wife has fancied herself a Wiccan, and so this year it's not Christmas, it's Yule.
The traditions are largely the same, since the early Christians stole most of the traditions of Christmas from ancient Pagan rituals. This does sit a little bit better with me. Throw another Yule log on the fire.

Here's an idea for a worthwhile tradition, how about peace and good will ALL YEAR LONG, including December. I'd go for that.

Christmas? Bah Humbug. Send Santa back to the ad agency artist's drawing board. I'm going old school. It's Yule. You wanna give me something? Pay me a visit. I'll reciprocate by spiking your eggnog.

Cheers, and happy Yule to all!

Chiquita With Frisbee

2008-05-08T21:07:00.000-07:00

2008-03-11T11:42:00.001-07:00

A public service announcement from your friends at umour.org

Too Good To Be True Streetwalkers of San Francisco

2007-06-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

I did this piece a few years ago. It was not a good time in my life. When I came back from my work in El Paso with Ministry I was pretty jaded. I hadn't had a steady girlfriend in over two years. The only women I did "take comfort in" during my time in El Paso were strippers and whores. After my return to NY I hooked up with The Men Of Sterling, and I did "The Sterling Men's Weekend" which was very misogynistic. Shortly thereafter I began dating a woman who lived in NYC. It was just one of those things. One day after a bad date (I think it may have been our last) I was on my way from NYC back home to Poughkeepsie on the train. I had recently been told by my friend Joe about this collection of images of San Francisco streetwalkers being sold on eBay. Joe had coincidently introduced me to the woman I'd been dating. I clipped all the shots from the eBay page. There were a couple of dozen in all, presented as a sampling of the book being auctioned, which contained hundreds. I had my laptop computer with me on the train and I was looking at the pictures. I was also listening to music, using iTunes in random shuffle. The Benny Goodman Quartet was among the items in the play-list and “Too Good To Be True” happened to play while I looked at the pictures. I started to laugh out loud. The images are so demeaning, some of those women are truly horrifying. The Benny Goodman tune with Helen Ward’s vocal is so sublime, her delivery so wonderfully mirthful. The lyric is such a stark contrast to the life of a streetwalker. It was just so profoundly and perfectly wrong. I immediately began an iMovie session and assembled the whole collection of images into a slide show with the tune and was done with it by the time my train reached the Poughkeepsie station.

I agree that the film seems somber, maybe even a bit mean spirited in a way. Making it definitely stroked my "He-Man Woman-Hater" bone. Like I said, I was pretty jaded at the time. But it is interesting to think about those women and what their lives might have been like, and what the world was like back then. Its also interesting to think of the ways the world has changed, and all the ways it hasn’t. I think it’s a good film because it does make you think. I think its Umour because it makes you feel somewhat uneasy.

haircut

2007-01-02T05:43:00.000-08:00

Commuter Rats

2006-12-31T08:35:00.000-08:00

106 Guitars

2006-12-08T16:16:00.000-08:00

What If...

2006-11-15T20:51:00.000-08:00

What if, when you die, you experience every moment of your life, in exact detail, all at once, forever. Would it be heaven?

The First Amendment’s Downward Spiral

2005-07-25T11:11:00.000-07:00

I fear for my civil liberties! For my Freedom of speech! Even for my life! I posted a blog comment in which I quoted a song by Brian Eno from an early solo LP…the line is actually the song title, a phrase about airlines… I’m afraid to repeat it! I posted it as a comment on someone’s blog page, and it was there for a couple of minutes. I went on reading some of the other posts, and then when I returned to the top of the page my comment was gone! Vanished! And it seems that it was not the blog’s author who had deleted it! Big brother is watching, listening, reading and even editing us! For posting a line from a song I could be in Gitmo tomorrow! I might as well let it all hang out now.

The Patriot act is like a Stazi wet dream. The “War On Terror” is license to imperialism. You can’t claim a methodology as your enemy! You can’t fight a war against an ideology! Yet we are engaged in exactly that, and expected to believe it is good and just, or else! I don’t support the methods or ideology of the “terrorists”, but let’s call a spade a spade…we are at war against fundamentalist Islamic extremists who are pissed as hell that we have forced our ideologies on them, right or wrong, and invaded their countries in the name of “freedom”, when in fact the motivations have more to do with economy than liberty! Now we are forfeiting our own freedoms in the name of security because our illustrious leaders want to line their good ol’ boy pockets through the military-corporate machine before all the oil runs dry. Go ahead, Mr. Transit Officer, search my bag…I have nothing to hide, not even my hate for the fascist regime we have become.

