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Maybe "Hippie Poetry" is better?

Nov. 7th, 2008 | 01:07 pm

The Goons Will Be Coming!!

There's a little boy in America just walking off to school.
There's a little girl in Australia who just learned her Golden Rule.
There's a family in Great Britain sitting down to morning tea.

Oh won't you please accept
This gift . . .
This gift to you, from me.

From one Iraqi child who was crushed by the stones,
From one Iraqi child who was burnt to ash and bone,
By some young soldiers just doing what he was told,
By more experienced soldiers who meant well, but should have known,
While words like 'Liberation' and 'Democracy' were spun,
I was sleeping in my bed when I felt the mighty guns,
I was reaching for my mother when my arms embraced your bombs,
I was reaching for tomorrow but tomorrow won't ever come.

I was sleeping, I was dreaming,
I was loved by someone,
But now they're gone.

There's a father at Fort Bliss there to meet his soldier son,
There's a mother proud in Sydney to be on the side that won,
There's a politician in Washington whose election-theft has just begun,

Oh won't you please accept
This gift . . .
This gift from one so young.

From one Iraqi child who was crushed by the stones,
From one Iraqi child who was burnt to ash and bone,
By some young soldier just doing what he was told,
By another older soldier who meant well, but should have known.
While words like 'Liberation' and 'Democracy' were spun,
I was sleeping in my bed when I felt the mighty guns,
I was sleeping with my mother when my arms embraced your bombs,
I was reaching for tomorrow but tomorrow won't ever come.

I was dreaming, I was dreaming,
I was loved by someone,
But now they're gone.

To the little boy in America just walking off to school.
To the little girl in Australia who just learned her Golden Rule.
To the family in Great Britain sitting down to morning tea.

Oh won't you please accept
This gift . . .
This gift to you, from me.

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Just "Stupid Hippie Music"...

Nov. 7th, 2008 | 01:04 pm

Now they are no longer
any trouble to each other

he can turn things over, get down to that list
of things that never happened, all of the lost

unfinishable business.
For instance… for instance,

how he never clipped and kept her hair, or drew a hairbrush
through that style of hers, and never knew how not to blush

at the fall of her name in close company.
How they never slept like buried cutlery –

two spoons or forks cupped perfectly together,
or made the most of some heavy weather –

walked out into hard rain under sheet lightning,
or did the gears while the other was driving.

How he never raised his fingertips
to stop the segments of her lips

from breaking the news,
or tasted the fruit

or picked for himself the pear of her heart,
or lifted her hand to where his own heart

was a small, dark, terrified bird
in her grip. Where it hurt.

Or said the right thing,
or put it in writing.

And never fled the black mile back to his house
before midnight, or coaxed another button of her blouse,

the another,
or knew her

favourite colour,
her taste, her flavour,

and never ran a bath or held a towel for her,
or soft-soaped her, or whipped her hair

into an ice-cream cornet or a beehive
of lather, or acted out of turn, or misbehaved

when he might have, or worked a comb
where no comb had been, or walked back home

through a black mile hugging a punctured heart,
where it hurt, where it hurt, or helped her hand

to his butterfly heart
in its two blue halves.

And never almost cried,
and never once described

an attack of the heart,
or under a silk shirt

nursed in his hand her breast,
her left, like a tear of flesh

wept by the heart,
where it hurts,

or brushed with his thumb the nut of her nipple,
or drank intoxicating liquors from her navel.

Or christened the Pole Star in her name,
or shielded the mask of her face like a flame,

a pilot light,
or stayed the night,

or steered her back to that house of his,
or said "Don't ask me how it is

I like you.
I just might do."

How he never figured out a fireproof plan,
or unravelled her hand, as if her hand

were a solid ball
of silver foil

and discovered a lifeline hiding inside it,
and measured the trace of his own alongside it.

But said some things and never meant them –
sweet nothings anybody could have mentioned.

And left unsaid some things he should have spoken,
about the heart, where it hurt exactly, and how often.


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Million Dollar Baby!!

Aug. 12th, 2008 | 09:53 am

Million Dollar Baby (Fifty Dollar Geriatric..)

Yeah, yeah.  I made fun of myself in the title.  Go ahead.  You try it.  I'm getting back in the ring. 

I am going to once again, willingly be pummeled by a set of squishy gloves.  I might want to do that septal surgery the ENT guys said I should get before it's going to require plastic surgeons.  Triple-reinforce with titanium an stuff.  Even if I can't actually find a demographic that I fit into for fighting, at least I will have the conditioning back.  I miss the feeling of being "tightly strung and wiry", knowing that whatever I ask my body to do, it will do.  The middle-age squish has got me down... Waaaaayy down.  The fact that right now, I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag doesn't really matter.  The fact that I couldn't do it without a few rolls getting in the way or weiging me down is what really seems to break my head.  Endurance?  Yeah!  I can endure a 460-some-odd page book for a whole day!  NONSTOP!  I don't like that.  I'd like to be able to once again, endure a 12-mile run through the woods, and keep up with the pack.  I'll never, ever let myself go to 11% body fat again, but this "mostly really squishy" isn't going to happen. 

