My Motherboard, My Self

Geek Squad wants $519 to maybe fix my computer. Maybe. They won't know if it can be fixed until they crack it open and tinker with the insides. And if it can't be fixed, I'm out $519, plus $99.99 for the initial tinkering they did before they decided that $99.99 wasn't enough of my hard-earned money to line their corporate pockets.

The last photos of my grandfather are on that computer.

The revision of my 100+ page full-length play are on that computer.

Poems that I never printed.

Stories that I thought were incomplete, so never printed, waiting to be revised.

Words that I can never fully capture again are in that computer.

All trapped in that damn computer.

Office Blues

Thoughts from today:

I know that they mean it to be funny, but the "The beatings will continue until morale improves" sign on the company's dirty, ketchup-stained fridge just depresses me in its irony.



As sure as the Autumn breeze, everything ugly on the inside finds a way to seep out.

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone

by Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by Annemarie S. Kidder

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

La fille occupée

It's been a really busy time for me lately, and I don't think that it's a terrible thing. By nature I am an introvert, so drawing energy from nightclub openings and parties is out of beat with my inner self. But that hasn't stopped me from dancing the night away.

I am breathing a huge sigh of relief that the "Best Of" issue is over. Today it hits the stands, tonight is the "Best Of" Party Uptown, and tomorrow things go back to a relative normalcy in the newspaper world. I stressed over this issue because I wanted my work to be flawless -- it's the biggest paper of the year, and I am but a cog in the wheel of the Weekly Planet, but damn it if I didn't want my cog to be the shiniest. We're all just drops in the ocean of time, but some of us drops sparkle in the sun. And I want to live a life of sparkles, thankyouverymuch.

I'm also happy that some of my writing sneaked its way into this issue, and I can have something tangible to point out to my parents when they ask what exactly it is I do in the newspaper world. Hell, something I can point out to everyone who asks what it exactly it is I do in the newspaper world. Even Sharsta's mom noted that I wasn't getting the bylines I used to, since I've been editing more than writing. And that's OK -- it's my job to edit. That doesn't mean that my loved ones don't miss my writing. I miss it too. But my Autumn goal is to write more of my own stuff, deadline free, and revise the work I already have to perfection. And if I sneak out to a club opening, or dance barefoot on the street until then, well, that's still not a terrible thing.

Sarah Palin loves rapists

I wish this headline was a joke. I sincerely do.

But what other explanation can there be when Sarah Palin charged rape victims -- victims, not the attackers -- $1,200 for a chance to catch the criminals who assaulted them?

Details via Feministing.com:

A rape kit is a sexual assault forensic evidence kit, used to collect DNA that can be used in criminal proceedings to assist in the conviction of those who commit sex crimes. The kit is performed as soon as possible after a sexual assault or attack has been committed. It is usually humiliating and uncomfortable for the victim -- imagine enduring that and then paying $1200 just so that the criminal who assaulted you might be caught.

Let's put this into perspective. One of the services that almost every American (with the exception of a few hardcore Libertarians, I suppose) agree that our government should provide is policing and investigation into crime, especially of a violent nature. Rape, one of the most difficult to prosecute, disproportionately affects women -- young women, in fact. If Palin wants to play fierce mother hen in her stump speeches, I suggest she explain how it is that she wouldn't do everything in her mayoral power to make sure that rapists be caught and prosecuted.

What adds insult to injury here is her stance on abortion for rape victims. So, not only did she neglect to support women who were raped in getting the evidence they needed to get justice, but she doesn't believe they should have the right to choose what happens with their bodies after they've endured such violation.

As one commenter put it:

She's a disgusting human being. How many women can honestly afford $1200 for a rape kit? And how soulless and spiritually bankrupt do you have to be to even consider charging women for this?

Today's e-mail

From: Natalie
Sent: Tuesday, September 09, 2008 10:54 AM
To: Mr. B
Subject: Depressed.

Too much Sarah Palin this morning has turned my stomach into knots and blackened my once pure, golden heart.
I need a bottle of anti-depressants and an ice pack.
I need hot tea and soothing Obama speeches.
I need to grab any woman in this office who thinks Palin is a wonderful god-send and slap some sense into her Republican-rattled brain before quarantining her ovaries.
I need to grab any man in this office who supports McCain and Palin and castrate him with a rusty knife before he reproduces.

I may need a hug.

Wake-up Call

(Jesus of NoDa, seen off of North Davidson, on the side of Niche Market, across the street from the old Fat City, watching over us all.)


Hello, world.

I'm at a dip in my creativity, obviously.

My brain circles ideas, holds delicately the fluttering births of wants and dreams, but stops short, sighs, and stays dormant, nesting.

We all have hills and crests of genius and creativity, but it's hard to force or assume when a good moment, a good idea, will rise to the top. And I've been pensive lately, reviewing thoughts and memories and drawing up past feelings in ways that have failed to bring me to a pen or keyboard; ideas that are held instead of written, held boiling over as I struggle to finish work or clean the apartment or maintain healthy friendships. I walk my usual haunts and carry you with me: thoughts, dreams, hopes. Abstract and concrete, all centered clearly in the part of my brain that is still unreachable.

Today I am able to shake myself up and speak, the shadows of me chased.

"You're very awake this morning," my co-worker said as I climbed on my desk to peek over the cubicle wall and say hello.

I feel like I've been sleeping for days, so that is a deeper compliment then her observation meant.

It's turned into one of those rare warm days when I feel as if I am good at my job, that writing my book is not impossible, and that the horizon is straight ahead, unseen.