Here is the song title I quoted: “Burning Airlines Give You So Much More” There. I said it. It seemed apropos to the blog where I posted it. I’m a New Yorker and I refuse to live in fear. And by the way, whomsoever may be secretly watching, listening, reading: your hearts and minds are already as dead as all the dinosaurs who’s decayed flesh your masters so lustfully desire.

Why Dream

2005-03-28T11:11:00.002-08:00

I’m still having these dreams, dreams that seem to be searching for something, trying to figure something out. They often center on this one person, but somehow I don’t think the dreams are actually about her. I think it’s something deeper, an issue that was raised, or a truth that was revealed. I think about these dreams, and I write about them. Maybe these activities help me get closer to their meaning, but I don’t feel like they do. It seems like each time I have one of these dreams it stirs up something, shakes me up a little. I say to myself “Oh, I’ll examine this and find some clarity from it!” and then as I look at it and try to contemplate what message it holds I just become more confused, more baffled by the whole thing. I’m certainly not preoccupied with her consciously. I wonder what the dreams mean, but I also wonder why I even have them.

It could be that we are not meant to understand our dreams. Maybe the meaning, like the dream itself, is so shrouded in symbolism and metaphor that it defies any rational conscious interpretation. Perhaps only the subconscious mind can understand dreams. Sometimes I wonder if I’m better off when I don’t remember my dreams. I often think I’d be better off if I could just completely forget about her. But still I have these dreams, and memories.

A friend would say, “Get over it”. But I don’t want to get over it. I want to be through with it. Some of my friends don’t even want to talk about it. I think those are the smart ones. When I mention that I had another dream about her they quickly change the subject. It’s hard to work through these things alone, hard for me, anyway. But I understand. It becomes a little bit touchy, politically, because everybody knows everybody, and people talk. So then I write about it in my blog, which maybe no one reads, and certainly no one talks about. And even here I side step the details…the names have been changed to protect the innocent…but the who’s and where’s and when’s are not the point anyway, because obviously my real is question is “why?”.

Why am I still having these dreams? Maybe the answer is because I still haven’t figured out why I’m having these dreams. Why do I write about them? That’s easy: because nobody wants to talk about them. Why not talk about them? Because no one else cares to answer the question of why, and they all already know all the “who’s and where’s and when’s”.

In my most recent dream she was crying, and I didn’t know why.

Should I examine how these dreams make me feel? The definitions of emotions can be elusive for me. They are so often a complex blend. In this dream I think I was feeling confused and maybe a little helpless. I didn’t know her reason for crying. I wanted to reach out and touch her. I wanted to make her feel better. Even more, I wanted to understand her feelings. In the dream she had her back to me. That’s all I remember.

Perhaps I’ll never know what happened between us. Maybe that’s what these dreams are about. I think I’m still asking myself why things didn’t work out. I want to accept what was, and what is, and move on, but I feel like I can’t. I think that this quandary is affecting my ability to have a relationship now. I don’t think anyone can help me. Not even “her”. I guess I’ll just keep having these dreams until I stop having them. Maybe then the answers will become clear. Maybe the dreams are not meant to bring answers but instead to identify the questions. Maybe questions don’t always need answers to be meaningful. Maybe someday I’ll accept the fact that sometimes there is no reason why.

Dreams of Airport Security

2005-01-17T06:18:00.000-08:00

I dreamed that I saw this marvelous ultra-modern airplane flying over New York City. It was a totally new design, like nothing I had ever seen. The fuselage was fat and round and somewhat stubby, and it’s wings were almost like bi-plane wings except that they went completely front to back and were curved and joined at the ends, so that when viewed from front or back the outline appeared to make an oval shape, with the fuselage being another circle within. The plane had two rocket-like conical engines on the back. As I watched it go overhead some other person in my dream commented that this was the new “shuttle” from LA to New York, which made the trip in just under an hour. Then, as it neared the airport I saw it do an unusual maneuver, a sort of “loop-de-loop”.

As dreams often do, I was suddenly transported to an impossible location relative to the previous scene. I was in what seemed to be a portion of the plane, removed from the whole and sitting in a wooded area. There were maybe a dozen other passengers, all sitting in their seats looking as confused as I was. Suddenly a man in black army fatigues and an automatic rifle appeared at the door. Then, on either side of him 2 female “flight attendants” seemed to “inflate” from out of nowhere. The flight attendants just smiled and stood there as the man instructed us all to calmly and orderly disembark from the plane.