Going deeper, I guess it's a matter of powerlessness.  My whole life, any time I 've wanted anything, I've had to fight.  Emotionally, financially, mentally, or physically;  for freedom to think, be, do, or even "measure up".  I'm sick of the fight, and would rather channel that into something I can understand.  Mentally, I'm exhausted.  Emotionally, I'm pretty much dead.  If it's a fight people want, they'll get it, but on MY terms that I can understand.  The kind that's over after a few rounds, then you go have a beer and everything's hunky-dory.  Nobody's taking anything personally.

My neurosurgeon buddy at work is a little annoyed with me.  He seems to think he's going to be seeing me with a broken brain before long.  I tried to explain that my brain is already broken.  (Incidentally, he said, "...no, that's not brain.  That's more 'heart and mind' department."  Scarily accurate.  Is there a cure or a surgery for that?)  Even the plastic surgery guys whom one would think would be excited about the possible future business got mad at me:  "You have a gorgeous face!  Why mess it up?"  Well, fat lot of good it's ever done me, and it's not like I'm using it as anything other than a place to put my eyeballs anyway!  You want to be taken seriously?  Don't be "nice to look at".

For the record, and for amusement factor, allow me to reiterate some of the things I've had to tell people:  No, I'm not wearing a g-string.  No, it's not going to happen in a ring at a bar.  No, it's not UFC.  (My chain of command told me "no", and now I'm too old.)  No, it's not the kind of "boxing" where another female and I are wrestling and grappling, and our clothes might fall off or we might start kissing or something.  IT'S BOXING.  NOT PORN. 

What else do Irish and Sicilians do when they come to this country?  It's boxing, or running a racket!  Hehe...

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I said, "Never Again". I meant it.

Jun. 8th, 2008 | 02:10 pm

Yup.  Time to take this one to the executioner's block, too.  It's the same jerk, every single time.  Different name, different face, sure.  But it's always the same stupid guy. 

Maybe I just have too high an opinion of myself and a profound sense of entitlement for thinking I should actually be valued. 

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May. 31st, 2008 | 07:22 pm

Looks like I'm not washing off the patchouli any time soon!  Found on "ThinkGene":    (It's geek-porn for neuroscience nerds!)

"...Religious leaders have contended for millennia that burning incense is good for the soul. Now, biologists have learned that it is good for our brains too. In a new study appearing online in The FASEB Journal (http://www.fasebj.org), an international team of scientists, including researchers from Johns Hopkins University and the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, describe how burning frankincense (resin from the Boswellia plant) activates poorly understood ion channels in the brain to alleviate anxiety or depression. This suggests that an entirely new class of depression and anxiety drugs might be right under our noses.

“In spite of information stemming from ancient texts, constituents of Bosweilla had not been investigated for psychoactivity,” said Raphael Mechoulam, one of the research study’s co-authors. “We found that incensole acetate, a Boswellia resin constituent, when tested in mice lowers anxiety and causes antidepressive-like behavior. Apparently, most present day worshipers assume that incense burning has only a symbolic meaning.”

To determine incense’s psychoactive effects, the researchers administered incensole acetate to mice. They found that the compound significantly affected areas in brain areas known to be involved in emotions as well as in nerve circuits that are affected by current anxiety and depression drugs. Specifically, incensole acetate activated a protein called TRPV3, which is present in mammalian brains and also known to play a role in the perception of warmth of the skin. When mice bred without this protein were exposed to incensole acetate, the compound had no effect on their brains.

“Perhaps Marx wasn’t too wrong when he called religion the opium of the people: morphine comes from poppies, cannabinoids from marijuana, and LSD from mushrooms; each of these has been used in one or another religious ceremony.” said Gerald Weissmann, M.D., Editor-in-Chief of The FASEB Journal. “Studies of how those psychoactive drugs work have helped us understand modern neurobiology. The discovery of how incensole acetate, purified from frankincense, works on specific targets in the brain should also help us understand diseases of the nervous system. This study also provides a biological explanation for millennia-old spiritual practices that have persisted across time, distance, culture, language, and religion—burning incense really does make you feel warm and tingly all over!”

According to the National Institutes of Health, major depressive disorder is the leading cause of disability in the United States for people ages 15–44, affecting approximately 14.8 million American adults. A less severe form of depression, dysthymic disorder, affects approximately 3.3 million American adults. Anxiety disorders affect 40 million American adults, and frequently co-occur with depressive disorders.