Once outside we appeared to be near the airport. More guards were outside shouting orders at us. We were made to jog, single file, towards and into a building, where we were lined up against a wall and padded down. Someone next to me whispered that he thought that maybe all this was because of the conversation he overheard another person having on his cell phone about a gun.

Then we were each individually interrogated by a very large and aggressive man, though his questions were completely mundane; our names, where we were from, where we were going, and things of that nature. Finally we were all herded out to a roof area, and allowed to just wait around and somewhat mingle under the watchful eyes of several more guards. From a passing car we overheard a radio report that airport security drills were currently being conducted. As I looked out over the tarmac I could see similar scenes to what had just taken place being acted out around the airport, and I heard “drill instructors” shouting at the guards to act fearsomely.

I became extremely irritated to be being treated in this manner as a training exercise, and I voiced my complaint to an official looking man that was standing with the guards. He was most arrogant and jabbed me with pointed fingers exclaiming that I had no right to question their authority or their actions. I pointed out that I should have some rights, considering that I had PAID for a ticket on the flight. Finally the dream ended with me urging the other detained passengers to demand free first class vouchers to anywhere the airline flies.

I am still trying to figure out what this one means. I did have pizza at midnight before having this dream. I guess it must be relevant to something.

My Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future

2005-01-03T13:01:00.000-08:00

It’s the holiday gift-giving season, and this year seems somehow to be special, at least for me. Where as, in the past, I had always found myself to be somewhat of a Scrooge, this year I have gone to some lengths to produce special gifts for several of my friends, and I seem to have, on at least some level, embraced the “spirit” of the holiday. Although this change in me is somewhat remarkable, it is also quite subtle, but by no means is it fully encompassing of the traditions of the season (Christmas music still makes me feel violent). It is however a reflection of some positive changes.

In past years my distain was for the rampant commercialism surrounding the whole gift-giving tradition. “This Christmas, show her how much you really love her…buy her a diamond.” Your family deserves the new 52” plasma TV with ambi-light in their home!” “Buy your loved one the new Jaguar.” Yeah, right. If I actually had the means to afford such extravagant gifts, the last thing I would do is spend it on crap like that. But the fact is, I don’t have anything like that kind of money, and in fact I have had so little money that throughout the years I would find endless imaginative ways to withdraw from the holiday completely in order to avoid the embarrassment of not being able to afford to buy any gifts. I dreaded receiving gifts too, because it made me feel like I owed a debt I could not repay, being that I was unable (or just unwilling) to reciprocate.

But this year is different. Although I still don’t have any money I have been giving gifts. I spent dozens of late night hours making custom compilation mix CDs of great music to share with my friends. I’ve even given out some copies of my own music. I’ve tailor made several collections. Many of my friends receiving these gifts were indeed very pleased, and seemed to appreciate the personal attention that went into producing them.

What has sparked this change in me is no doubt my shift, over the past couple of years, from a distant, distracted, and thoroughly spaced out dope head to a thoughtful and lucid contributing member of my social circles. Several dear friends have commented on their perception of this change. And as if through some covert conspiracy, for gifts this year, almost every one of my closest friends gave me books to read. So many, in fact, that I will no doubt still be reading them come next Christmas.

To she who said I look like him:

2005-01-03T11:15:00.000-08:00

YOU

You came—
determined,
because I was large,
because I was roaring,
but on close inspection
you saw a mere boy.
You seized
and snatched away my heart
and began
to play with it—
like a girl with a bouncing ball.

WHAT HAPPENED

More than possible,
more than necessary-
as though
in sleep sagging down in poetic delirium-
the lump of the heart has grown huge in bulk:
that bulk is love,
that bulk is hate.
Under the burden
my legs
walked shakily-
as you know,
I am
well built-
and yet,
an appendage of the heart, I dragged myself about,
hunching the vast width of my shoulders.

AND NOW

The sea goes to weep.
The sea goes to sleep.
As they say,
the incident has petered out.
The love boat of life
has crashed on philistine reefs
You and I
are quits.
No need to reiterate
mutual injuries,
troubles
and griefs.