Source: Federation of American Societies for Experimental Biology

Incensole acetate, an incense component, elicits psychoactivity by activating TRPV3 channels in the brain. Arieh Moussaieff, Neta Rimmerman, Tatiana Bregman, Alex Straiker, Christian C. Felder, Shai Shoham, Yoel Kashman, Susan M. Huang, Hyosang Lee, Esther Shohami, Ken Mackie, Michael J. Caterina, J. Michael Walker, Ester Fride, and Raphael Mechoulam. FASEB Journal. Published online before print May 20, 2008 as doi: 10.1096/fj.07-101865

Josh says:

After all this time, we’re still finding novel ways in which ion channels are activated in the brain. I’ve always liked burning incense, now I know one reason why. This does seem promising though as a new mode of action for anti-depressants, which have some nasty withdrawal effects when people go off them..."

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Non Sequitur of the Day

Apr. 30th, 2008 | 07:14 pm

  Crazy Curtis:  You know, it takes a real man to sport mesh panties...

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Me??? DATE????

Apr. 20th, 2008 | 09:03 pm

Finally had one of those "date" things... I'm not sure I like this game.

In other news:  Nine years today, I've been a widow.  Wherever you are, Ben-O, I sure hope you have found your peace.  I know I haven't...

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(no subject)

Apr. 9th, 2008 | 06:37 pm

 Absolutely pathetic... Why am I finding myself offering to buy other people dinner on my birthday, just so I don't have to spend it alone??  You know it sucks when.... 

I wish I'd never moved here. 

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(no subject)

Mar. 31st, 2008 | 08:55 am

Hello, good people!  I acquired a new friend over Thanksgiving, and I have finally talked him into opening an LJ account.  He has no clue what he's doing, so any "assistive geekery" we can toss his way may be very well appreciated.  Welcome, thecalifornian1!

Found this on Best of CraigsList, and thought it was a crackup... Remided me of my "X-Mas Date Dilemma", and the solution that was enthusiastically vetoed by certain co workers... LMAO! 

"Wanted: One Male Bed-Filler

Date: 2007-09-16, 11:58PM PDT

I’m just another busy person always on the go. I recently moved to a new place and bought a fantastic bed that I love. While so caught up in my day to day life, I have not had time to develop a romantic relationship lately. But when I come home at the end of the day and get in bed, it feels very empty.

I have thus decided to take applications for a bed-filler.

This is NOT a sex thing. If anything, it might be more appropriate to post this in the housewares section… but anyways.

-25 years old, straight single female
-5’8”, blond, hazel eyes, thick/curvy
-often restless/occupied when I get in bed; in need of soothing, relaxation

My bed:
-1 full sized bed, located in nice room in nice basement suite
-clean sheets
-2 new pillows for sleeping – none of those annoying throw pillows
-1 blue fleece blanket decorated with reindeer (don’t ask)
-room temperature kept cool as to facilitate snuggling (see below)

I require:
-one straight, single man
-between the ages of 25 and 30 years old
-minimum 6 feet tall, 6’2” is better, 6’4” is most desireable and also the maximum height sought
-must practice good hygiene, smell pleasant and regularly manscape if his body hair is excessive in volume
-piercings and tattoos to be considered on individual basis
-must enthusiastically cuddle, snuggle and spoon me
-must NOT scratch himself excessively in the morning and NEVER Dutch-oven me
-must limit alcohol intake to 2 beers on any night he is acting as bed-filler
-must seek medical consul if he consistently snores when not drunk, sick
-should occasionally play with my hair

What the successful applicant receives:
-the satisfaction of helping me sleep better
-sleeping with a girl who’s hair always smells nice
-free dream interpretation in the morning (just a weird gift I have)

Applicants who can demonstrate ESP skills, thus knowing which nights and at what times I need my bed-filler without my explicit request, will be given priority in the short listing phase. Amusing and/or insightful pillow talk may be rewarded with kisses or tea (to be decided at the discretion of the bed-filler).

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I am SO F****ng done... DONE, DONE, Deja vu...

Mar. 28th, 2008 | 10:08 pm
mood: cynicalcynical

Boys suck.  I'm done.  It's amazing how stupid they seem to think I am.  (Shit, where have I heard this before?  Oh, yeah.  I was "done" last month, too.)  Well, at least this time, it was accompanied by a nowhere near plausible story, and I hadn't wasted the time or the gas to drive to KC.  This last one was definitely more considerate than most.  (LMAO!  Why is Jill Sobule's song "Good Person Inside" playing in my head?) Granted, I probably would have been suspicious even if it didn't play out so strangely, but jeez!  If you're gonna lie to someone, make sure it's not someone with an I.Q. higher than that of the average gym sock, and come up with a better lie...  Oh, wait.. I forgot the lessons learned with Queeg von Hindenberg... One should not have to take responsibility for the lies one tells...

Huh.  We chicks are a weird bunch, I guess.  Flakiness tends to raise a whole bunch of red flags.  (No, Ali, I don't think I offered any furniture, this time!  Hehe!)

Anyway, I have enough to deal with, between work, school, and my son... (He's having a rough time of it this week, which makes me think Asshat was up to more than just "trying to stay over" Monday night.  Oh, if only Karma were instant... He'd have been hit by six or so trucks by now.)  

I.F. starts tomorrow.  Geared up with the Hydroxycut and plenty of water.. Wish me luck.. 

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