(Excerpts from the writings of Mayakovski)

The Process

2004-12-09T02:55:00.000-08:00

It has been suggested to me by a friend, that every one of us has a lesson to learn in life. To be sure, there are many lessons to learn in life, but this person being a Buddhist, was referring to some sort of karmic lesson as an over all theme for each of our lives. Knowing me reasonably well, my friend believes that my lesson is to learn in this life is that everything is a process. Although I’m not sure that I completely buy in to the whole re-incarnation theory (nor do I disbelieve in it entirely) I do agree that we learn about life along the way, and there are certain lessons each of us may need to learn more desperately than others. Perhaps some lives are spent searching for what those lessons are. Sadly, all to many lives are spent ignoring the lessons completely. In so far as my friend’s analysis of my own lesson plan may only be speculative, I have considered it to be a fairly reasonable synopsis, but perhaps not exactly accurate or completely descriptive.

I think that a more accurate title for my lesson plan would be “How to accept the implications and situations which arise from the knowledge that everything is a process”.

Certainly one can intellectualize that most everything is in some way or another indeed a process. Observations do support this. That’s the easy part. But once you have established that, a lengthy series of questions can obviously be asked. What is the process? Where does it begin? How does it work? What are the steps in this process? How many steps are there? What preparation do they require? What materials? How long will it take? What will be the result (if any)? Where am I in this process? What do I do NOW?

Each question may have numerous or even innumerous answers, each leading to more questions in and endless branching tree of possibilities, the complexity of which will result in consequences for the individual that span a broad range of human responses, from excitement and exhilaration to frustration and despair. At first glance the process can be seen as a grand challenge, an opportunity for growth, or a vehicle for some form of personal advancement. For a while this may appear to be a good thing. Each small success leads to a slightly larger challenge, as the complexity of the process becomes more evident. With each successive challenge also comes more risk; more invested, more at stake. Somewhere along the way the returns for each effort in the process become inversely proportional, risking more and more for less and less gained. Each step in the process develops a level of complexity that requires it to have it’s own “process”. Now the process is no longer a joyful opportunity but has become a chore. There are wheels spinning within wheels, and some of the small imperfections, which may have been overlooked, or let slide, begin to throw the process off balance, leading to backtracking, and seemingly endless revisions, or even total failure. At best this will be frustrating or discouraging, and could even lead to complete abandonment of the process.
At this point continued determination requires so much concentrated effort that objectivity becomes impossible. Eventually the complexity becomes so great that is it barely discernable from total chaos. Random or even irrational choices are made and rationalized in a desperate effort just to get the damn thing done.

Then, at last, it is done. And it’s good, or at least good enough. Stepping back those imperfections and random choices are no longer problems but features, even charming ones. And the minutia of the process has long since faded from memory. But still, it could be better, couldn’t it? Wouldn’t it be better if there had been a plan?

But there is no plan. There is no beginning. There is no system to make it work. There are no steps. If there were you wouldn’t be ready to take them anyway. It will take as long as it takes for you to get there. Get where? Right back where you started!

All this loquacious process just to arrive at the simple conclusion:

Where you are going is how you get there.

Cheese will make you dream

2004-11-11T23:11:00.000-08:00

Last night I went out with a friend to see his band play a gig at a little club in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. After the gig we had a drink, decided that we were hungry, and went out for pizza. Then we went home. During the night I had a strange dream, and my friend was in the dream.

I dreamed that my friend and I were in a pawnshop and he handed me an accordion. It was a remarkably beautiful instrument, though slightly worn. It seemed to have some functional flaws, but I was so excited to hold it, and I couldn’t resist trying to play it. I put my hands through the straps and realized that I hadn’t held an accordionin a very long time. Undaunted, I began to squeeze and somehow knew which buttons to press with my left hand. It started making sweet sounding chords, and with my right hand I began to play a melody on the keyboard. But alas, I lacked the co-ordination to accomplish this, and the sound, seemingly sweet at first, turned suddenly sour. I was so sorry that I couldn’t make sweet music with this beautiful instrument, but I realized that this particular accordion needed more skill to operate successfully than I possess. Furthermore, I’m really not an accordion player.

Upon awaking to the memory of this dream I reflected on what it meant, and it clarified some things for me in that have been going on in my life, both recently and in general. I think it was about being compulsive. Perhaps I jump into things before I'm ready, or try to accomplish things without being properly prepared. Sometimes in my art this leads to fortuitous errors or unexpected successes, and in my work there is usually an operators manual to fall back on, but not so in life. The dream made me more cognizant of this.

So to anyone who is grappling with a difficult issue I highly recommend pizza at midnight, because the cheese will make you dream.